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Monday, Nov. 01, 2004 / 8:11 p.m. ~I Accomplished What I Set Out to, and Did it in Style~ Oy, with the turmoil already! Remember the crazy Diaryland haters days? The mad guestbook entries, just mad crazy, the fun we used to have? Ah, well, I had it today at LiveJournal. The new boy decided to write me a "Goodbye" letter on his journal, instead of talking to me directly, like a man, and in response I wrote an entire documentation of the events from September 19th 'til now, as long as we've 'known' each other. We barely saw each other in person at all (instead talking on the phone every single day, multiple times a day, as he called and called and called during that time), as he does not live terribly close, and he is busy, and he is this and that, but the time we spent was indeed quality time, and it felt we'd established much. I vented, sure, angrily, oh yes, and finally broke down to call him, knowing he'd never talk to me. I left a very angry voicemail message, calling him weak and a coward, as one might call someone who chooses to 'break up' via a journal entry, which had actually been done to him at one point. Ah, what goes around comes around. Anyway, I just turned on my cell phone for the first time today and there is a voicemail message from him, asking me what I hope to accomplish, and not knowing my reply, assuming he knows what I hope to accomplish, and telling me that I never will by writing what I FEEL. That's funny. I am laughing. I write because I have to write. Some people talk on the phone, some people play musical instruments (well, I play, but not to express myself), everyone has a thing, a way, even if it's sitting really quietly letting it all fester and putrefy (I'll guess this is his way), but my way is to write. And write. And write and write and write and write, and marvel at the speed with which my fingers fly over the keyboard. This is me, expressing myself. And I did it there, in LiveJournal land, and people read it, and his friends read it and came to attack me and call me bad psychological terms, ya know, like "schizophrenic" and "psycho" and "deluded", on account of because they like the way I write. It was fun times. Exhausting, but I will admit, I love the interaction with the readers. The readers love to read it, and tell me how awful I am, and keep reading, until they can stand it no more, because they can't keep up with me. At some point they all fall to the floor, and I, not even eating all day, say, "Come on, we're not finished yet, is that all you've got?!" Like all those times Brent danced with me until my knees hurt and I gave up. Now there was a match for my energy. I hate it when people give up, throw in the towel, run and hide, cower, pretend they're actually afraid of me. Who would ever actually fear me? I will say I moved my car when I came home from work, because he knows where I live and I imagined violence from him, pictured him with large bat or machete or mallet or something, ripping my car to shreds. Yes, folks, I was skeered of him. Isn't this all funny? I think it is, now, but earlier today I took turns wanting to die, cry, and write until my fingers fell off. So I sat in my little cubicle, my supervisor not in today, and wrote madly in MS Word. Wrote two super long entries to upload later, exposing every single thought, good, bad and very very ugly, about the new boy, and how fucked up he is, and how much I like him, and how much that makes me fucked up. Fun times. And he read some, and his friends trashed me, and I fought back, dukes up, ready to go, swaggering and swaying, and feet dancing all around, gloves on tight. But in the end, so few got it. That it was just me writing in my journal. Just like it used to be here, back in the crazy good old days when I'd get shaky just clicking on the link to my guestbook. I like balance and calm, but I thrive on fire too. It burns out so quickly - witness how calm I am now, the sense of humor I have about all of it - but it burns hot and people run as if from an erupting volcano. It's just little old me. Ms Force With Which to Be Reckoned. Am I that powerful? I tend to forget. FEAR ME, for I am Joleen!!!!! He even used my real name in all his comments to me today, and oh how he commented, and had things to say to my friends, and then his friends defended him and called me crazy, and it was a mad riot. And now? I hear his little calm message on my cell's voicemail, and he sounds like Kermit the Frog, just like he always did, and I thought that was funny. He looks nothing like Kermie, he looks nothing like his voice, he has a very gruff exterior, but I liked him a lot, I was falling for him, crazy warts and all, and I got skeered, and then he got skeered, and we both thought we'd better back out quickly. But he did the final cut, the thing I couldn't do, and the rejection stings, yes it does. I knew it wasn't right, my falling for him, he was all wrong, and love never makes sense, but he knew it too, he knew he couldn't afford to be hurt by me, and I suppose his weakness is very unappealing after all. I love strong men, confident men, men who know I'm all bark. That is such a turnon to meet a man who gets me! But he was lost when it came to me. He didn't know which way to turn. I liked him, I didn't, I wanted him, he turned me off with his weak side, and all in all, whew, it's over in a grand conflagration of sight and sound and words, so very many words pounded out at lightning speed all day long. Time to give it a rest, but to say, to the boy, what did I want to accomplish?, I wanted to write how I felt, and I succeeded. You, however, in your responses, failed. You proved yourself cowardly and not up to the challenge, so you shall not know me. And this is your loss. We're all losers here, but I win for surviving it all by letting it all spill out, in style. Cost of the War in Iraq
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