cucumber's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ms.kate's buttons! i got a postcard in the mail today from the land down under! it's from ms.kate! woo! it's cute and has bright shiny buttons on it and one day (when i have a mouse and can scan things nicely) i am going to turn it into a super cool layout! woo. 00:49 - 18 October 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BATLEX! Haha, oh man you gotta see my new and improved profile! 00:40 - 18 October 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My day in more than a nutshell. Wanna know how great my day was? Well I'll tell you! I woke up at 5p.m. Yes--laugh at me all you want, I laugh at you people for waking up at 8a.m.! Hahaha! Anyway, shortly after I woke up, she phoned! She had this photography project to do, and she had to take some pictures in the style of Cindy Sherman's Untitled Film Still #63. So off we went, armed with a blue wig, slutty boots and a big coat. She and I took turns posing in various pretty spots near Mel Lastman Square, and then headed home. This is where the fun began: when we got back to my house I decided to dress up in my Marilyn Monroe dress (I should just start calling it The Dress.) So I put The Dress on, and she smudged black makeup all around my eyes, and I stuck a cigarette under my eyes long enough for tears to run down my face. Here I was, this tragic beauty, looking lovely in dress, blue wig, exagerrated lipstick and a bottle of Southern Comfort in my hand. Xenia's project has a drug/junkie theme to it (heroin chic!) so we had a picture of me rolling a joint, swigging watered down Diet Coke out of a Southern Comfort bottle, and we were going to have one of me passed out on my bed with a slight smile on my face, but the fucking camera ran out of fucking film. D'oh. Then we sat for more than two hours talking about dreams -- I've been having this recurring dream where I'm with 3 people (one of them a regular at the coffee shop - a 50ish year old man named Jack) I know in a backyard with a big wooden fence, then all of a sudden the police take the others away because they're drunk and being irresponsible and I'm left there with three babies. I can only remember one - she looked eerily like my Mother as a child. Long story short, we looked up dream interpretations and decided this: (If you don't feel like reading boring dream crap, scroll down!) ---- BORING DREAM CRAP ---- FENCE: seperation, safety So basically, there were two different things we interpreted it as. First, the fact that the old men were taken away and I was the one left to watch over the children is the deep rooted anxiety (which I freely admit to) that I have a duty as protector in my life. The three children could signify my own fears that I'm not helping my own three younger siblings out as well as I could, or it could go one step further, with symbolism of me protecting my Mother as well as the two other similar figures - Dad and Patti, my stepmom - though I'm not generally as worried about them as my Mom. The other interpretation (quite fascinating to me, and probably says too much about my preoccupations) is that these three children represent the mind, the body, and the soul. The only baby's face which I remember (in my dream, whenever she sat, she was always in the center) is the one who looks like my Mother, who if you have read Cucumber at any length, is definitely a metaphor for Body (my Mom is thin and pretty and was one of the most popular kids in school. I was not.) So, the girl is body and I focused more attention on her, basically ignoring the other two. You'll notice, however, that I say babies and not children. These three were no more than toddlers - perhaps some significance that I need to grow up mentally, and set my priorities at a more "adult" level - focusing more on mental and soulful pursuits. The men, of course, are the sexual desire thing - but they were immature and had to be taken away. Thus, I both fear and loathe men, feeling both more responsible (staying with the kids) and unattractive (too much attention and worry on Body.) In both variations, the fence seems like it's a private place, it's secluded and locked away and no one can get in - representative, I'd assume, of my general internalization of all my problems. I talk about them here, sure, but in real life I rarely mention anything to anyone. ---- BORING DREAM CRAP OVER ---- So after we had interpreted this series of dreams, as well as some other dreams Xenia and I had floating around, we noticed it was 10:30 and dude went home. Then I sat around all night. I wrote a letter to Violet and it cheered her up a bit, which of course cheered me up even more. I love making people feel good! The best things in the world are the little guestbook signatures I get in Lex Designs of people going "Wow.. I can't believe you'd do all this stuff for us!" and emails like the one from Violet that say, and I quote, "So many diaries I read have special mentions about you, cos you are so generous." :* ) So yeah. After the letter from Violet I spent four hours cleaning my room. Four hours. It's fucking sparkly in here! It's so nice, a positive environment really contributes to your mood. For instance, at 6:45 am I decided to make a pot of coffee because Dad had a Doctor's appointment at 8 this morning. I realized he had to fast for it, though, and as such couldn't drink anything, so I made up a page out of the "OLIVE STAR." Olive