Friday, May. 31, 2002 / 7:49 p.m.

~Doomed to Love Me~

He's right to ask what DO I want? He's right. I'm seriously fucked up. When I'm objective, I see this. Right this moment. I can see it.

She told me about her mom getting 19 shock treatments, and how it helped. Imagine. Just imagine that.

"She" is the woman who tattooed me today. "She" is one of the coolest people I have ever met in my entire life. "She" is someone I want to be with, just to soak up her vibe. Her energy. Just to be near her.

31 years tattooing. Long white hair. Eccentric as hell. The show started at noon, and she didn't get out of bed in her hotel room until 1:00. I met her "roadie", we talked, something about him, about the things he said about her, without me even seeing her book... I wanted her to tattoo me. So I waited. I left and got my paycheck from work, I cashed it. I fucking cashed my paycheck! I never do that. I deposit it. Always. Me, cash in hand, hundreds of dollars so i could get tattooed at a traveling carnival for tattoo enthusiasts.

She was slow, scattered, crazy, wonderful, beautiful. We peed together, she joked that I was too slow, she in the stall next to mine. We, joking about sisterhood and bonding, me telling her I'm a feminist, and she having been there, as in Been There, in the 60s. She's what? How old? I don't know. Ageless, timeless, eyes rimmed in black eyeliner, eyes bright and alive, Scorpio eyes. Funny, wild, I waited. I waited and waited.

And hours later I had exactly what I wanted. Exactly. She was the one. She was into it, she has the same tattoo on her wrist. So does Tony. Tony did his own, 13 years ago he said. I talked to him, HIM, the star, our man, our tattoo god, the one who made it all happen, the traveling carnival for tattoo enthusiasts.

And she'll come every year from now on, she says.

She fucking tattooed Howard Stern! Oh yeah. And she didn't want to, she didn't like him, but now she knows him, and now she does, like him.

What a day. What a day.

This morning I wrote to Jon. Thinking there was no chance, insanely assuming, overly thinking, analyzing, insinuating, I wrote to Jon, and he's written back. There's a story there. There's more than I know. And he's a person with sense. I'm a maniac. I see that. I can be objective now. I have much baggage, I've been through a lot, I've been through it all, the loss of family, lovers, the suicidal depression, not trying it, no attempts, so I haven't been through it all, have I? Here I am thinking I'm royally fucked up, but compared to some I'm perfectly sane. And who is perfectly sane, after all?

No one will ever love me, no one I want to love me. It will all be a series of inappropriate love from inappropriate people, me politely refusing, me having to be stern, me sending mixed signals, the ones I think I want casually walking away. Or running. And this is why I think I want them, isn't it? Because they run? No, there have been those who were right there in front of me, never ran, and we loved, together, I've had that, haven't I?

He's going out of town this weekend, he'll call Sunday, so he says. We'll talk.

I need immediacy and he can't give me that right now. He's not emotionally available. I hadn't known. Really, I assumed he was. Available. There's so much more than I know. And I assume. Men need sex without emotion. How does it go? Men give love to get sex, women give sex to get love? It's loose. It's absurd, but there's something in it. It's sexist, of course, it's ridiculous, offensive, but yeah, I can see it.

Sex is not love. I've had sex without love. I know what that's like. If it's just going through the motions it fulfills something, but it opens up a big hole. If it's good, it opens up a bigger hole and starts to fill it immediately. And that's wrong. Open, fill it up, no, stop, it empties, and the hole shrivels, it's smaller than before. No feeling left.

I know what I mean, but I am so wasted.

I'm developing an eating disorder. I'm beginning to hate myself. I'm punishing myself. I'm so skinny. I'm weak. I can barely eat. I won't binge. I won't purge. But I deny myself. And now I can barely fit it in, the food. I don't know how to eat right now. Don't know what to eat. I'm eating anyway. But it's wrong and I'm confused. In general.

But aside from all of that. I have a great new tattoo. It's covered right now. She told me to leave it that way, to deny it oxygen until tomorrow. Oxygen = Bad. For tattoos. I loved her. I wanted her to be my mom. I want to move in with her and let her take care of me, and I'll take care of her too. But I think she and the roadie have something happening. Mother/Son thing? Lovers? Mentor/Student? I don't know. I don't need to.

There's a party in Tony's suite tonight. And a "Best of the Day" Contest. I'm tired. I want to go watch hockey and try to eat this food in front of me. I want to think about Jon and what I can possibly say to him when he calls. I've exaggerated, I've blown out of proportion, everything. Everything is wrong and I'm beyond fucked up. Who would want me? If you want me there is something wrong with you, you are fucked up more than I. You are doomed. Jon knows this. He is a smart man.

He is attracted, but does not know how deep the attraction is. He would fuck me, he will if it's okay, but he won't love me. This is clear. What do I want? What am I willing to accept? I thought I had it all figured out and now everything is up in the air.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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