flagrant

the company in which i have just severed a business relationship had an appreciation package delivered to my home last week.

a vintage trunk filled with luxurious trinkets, of note was an envelope containing a $5000 gift certificate for use toward any tahitian pearl resort vacation in the polynesian islands. i had once been known to obsess over pearl resort and spa's premium overwater bungalows on bora bora and the lush private island of le taha'a, but given the choice, i would now prefer competitive travel. after conquering cuba and myanmar alone, i don't wish to reverse the thrill and skip stones from a black beach on tahiti.


fantastic plastic amusement park- bora bora, tahiti

on the one hand: this vacation voucher will definitely come in handy when a major bout of depression returns. an independent escapade at an outrageous location is not necessarily required to sulk, but always adds to the comedy on this blog. i wonder if i can squeak two separate trips out of this certificate's allotment, or if its validity only covers one booking?


traditional over water bungalows- bora bora, tahiti

on the other hand: "oh my god, wow! i get to visit bora bora this year." having stated i would never pay the pearl resort's astronomical rates for a glorified hotel room, those over water bungalows ("the definitive french polynesian gimmick") can now be experienced without guilt or expense.

on the third hand: hold on. why would i want to stay at a five star resort in the south pacific by myself? anywhere else on earth, aside from destinations such as las vegas and orlando, would be a better choice than to board a flight landing in tahiti. stunning natural beauty can barely hold my attention for more than one night, and when it does, it's usually not surrounded by manicured resort grounds.

upon investigation, the scuba diving off of bora bora also leaves much to be desired. a commercialized shark feeding excursion and manta ray safari appear to be popular and heavily promoted day tours. are these not foremost controversial and notoriously snubbed activities? the entire region is overpriced. imagine the faux hell-- me, a solo traveler, stuck on an island resort surrounded by spit swapping newlyweds. oh, what fun!

on the fourth hand: a bicycle? perhaps i would pack or rent a bike.

oh no, here it comes:
cue the endless 'maybe i can get to afghanistan THIS year' saga.


crystal cerulean waters- bora bora, tahiti

yesterday, that same company personally delivered a second gift-- this time a thai casket-style box. i admired the rich teak and its hand-carved details while reading the card. considering the company and i no longer share a common interest, i did worry that the small lacquered showpiece could contain a poisonous reptile, but only somewhat jokingly questioned whether or not it would still be alive.

skip ahead:
consider the squinting and undivided listening.
there was neither a hiss nor slither.

filed between the obnoxious ornaments and more bottles of carefully arranged scented potions, stood an envelope. i reveal a voucher which could be redeemed at any authorized vespa dealership toward a new motorscooter.

"we would appreciate it if you were to accept another assignment," stated the card.

in addition to a salary, it appears they are trying to bribe me with $10,000 (guestimate) worth of crap to take a job. the perks include restaurant gift certificates, fragrances, indulgent skin care treatments, small leather goods, monogrammed ribbed spa towels, and most notably, a $6000 gift certificate to be used toward any vespa and its accessories.

[here ends both the best and worst year of my life]

counting down the minutes until midnight
one of my contracts will expire
i will be free to go


done
gone
dead

already have signed to substantially better
and now speak japanese

nope, nope, and nope.

noteworthy: almost had an adequate evening.
in the end, of course, one incorrect food unit invalidated it all.

it's funny how i include mourning the loss of those quarters in the previous post. when one doesn't go outdoors, quarters are hard to come by, and doing the wash in a coin-op laundry room at a condo complex ranks as perpetual impending chore. laundry never fell from top of the to-do list. am i actually considering the coins, or am i really mourning the loss of the need to obsessively collect them?

a scheduled jury duty appearance during the holiday season is not only a waste of time, but of four quarters and a dime spent at the parking meter. aside from a few security guards chatting with attendants managing x-ray screening entrances, there was a notable lack of activity around the government campus.

what was the point of prospective jurors showing up to the virtually abandoned los angeles county courthouse during this celebratory week?

