LIMINAL

photos from sam. no particular order. you've seen them, ajna and vicky. i feel like posting them because i love them. i do. i look empty, like i'm wanting to be filled.

i met with sam today. i fell for his stupid accent and charisma before and still am drawn to it, to him, but with an annoyed and amused distance. he seems well aware of it. and well practiced at using it to get what he wants. i don't like the feeling of being used, because, let's face it, i got great photos too. but fuck, i need what he has or i wish i made him feel some mixture of desire, jealousy, admiration, annoyance, submission...how i feel towards him. it's like i'm powerless in our relationship, whatever it is.

Dear Metabolism, thank you for guilty shit?

I ate a bunch yesterday, and then had dinner plans with a new friend yesternight. = more eating. So we got dumpling and a sesame pancake and a sticky bun in the lower east side. And then we went to a muffin place and got banana creme puddin and a spicy pumpkin muffin. Needless to say, I was feeling guilty about eating so much shit, somewhere in my mind. I'm always feeling guilty when it comes to food; but it's my job to stay skinny, so it goes hand in hand I'd say.

But this happened to me before in New York on a particularly guilty morning where I worried about my consumption. I woke up sick. With a tummy ache. And shit, a bunch. Cleared my insides. It's like my guilt manifests itself in my metabolism. From mentally fucking with my mind to physically fucking me.

But of coarse it is a sick pleasure. Because the physical sickness is guilt free. This get-out-of-jail free card for my eating because my body coordinates with my head so I don't have to burn off the food, I just have to queezily expell it.

Usually, my best days are when I'm low on the scale when I weigh myself. I've avoided the scale like the plague lately; convinced that I'll eat less or better that day and so it's best if I weigh tomorrow. I weighed today, after I shit, of coarse. And I'll weigh again, after I shit again, if I do. And it will make me feel good.

That is so retardedly fucked up. But that's my little world. I watch the foodnetwork, eat tons and say I have a fast metabolism to everyone and myself, balancing on a mushy foundation of guilty eating.

The thing is, I try to pretend that my paranoia isn't there. That my best days aren't 'down' days on the scale in the morning. But here I am, loving that my fucking stomach woke me up 4 hours after I went to sleep and keeps churning away, because, maybe...just maybe...I'll get to shit take 3 this morning, which leaves more room for more food&guilt to fill my belly.

Cope cope mope

I've been running through a string of cliches in my attempt to move on.

When Dustin left, I went to Hole in the Wall every day, got drunk by 6, and grieved privately.

The night Andrew called, I was so stunned, I didn't even know what to do. Asking myself, am I supposed to cry now or what? I make tea and watch two romantically devastating films. And send an ill-advised e-mail to him after an hour or so of sleep. Since then I have generally subsisted on cigarettes, caffeinated beverages, and toast. Skipping class, embarking on lonely adventures. Bought drawing supplies (God I've missed charcoal), but couldn't focus for shit. Bought film, developed film-- and some of it was shot this summer when I visited him in DC. Went drinking with my roommates, saw a show with some people in my program. Social events are enjoyable, but temporary.

What is so generally shitty is that he has all his good friends in Austin, and it's life as normal for him. And here I am, in Chicago (and all of you are elsewhere), wondering what the fuck I'm doing, if this degree is worth it, and, pathetically, if staying meant we'd still be together. So many things don't make sense to me about what happened, and my questions have gone unanswered. But I can't make him respond, and I can't make him want to be with me. It'd be, I feel, stupid to try. And I feel so strange even thinking about calling him or texting him. Like I'm trespassing, somehow.

I've been having the most surreal, near terrifying dreams since that conversation, to the point where I dread sleep. And when I wake up, I have to remember and remind myself that we're not together anymore. It's the pinnacle of masochism.

If he told me he stopped loving me, that would be better than silence.

self pity. eww.

that sucks vicky. and somehow i am so wrapped up in myself that what do i do? i write about myself.

i spend my time chasing boys. boys i don't want to replace boys i think i want to fill some void that i don't know why it exists or if it really exists. what the fuck. something like that. because somehow, after a financially and careerly successful day, i find myself at home balling: throwing myself down on my stupid little mattress pad of a bed crying my brains out, wrecked with bitter disappointment and ugly guilt.

fuck. how do i manage to pull this off? to bring myself into such a loathsome place for no reason? what am i really after with all this shit?