is my street name - stalk me if you can! ;) Anyways, the front (and only) page of this fictional paper had headlines like "ALEXIS CLEANS ROOM! --In other news, pigs were reported flying over North York today." and "ALEXIS FINDS JOB.. Okay no she didn't, but she'll get one soon!" and a special letters to the editor section where I wrote something to the effect of "My Dad is the greatest and without him I wouldn't be nearly as great as I am. Also, he's the coolest Dad on the planet." I saw him smile.. and he hugged me goodbye before he left. Then Patti woke up and bummed a smoke off me, and I came here and wrote this. This must be the longest entry I've ever done! It's taken 33 minutes to type! Woah. ps - I'm not going to bed until 11 tonight, I swear, just so I can knock my schedule back into a somewhat normal pattern. 08:27 - 17 October 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ten Years In two weeks it's my high school commencement at my old school, MDHS - I spent an hour or so talking to my old friend Matt on ICQ and I guess it got me all sentimental, as I wrote this little thing and I'm putting it here since I don't know what else to do with it. Ideally, I would get up on stage at commencement, hair and makeup nicely done and my pretty black Marilyn Monroe dress on, and recite this, but that won't happen. So you guys get to read it instead. Ten Years. September, 1991: First day of school - Ms. Loughlin's class. I remember the first day. Sitting on the floor of the Gym, the principal welcoming us to our first day in the Gifted program. I remember the way the teacher led us to the classroom, and divided us into groups. I can't remember what my group was, but I remember the cool kids were all Panthers. I remember sitting between Dickson and Matt. I remember Kristina, pigtails, ugly clothes and a whiney voice, two desks down, and how from the moment I saw her I hated her but knew she'd be my only friend in that class. I remember resolutions at the end of the school year - "THIS summer I'll lose 20 pounds, I'll work out every day, and when I come back to school everyone will like me." I would repeat those same words 3 years later, running to the bathroom in the middle of class. Even as I left, tears running down my face, they kept repeating the same thing: Fat thing. Fat thing. Fat thing. Oh, God --I couldn't believe you'd do that to me, Sam. You lived on my street, and when we waited for the bus to pick us up we would talk, you'd play songs on your walkman to me. I remember one day you came with a tape you were really excited about - a tape of your older brother's. "They're called New Order," you said, "and no one knows where they are!" Years later, I know who New Order are. I don't remember why you said "no one knows where they are"--but I remember you reading song lyrics to me like poetry. In the winter of grade 7, they moved our bus stop. It was closer to our houses, so it was okay, but there was no shelter from the cold wind. You and I stood there shivering, trying to work up the courage to ask the person in the house on the corner if we could stand on his enclosed porch. And when the school bus came, you went to the back and I stayed at the front. So why, Sam, how could you do this to me? Walking down the hall, I had no idea what was coming. I walked in the room and there you all were. "Look," you said, turning to me--"it's Fat Thing!" Then they all started repeating it. Tell me Sam, Dickson, Kenn - tell me all of you -- have you ever heard 15 people insulting you at once? Walking around you like a bad after school special, calling you fat? And I remember you, Matt, the only boy who came to my birthday party in grade seven. You bought me the Lisa Loeb cd, the one with the song "Stay" on it. I remember the huge crush I had on you, the only boy who was consistently nice to me. The boy who would always insult Neil when he picked on me, to turn the assault from me to him. And don't think I forgot you, Neil. Oh no - yours is a face that won't soon fade. I can remember your voice clearly, saying that I was ugly and no boy would ever like me. I still hear your words, but you made it so they come out of my own lips. I could always tell you were most like me, though - I had a knack for spotting the ill-adjusted kids. I remember calling you from Emily's house, and asking you out--playing up to my white trash image by talking dirty and coming on too strong--then hanging up and laughing with my friends about what a loser you were. I wanted to write more here, to reveal all the things you did to me - all of you, the Gifted class of 2001 - but, as I write more, less becomes distinct and revenge doesn't seem as sweet to my lips anymore. Instead, I give you this: I forgive you, and it's okay if you don't know why I'm saying this at all. None of you were bad, and though I hated you and cried because of you, and though I still have problems to deal with, I don't feel the anger anymore. I guess I'm getting old now, and I really don't see any point in hating anymore. I guess the truth is, and I know it sounds cliche: you were like a family to me. Ten years ago I met you, and I'm here again ready to say goodbye. The good memories will overpower the bad in the end, and tears can be wiped away as cleanly as a chalkboard when Miss Clarke was through with it. Good luck. 14:22 - 17 October 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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