[...and what's the deal with my getting trapped in concrete stairwells all of the time? i don't know, but it only seems to happen in public buildings, and like clockwork, has been an annual occurrence in december. for some reason, a door at the top of the stairwell is typically locked, and when retracing steps back down to the exit, the original door of entry has locked upon closing. of course, the worst part of being stuck in a stairwell is never the threat of lateness for an appointment, but in knowing that a security camera has already zoomed in on the purposely crooked part in your hair. smile! do not flinch or appear outwardly nervous. fear the echo while trapped in the chamber. do not swear. must keep composure at all times. this can be a remarkably big deal for anxiety disorder... someone will come along. perhaps. calm down. calm down.]

the courthouse itself was deserted-- so much, in fact, it did initially appear i was late. upon reaching the concourse which expected my jury services, there was a fear of just how big of a room was going to sit on the other side of the door i was about to open. would the jury assembly station be a large hall? would it contain one hundred people? perhaps more? was the noise from, perhaps, three hundred people muffled by the door? i had no idea of what to expect and halfheartedly knocked upon entrance in case 'what might be a hall' was actually a small office. it was, and the knock was obviously unnecessary.

there were two other people assembled. only two! i honestly expected a crowd. there was a counter and window with a woman sitting behind the glass barrier. she handed me a form to fill out and told me to bring it back to her when i was done. when it was returned, she confirmed that my residence addresses matched that which she had on file. a clerk typist noted my attendance by canceling a paper with an official rubber stamp, thanked me, and that basically excused my jury service for the next year. that was all. the entire process was to fill out a form, and then stand at the counter for less than a minute while the paperwork was being processed. there was no 'required talking' other than general pleasantries. it was okay. driving to beverly hills, deciding where to park, and the fears of 'people driving by who might look at me' while walking from the car into the building spawned larger anxieties than anything which happened in the jury assembly room.

upon arrival, social phobia had nothing to fear or endure. this courtroom process was done individually-- the three of us in the room were neither a group, nor made to acknowledge each other.

how annoying that none of this jury duty production could be confirmed over the phone to save the drive down the 405. perhaps it could have-- i did ignore the last two summons ('orders to appear for jury duty') and was required to physically 'appear' by walking in the door.

e-mail from a few weeks back suggested resident doctor #4 could excuse me from any court obligations. yes, that is true. when i mentioned receiving the summons to report to jury duty, resident doctor #4 stated he would craft an excuse, but first i needed to arm wrestle him to get it written. he was interested in how anxiety and social phobia would respond to the entire process, but i interrupted and mentioned actually wanting to attend court to see what it was all about. people always say that jury duty is a pain in the ass, but why automatically adopt their opinion? i missed out on a lot of life and somewhat wanted to see for myself. (at the same time, i definitely did not want to be obligated to leave the house-- what if i was having a bad day. being 'required to go somewhere' usually defines a bad day.) i stay inside so much, i thought the courts might have been very interesting. sure, there would be the aggravation of maneuvering around the public, but no actual danger-- so, why not attempt?

the conversation of being excused from jury duty was originally brought up (because it interfered with today, a day i was scheduled for an awkward wednesday appointment) but, no. i never did request or require an excuse from jury service due to agoraphobia and/or social phobia.

housemate isn't the right word for someone who may never leave.

suddenly i have a new housemate, am required o be out of the house for the duration of the day (morning jury service, lunch appointment, los angeles lakers game) and could care less about any of it. something is wrong-- the anxiety refuses to catch and develop. whether or not the housemate is a good friend of mine, i am used to blowing household insecurity out of proportion, but am not worried that he is going to be living here. i like him. i don't care too much if he knows about me.

without obsession... what is one supposed to do? there is a massive [space? amount of time? lack of feeling and emotion?] when stress is eliminated, but whenever relaxation enters the room i hear the words unmotivated and complacency. since i am not spending as much thought stressing out, this feels to be confused with 'a reduced form of work.' of course i look at this span of available time available to think as a gap which needs to be filled.

consider: why am i not haunted with having someone in my space? it feels nice to have someone here. huh?! what?! is this me?