Whoops

Ha. Never mind any mention of Andrew in previous posts. He broke up with me Wednesday night. More confused and somehow full of dread than anything else. Back to those halcyon days of whoremongering and solitary drunkenness.

Sex sober or with feeling is cheap and overrated. Let that be what I take away from my experience with the two guys I tried to date. Let that be my epitaph, for Christ's sake.

Between stale and pathetic, I don't even have scathing comments or a torrential outburst of words. Perhaps I have become passionless.

And I'm silly, stupid, childish, naive, for buying into that illusory kind of beauty.

How completely out of character.

(mark michael = markael)

i'm not invincible when it comes to markael. the phone tormented me yesterday. i cried in my bed. in naples, i can't use the pretty model boy or change of scenery to occupy my attention. i crave him in my life in whatever capacity i can get and it's driving me insane every stupid minute i don't hear from him telling me he's sorry for taking so long to get back to me and of coarse he wants to immediately come over or me to go to starbucks or whatever. just to be friends. i won't let myself want more because i refuse to be in any sort of on and off relationship, and he flipped it off.

fuck me.

just the shit that happened today.

i woke up to a warning on my car that without a decal, they'd tow it and i need to immediately move it. i drove it to a nearby grocery store where i went shopping for breakfast stuff for the next few days since i'm occupying my friend Chessie's apartment in Kendall, which is in South Miami about 30 minutes from South Beach since my normal apartment fell through. I've been thankful for the escape and, although i haven't spent any money on food in the past 4 days since arriving to miami...i prefer my supermarket bargain shopping for once to an awesome free meal from an older male friend; i feel a little insecure about the dependency.

but my card was declined and i've been so fucking nervous about money anyway that that is why i've let myself be fed by my friends every meal since i got here. but i was just nervous about it, not out of it, i thought since i had put $500 in my account three days ago. i now know why it was gone and my account was $295.53 overdrafted, but this morning i didn't know what to do with myself. my mom and grandpa wired $800 into my account by now, but i'm still so freaked out about it i don't know quite what to do.

my agent called and said i'm doing a commercial tomorrow morning. cool.

i scheduled a coffee date with a reporter from the naples daily news because they want to write a special about me winning the naomi campbell thing / is it real or a scam?

i scheduled my fitting for the swim association show for this thursday.

i definitely didn't book the oscar de la renta runway show i went to the casting for today.

i scheduled a consultation about getting a breast augmentation to be a small B for friday.

chessie said her roommate didn't want me in their place anymore, so i texted my friend quinto (a 40 something photographer i crashed with my first night here) to stay at his place tonight, and rescheduled my fitting for friday after the other appointment---my plan was that after the commercial i'd drive back to naples til friday morning. i could put more money into my account, check on my dog, see Michael (Mark), and drop off my mom's car at the airport the night before she'd arrive so i don't have to get a friend to pick her up since i won't be there.

Michael dumped me over an email. it was good. it made me cry. i didn't want to go back to naples now.

i went to borders and read three cups of tea. i watched the bachelorette. i was formulating plans in my head about places to stay here til next sunday after my show but talked with chessie and she said screw her absentee roommate, she didn't like the girl anyway so she gives me permission to continue crashing and we'll if i run into her, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

fuck. i have to pee. then i'll read a little more and wake up extra early tomorrow. my call time is at 6:30, but they serve breakfast at 6. i'm going at 6, obviously.

i don't know what i'll do with all my free time in miami and i don't want to be distracted by the shit it has to offer, like alcohol and parties. but maybe i'll see ivan again and let myself relax or something instead of like last night where i kept cheeking him. He is a hot, successful model i was vaguely dating before i met michael and who i never officially cut ties with. i think he's dorky, but miami is small. people know him, and they think otherwise.

i was crazy about michael and he wrote that AMAZING story about me and him and the Sea Turtle that i won't let myself read til i don't know when.

long day. tomorrow probably will be too. i now, more than ever, want to be in new york and start over.