yeah, i like it, but i don't like it.

ring ring

i am divorcing the rest of my family.
[he said]
he being a physician i know at ucla.
note: this is obviously not resident doctor #4.

son #1:
- has been clean off heroin for 10 days
- is in jail for the mandatory 15 day stay
- has a court ordered 45 day stint in a drug rehabilitation program

son #2:
- has been diagnosed with schizophrenia
- is not on a medication
- has recently experienced many positive symptoms of the disorder
- in currently in jail on a charge of felony (?) carjacking

wife:
- is having an affair
- has filed for divorce this week

mother:
- currently hospitalized with whoknowswhat but it's terminal
- has only a few weeks to live

when are you getting here?
[i asked]
i thought i might come over now.
[he said]

500 things.

note: food + perfect = calm
fact: food + perfect = backwards habit
[error: unexpected response]

note: food + minimal = calm
fact: food + minimal = hyperanxiety
[error: unexpected response]

note: food + surplus = ///
[error: does not compute]
fact: food + surplus = ///
[error: does not compute]

lack of food = lack of blogging

last christmas:
a strange man broke into the house and was discovered sleeping in my bed.

this christmas:
a strange man has taken up residence on my front steps. not only is he drunk, but is wearing a metal salad bowl on his head, has a chunky necklace made out of coiled wire, and is slur-singing ukrainian songs.

fact: food forward agrees with SUDDEN DEATH.
resident doctor #4 says: "i do not recommend just starting to eat."
note: refeeding syndrome, hypophosphatemia.

flagrant holds the fragile anorexia snowglobe.
consider: isn't that a blinding blizzard of phosphorous?
note: anorexic netherworlds function as sanctuary and revolve as needed.
after a 180 calorie unit, resident doctor #4's statement remains threatening.

afternoon experiences:
- surreal pre-seizure cloudiness
consider: electrical? or something else?
- 'walking in the open without a wall for visual guide' vertigo
- hand cramping, feet cramping, magnesium deficient blue speckled blackness
- arrhythmias and sharp chest pains
- veins, vascular problems
- electrolyte issues again and again

consider: pass out inside the grocery store or in its parking lot?
consider: nothing was done 'wrong' lately except for keeping food down.

- fly to japan? go to london? both?
- figure out one successful food unit?
- bed rest?
[note: all meals shredded since may]

here begins sixteen days of vacation:
- no work-related meetings.
- no exploiting of the prosperous professor's greed.
- no appointments with resident doctor #4.
[note: frightening lack of weekly structure]

eleven more hours until christmas vacation.

- flying to san francisco and back today
- sidekick chuck will be tagging along on the flights
- biweekly work-related appointment at stanford
- standard meeting with the prosperous professor

note: [a former romantic interest] now lives in the bay area.
chuck suggests: it's so unfortunate we don't have any time to kill!
note: to snoop around, i would imagine...
consider: spontaneous escapade? calculated event?
note: no real interest in surveying a low rent berkeley apartment.

this was the morning i caught resident doctor #4 about to ring for the elevator. [a two-fisted coffee drinker trying to balance his breakfast on the multiple lids... yeah, yeah, any excuse.] obsession: he automatically joined the climb up the stairwell rather than jerking his head toward the lift in an effort to suggest i accompany his seven seconds of pause.

sixteen more hours until christmas vacation.

the greatest day of the year continues:

- a house sitting contract was renewed through 2006
- with a $25/day raise to my already incredible fee
- i am still not required to live there

- the owners found no reason to run a new credit check
- yay, no new hard inquiry stuck on my report for two years
[somewhat expected, extremely expensive oceanfront property]

- tonight invalid friend completes a two year anniversary at work

this afternoon i pulled reports from all three credit bureaus and discovered that my information was recently used by [former romantic interest] to obtain local telephone service.

[*evil grin*]

is this not the greatest day of the year?!

how could [former romantic interest] (who is also inaccurately listed on the reports as my spouse!) not realize his new residential address would be listed in my credit files? senselessly revealing this current information (which i have never wanted enough to investigate) has left him wide open for an education in his own credit repair. i have no desire for confrontation and actually think the situation is hilarious. had [former romantic interest] not been an active participant in a fraud, there would be no interest in causing any harm, but noting his address will allow a successful (and disastrous) retaliation.

knowing the risk of having to furnish additional identification when applying for credit, my reports have each been challenged and security flagged. another plus is that as of last month, all identification has been updated and reflects recent changes in residency. no future worries here.

how could [former romantic interest] be so thick as to place himself in the path of such an impending catastrophe? i'd like to think he remembers that as my hobbies go, savoring a grudge always trumps anything productive.

note: body finally hungry enough to die.

appointment with resident doctor #4:

- did not mention yearly box of _________.
consider: fear? love? desperation? allergy? spew?

- did not mention emergency room visit.
consider: then what? confess the other times, too?

- did not mention this morning's heart palpitations.
consider: i wasn't in the mood to remove my shirt.

- did not mention fasting intention.
consider: intention? maybe it already started.

- did not mention depression.
consider: that one's not required, is it?

people in my life are enraged.
they want to scream into the phone and burn down homes.
obviously they miss how fear manipulates action.

delirious juice was required.
[rule #5e: there will be no delirious juice]

we went to an emergency room at a world class hospital.
note: unlike last time.

no one died in the waiting room or got arrested.
note: like last time.

- continuous infusion of electrolyte therapy
rule: must fear the tubes, iv, fattening juice.
note: calories, electrolytes, masked as an aqueous solution.
note: also allergic to the dextrose in intravenous therapies.

an attendant lumbering around the emergency room offered:
- blankets
- drinking water in disposable paper cups
- diet soft drinks
- saltine crackers, salty snacks, and sugared junk food

random resident said, "oh, this isn't your fault."
[purposely side-stepping the swarming ignorance:]
tristan says: "i'm not ashamed of being thinner than you."

anorexia says: "you should have called him cookie."
consider: flirt? insult?

random resident summons for delirious juice.
note: delirious juice = 100% juice + fortification
random resident distributes 'juice cocktail' in a tin can!
tristan thinks: sheesh, random resident doesn't even notice.
tristan thinks: tin cans? it must be a food service supply.

consider: juice drink?
consider: fruit ade?
consider: fruit cocktail?
consider: dual or triple fruit blend?
consider: fruit flavored?
consider: delirious juice can be mistaken for candy?
consider: fruit juice mixed with high fructose corn syrup?

[GASP!]

note: in delirious juice, pulp, haze, and vitamin d are desired.
note: 'fruity drink candy cocktail crap' is out of the question.

"are you seeing someone for this?"
tristan says: "no."

"i thought you saw an analyst twice a week?"
tristan thinks 'then why'd you ask' and says: "yes."

[confusion]

tristan says: "resident doctor #4 and i are only watching emotions."
note: resident doctor #4 cannot be specific to an issue.

"how much is all of this going to cost?"
[random resident draws a blank face.]

"eating sugar out of the bag is a substantial savings over the tubes."
[random resident should nod rather than open and close his mouth.]

"am i going to be charged for this blanket?"
[note: it is here random resident finally changes the subject.]

perhaps this is the part where i invent and then send notification of recovering alcoholism. next christmas, when boxed up bottles of wine arrive from motherfigure, they will neither threaten nor offend and can be passed around for other people's enjoyment. i will obviously become annoyed, but maintain physical health.

every monday afternoon after a shopping list is obtained from the local food bank, i force anorexia into ralphs grocery store for an hour. since there is a definitive agenda, these trips are non-threatening. there are other aspects of the outing which are maddening, but none of it relates to personal conflict or vigilance.

during the daytime hours, the practice of lackadaisically pushing a shopping cart around the aisles and then abruptly stopping to discern products is not only allowed, but a common practice. coupon shoppers pause to flip through plastic filing systems, and grocery merchandisers block aisles with stacks of products to be arranged on the shelves-- but not me. when i stop (overly wincing from the glare of trans fats, needing to readjust my eyeglasses) it is to audibly question who actually buys a particularly obscene food. note the lack of the word eat.

kraft ready to eat cheesecake filling? mallow magic microwave popcorn? troughs of frozen lasagna? and, of course, the contrived standby-- those cheesy bags of neon orange salty snacks. kraft ready to eat cheesecake filling is such a nice idea. too bad it's kraft. too bad it's contained in a tub. too bad you can imagine how lovely a product this could be, while standing in the face of how plasticine and gag-worthy it must be.

from the blank spaces left on the shelves, most of these products appear to be quite a hit. in multiples of ten, i purchase desired breakfast cereals for the food bank. boxes of tuna helper and instant mashed potato flakes hit the shopping cart along with other assorted frankenfoods. one must wonder why the tuna fish needs help? nothing is wrong with being all albacore and sparkling water in this town, and therefore, if a casserole is a no, a brand name box of betty crocker is a definite felony.

never mind. never mind. the stores stock what sells. honestly, there are days when i wish a packaged food could work for me.

skip ahead:

instead of sending the annual allotment of junk food horror to my front door, motherfigure has upped the ante this year by mailing TWO boxes of food.

are we keeping track? both packages were insured, with the first costing just over US$18 to ship, and the second clocking in at US$15. unlike the last few years, the contents this time was finally valued over the cost of postage.

as if he knew, the postal carrier knocked, dropped the parcels by the door without waiting for a signature, and then raced back to his mail truck. hmm, i would have liked to formally refuse both packages with my notoriously angry indelible ink marker. what i had intended to illustrate at the beginning of this entry was that the food bank will not accept perishable donations from individuals. homemade christmas cookies, vanilla walnut holiday fudge, and an assortment of heart-stopping cheeses are not welcomed.

AND i cannot, regardless of impending harm, throw unwanted but sealed food into the garbage. even stating that the food may be abused, which will render it garbage, does not allow for an easy disposal. it should, but it does not. donating the food to those who could have used it properly would have been an option, but postal carriers and friends all work similar hours. thank god for the eating disorder's "no dairy" rule. the vanilla candy will never compute but wrapped oatmeal squares (masquerading as wholesome, nurturing, love...) can fuel an overnight conflict.

resident doctor #4 and i had already discussed motherfigure and her tacky holiday food habits. [she insists on sending me a birthday cake, and now, for whatever reason, has started supplementing the frosted risk with five or more pounds of domestic cheese. it has been documented on this blog(s) for FOUR years in a row that she has been reminded of the consequences and has been told to refrain from sending edibles.]

since this behavior of hers continues annually, i sarcastically take all responsibility and chalk it up to an imaginary speech impediment or maladaptive approach: "please do not send boxes of food to my home. it continually sparks allergic reactions or horrific eating disorder behaviors. i see a physician twice a week and am in a safe situation but need to provide my own food." motherfigure's translation: no wonder she's so thin. she eats leaves and twigs. oh! i bet she fakes eating the twigs! an almond-crusted port wine cheese log might help.

"your mother is so scared of anorexia," resident doctor #4 had almost whispered. one step out of his office, this statement was at the end of our appointment. i wonder how long he had held the thought that morning? if there was any intention to turn off future aggravation, it was successful with the one strategic sentence. regardless of the pain, how could i be infuriated with motherfigure's fear?

[or so i thought.]

no cannot mean no when one assumes their daughter is killing herself by flirting with the edge. do not send me food is just as sick as it is a healthy statement-- i can appreciate that. one needs not understand the depth a spectrum of construction radically different from their own can offer, but should at least interpret that definition of balance. why would a person launch 20# boxes at a tight-rope walker if the worst fear was to watch a fall?

the next hour will be spend spewing vomit into the bathroom sink. ordinarily a sexual and passionate action, this afternoon will be unromantic. almost immediately, the mind will dissociate to hidden memories. i don't know where i go during this process-- perhaps down the drain... this adventure wasn't planned. my fault in action, but i did not excite the cycle, and that is where it all goes mad. i am infuriated when emotions incapacitate people and they in turn harm what they perceived as needing protection.

.
.
.

loose ends of memory disintegrate and violent sensations numb just as the faucet turns off. the familiar, but never recalled dream always ends at the final squelch-- that peculiar squeak of physical pressure. "inside out," the choke seems to say.

on to the kitchen, still in a fog, all evidence is torn and slapped into garbage bags... an armful of hardcover books will then find their way to my bed. adhering to new rituals, i will uncover an x-ray from its blue folder. filtered light from the window sounds the alarm-- the outline of a heart is barely visible on film. climb into bed. wonder why there is a bother to save things, and worry that i really have begun to care but there is no room for complaint.

i want it more than what it will eventually do to me.

what does that blank image mean?
this problem ate everything-- even my heart?
apathy as syndrome.

if i never cared, i would not report my portion.

consider: effexor.
consider: potential to lose a lot of weight.
consider: side effects.
consider: yawning-orgasm syndrome?

why would i be given a refill for effexor if my body involuntarily throws it up an hour after swallowing it? [rewind to november: why would i be give a second trial of zoloft when it was known to make me suicidal and weepy?] how am i supposed to look at this situation without thinking that resident doctor #4 does want me to either starve to death or just flat out die?

it's pointless. i know my father too well to reply to his e-mail, but having just reread the previous entry, understand it is essential. (i have been turned off to the idea for the last week.) he will undoubtedly read a response in the voice of his current mood, and any emotion assigned will incorrectly be assumed to be mine. neither lighthearted nor terse, a response sent to his inbox would transform and illustrate much more than any of my original words.

so why not be perceptible? whether it is mean or not, why not send an indisputably happy response? well...

"happiness is an exaggeration which relates to frivolity, fun... laziness, and there will never be lighthearted playfulness in my house."

as a child, fear restricted me from objecting to what was law, but then again, how would the answers have mattered? his house, therefore anyone who lives there abides by his rules-- never mind mentally interesting illness where the rules sing out in a senseless cadence. [my father had been raised by nuns at a catholic military academy, an institute where all creativity was misinterpreted as unintelligent. aggressive punishment was doled out for any lack in order. it was a very unpleasant experience. the photograph of his first grade class is preposterous- five year old 'men' stand alert in uniform, complete with precise postures, dress shoes, and caps.]

simple pleasantries in an e-mail response can relate to enjoyment, but a clean response obviously stands much too close to a sentiment of "screw off dad." this situation is a bit impossible but there is the option of sending a polite note regardless of its odd modification. since i know how my father reacts, i feel like bending to his illnesses in a gesture of comfort rather than just sending the appropriate reply which will upset him.

seeing a different physician to treat physical problems related to the eating disorder (without alerting resident doctor #4 to these future appointments or outcomes) would feel as though i am having an illicit affair.

[how can i attempt to see an allergist without dealing with guilt? would this be proactive or just appear that i am slinking around behind resident doctor #4's back?

it's either a positive or negative move. resident doctor #4 automatically responds to all food related reactions as intolerance. i agree that most reactions seem like an intolerance, but there is something, whether it be excipient or malabsorption, which is causing a greater difficulty.

should i request an appointment and receive an allergy profile, the results could eliminate entire categories of food from my life. those positive test results would be like handing anorexia a powerful weapon. on the other hand, the answers an allergy test will reveal could help secure some calm- the eating disorder is insane on its own.]

the intention is to visit saks this afternoon to buy a laundered leather jacket but it would involve getting dressed. teeth are perpetually brushed, but the selected clothes are apt to be incorrect. the season calls for closed-toe shoes and knits. southern california winter weather calls for- i have no idea. near the boundary waters where i grew up, 70'F is considered summer but some people in los angeles are wearing scarves and sorel boots. ah, what do they know? a child who was forced to wear sorels in public used to be a common elementary school punishment in the great white north. snow pants? bibs? moon boots? those were such hard times. other kids got away with wearing nikes and guess jeans to the bus stop but i had parents who (goddamn them!) insisted on warmth.

outside, the holiday shopping hordes and almost second-gear traffic try to dissuade the trip. none of it is an issue. was, but isn't. i worry about a future agoraphobic era but also, as if by default, look for a reason to remain home. yes, the car does need to be washed but why would that stop me from seeking out this impulse purchase?

i don't want to get dressed up enough this afternoon to command the attention of a snotty sales associate at an overpriced department store. clothing seems to be the barrier to entertainment. my current wardrobe is nice, and... comfortable.

brain says: "stop looking for an excuse. it's laziness, you slob."

i hate how being properly dressed alerts presence.
i hate how buttery soft driving loafers feel like frumpy slippers.
i hate enduring the discomfort of pleasure.
i hate ease- don't ever say relax.

- clean the kitchen, clean the floors
- ignore thoughts of the suddenly indispensable leather jacket
- inspect and invigorate the plants with spritzes of vinegar
- arrange and locate the desk under 120+ hardcover books
- find an invitation to the opening reception of an art exhibition


invitation, in my stairwell photography exhibit opening- mark seliger

- consider saving the invitation but its irritating typo wins out
- ignore a knock on the door (it's sunday, not fedex, not important)
- toss the imperfect card only to retrieve it later

new shelving, skin care cosmeceutical ingredients, a bottle of uncoated aspirin, fishnet trouser socks, a new vacuum and maybe someone to operate it- nope, the go/do/buy notepad doesn't list a new leather jacket.

brain says, "well, not one in nose-scrunching burnt butterscotch."

consider: it's interesting, perhaps even fun, but not ugly.
consider: why must there always be a reason to own anything expensive?

[the "i'm going to kill chuck if another scratch off lottery ticket is found in his possession" post goes here.]

[the very important "how worried are you about june" post goes here.]
note: the project with resident doctor #4 ends in june.

i have just received an e-mail from my father. the essential background information needed to understand this post is that he has disabling psychological problems. they relate not only to a sadistic and violent mother, but to torture experienced during the vietnam war. strangely enough, his choices in life brought him an element of fame. he lives an extremely secluded life, one in which he rarely strays from his familiar endeavors.

in our entire history, my father has never contacted me by letter, and only once has he telephoned. that call came over a million years ago- i was away at university. i remember the conversation was a two hour fluke in which we mostly discussed time zones, international telephony, and detailed each minor noise related to the transmission process. he had never dialed a telephone before and successfully talked with a person on the other end, so my father was shocked that the connection process from the usa to britain only took a few seconds.

i remember the date and how earlier in the night the house phone strangely signaled half of a ring before dying. alone and flat on my back on the kitchen floor, depeche mode ran through my roommate's stereo. theresa was a squashed rectangle of a person and wore a triangular shaped hairstyle, but the "h" in her name irritated me long before we had ever met.

she had given me hell earlier in the day, declaring that in order to fit into our apartment and integrate better, substantially less time needed to be spent on the shared telephone. it's true- tutors (professors in britain) called me constantly. their attention helped spin a blasphemous rumor that i was romantically involved with one of the faculty.

mm-hmm, so what? i was extremely young. there was no ambivalence at that age, just tension. i didn't know how to tell people to shove off without obsessively recycling the scene in my head for weeks, and so threats of racing thoughts and anxiety caused me to fold by default. with a total of three sexualized roommates, the impending crudeness or imaginary dating drama could never be dismissed. it would eat at me forever unless i moved out.

so while staring at the ceiling, and trying to convince myself to take on the monumental task of relocating all of my crap to alternate housing, the phone again started to seizure. it rang and abruptly stopped. when it sounded a few minutes later, i jumped up to either answer it or take it off the hook.

it's funny how the details of that day are still vivid. i talked to jonas, a swedish student. he wore a vaxjo university sweatshirt while shopping at a local market and used the word "peachy" a lot. timo, who was finnish and virtually incomprehensible, called and offered me a bedroom in a rental he owned. victor stopped by, borrowed a textbook, and dropped off a cassette of graciously accepted music i never intended to hear. the stefan edberg poster hung on the wall stood out oddly next to framed john singer sargent prints in the hallway. "garden study of the vickers children" and "carnation lily lily rose" ("darnation silly silly pose") - i still have those portraits rolled away somewhere.

"no, it doesn't take two or three minutes to reach the uk by phone," i said, or something of similar impression, but my father's response from the end of the line explained the necessity of operators and other required meddlers. at the time he lived in northern minnesota, and insisted that it was impossible to just punch numbers into a telephone located in the desolate northwoods and connect an international call.

though this did take place back in the dark ages (when there *was* an annoying two second lag during international conversations) the two minutes expressed by him related to bureaucracy rather than wiring. how can one listen to the inexperienced detail the way things work? how can one educate an elder who insists wrong is right without damaging pride? it had taken a few minutes for my father to believe it was me on the phone, but as soon as that issue was resolved, he immediately doubted my whereabouts and challenged my location. i, of course, must be lying about my enrollment. perhaps, i was secretly attending a "reduced" university nearby.

there was no specific reason for his call other than in simply wanting to know how i was doing. if that night remains a mostly pleasant memory, why do i look so sourly at his e-mail subject line today? neither excited nor interested in what it may reveal, i maintain those words can wait.

the world does not stop when one decides to break out of a mentally ill shell. open arms easily tire, and difficult as it is to accept, people refuse to wait around. it is lonely in unfamiliar, unprotected territory- as it should be. i didn't get a much desired get out of discomfort free pass when tentatively testing the world those first few times, neither should he.

on the other hand, here is an instance of a 65 year old man challenging anxiety for the second time. it may span the course of more than fifteen years, but this effort is valuable nonetheless. all childhood abuses forgiven, the only complaint i have ever held against my father is his indefatigable allegiance to illness.

to put it bluntly, a second chance to save my health appeared this morning. i am going to act on it even if the offer oozes out of idealized compartmentalization.

the first opportunity appeared perfect. hope arrived immediately and activity switched from apprehension to prospect. visualizing the landscape, and having read the rules, most discomfort which could stem from the journey was accepted. two weeks later, wet up to my knees but still smiling, i was correctly supplied with an updated atlas. frustrated that it illustrated a completely different region, all constitution seemed to be a wasted effort. even though it brought about a lot of speechless disbelief, that first opportunity was earmarked as invalid and violently returned in a huff. endured to the end without interruption, not only would i have ended up lost, but also alone.

considering the flimsy details of this second time around, i'd once be apt to knock on a cardboard door and only question its security, but the difference now lies in perspective. here sits a little bit of a black spot, and also a speck of distinctive white. the bled and blended grey area between the two needs not automatically resemble chaos. why not make the undefined function as a facility for immunity or use it to challenge deeply private rigidity?

tighten the throat, graciously accept the staggering waste, and then note how allowing makeupartist friend to take me to germany last weekend would have been less excessive. refusing the transatlantic trip afforded an equivalent supplementation in stuff-- i still loathe stuff -- and probably should have just flown with him to munich on frequent flyer miles.

- one pair of coach driving loafers in soft red leather
- one pair of tod's embossed lizard holiday ballerina shoes
- one dark rose-colored suede jacket
- one pair of cole haan sardinia eyelet ballerina flats
- one sparkling tissot watch
- and the notorious visa gift card

hello ebay, how much does the world hate you? let's all pause and count the ways, and then reconsider the greater good-- why donate a $300 pair of shoes (or two) to goodwill industries when a higher dollar amount will be collected from an online auction? after enduring the flaky questions and non-paying bidder process, a greater value will result and can be distributed. ebay may find a use in the future after pinning nerves into place and crafting my own foundation.

it is nice to be remembered with these luxurious gifts, but people who attach monetary amounts to presents should realize that the practice is unnecessary with me.

apathy as symptom.
apathy as syndrome.
apathy as a new domain.