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Howdy all,

Contained within this entry is a letter I recently received from a relatively good friend of approximately two years. Before I post it, though, let me update, briefly, on what the last year or so has done to improve my standing.
I've been receiving the formerly dreaded SSI payments for perhaps 9 months, have put them to mostly good use thus far, am still working at the Episcopal church on Thursday afternoons, and have within the last few weeks begun to apply to local colleges again, at the suggestion of countless people, but most strongly and influentially, a deacon at that church. Whether I get into and begin building a life at any of these institutions remains to be seen, of course.

As promised, however, here is the Email. Comments, and flames, are welcome.

We have no apologizing and explaining to do, the damage has been done for both of us. You want what I cannot and will not give you. And I completely disagree with the statements and the crap you heaped upon me a few weeks back. frankly, I'm done. I'm not willing to forgive, nor am I willing to give you a pity party which you so desperately wanted. I'm doing what I set out to do with my life, and loving it. You seem to think that because I love what I do, I have a stick up my ass which is far from the truth. I am, and always have been, an honest, and pretty modest person. I am, however, now confident in my abilities and have ambitions.

I don't know what prompted your onslaught of telling me I was selfish and egotystical, but I was trying to help you. I always have been trying to help you, and you have refused it, so has everyone else in your family. I can't say why you have refused it, this utter desire to want to fale seems to be the only answer I can come up with. you seem to like this mode of failure, this depression. I've been there, I know what that's like, I know what it's like to want to have people pity you, but I'm past that now. Do I have lapses? Yes of course I do, do i have days when I just hide away and feel sorry for myself, of course, if you don't then you're not human.


I am now at a point in my life where things are looking up for me in several ways. I was telling you this, because, as I said, I wanted to give you a model which you could draw from. You refused this model and somehow took it to mean that I had become arrogant and egotystical. You don't have to accept every element in the model and follow it to the letter, that would be pointless and obsurd. But it has worked for me, to get me out of that horribly depressed mood fueled by anger and dispair and hatred toward others.

Julia, I have gone as far I possible with you, further than i ever thought I could. looking back these few weeks, I've realized that we have nothing in common save some music and desires for old things and a rather sharp-tongued sense of humor. Does that make up an entire friendship full of lust and want and need? I don't think so. more would have to be inserted, but that more, for me, does not exist. It is the fundamental disagreements about life and how to live it that will forever drive us apart and I have had enough of them. I cannot change you, you can change you.

I've been wanting to write this for a long time, and your call just now set me to the task. your voice, at times so full of need and desire for me, today, was depressed, beaten down. I cannot stand that anymore, I have to move on. I've got a life to live that's going somewhere, I wish to god yours would as well. But it has come time for you to take action, if you so choose. I have done all that I can do for you. I cannot and will not pity you because I see the potential in you. If you can't then there is nothing I can do.

I have said all that needs to be said. I thought I had made myself clear a few weeks ago, but I guess not. I will not accept any sort of apology from you because there is no need to apologize. You would have to do a lot to make up for the things you said, because they are simply untrue, a discussion with several friends of mine about our conversation confirms this. It is you who need to change for the better.

Dave Bahr

While I kind of get what he means, even the tone of that letter strikes me as pompously self-important and involved. His idea of telling one they have great potential is just that... there are no details, no fleshing out of the statement, and I cannot and wil not tolerate that.
I should logically tear this piece of shit apart paragraph by paragraph, but since said depression and impatience make that an insufferable task, I'll not be going about this other than as impulsively as I see fit.
Having read the letter now four or five times, let me give some context to this apparently fatal bout of arguing etc. Dave and I have always disagreed and fought about my desire, or not, to return to college and/or have a job. I cannot state much more than that, as discussions with him seem to rely much more on implication and inference than is healthy for anyone's ego. Suffice it to say that the model he attempted to show me was that of himself, academically successful but socially rather limited if this letter is any indication ... the attitude it displays is very I'm okay Jack... the hell with you. I suggested he soften his approach, my life is fine.... why isn't yours? but he likes himself, so that won't be happening.
On reflection, he is right that what we had superficially in common were very few interests, but he neglects to point out, or perhaps even realize, that we emotionally fit together in ways I've rarely experienced elsewhere. I understood him on a decently profound level, he acknowledged that when in a good enough mood, but I suppose not being a yes-man makes his friendship unattainable. Criticism, and acceptance of such, was never a strong point. Isn't it interesting that, for the first year and a half of our friendship, he'd not consider a serious relationship with me in person because of the differences he outlined, but for the past six months or so, he's said he'd not mind dating me, because he's realized he's human.
I suppose the different approaches to life need some explanation as well, so in short, his is individualistic... mine is more community-based, if you would. I don't mind accepting help or criticism when it's warranted, including the more than occasional puncturing of arrogance or frankly stupidity bubbles, from which I often suffer.
And, since he's said he's "done", there is no need obligation to write to Dave personally with any of these thoughts.

More on this crap later, as I've now suddenly run out of things to post about it.

Current Mood: curious curious
Current Music: Jo Stafford, no other love

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So, four months and a day after the last entry, I post again.
To attend to the business side of things, SSI is back on the books, championed by none other than the folks. In need of my own insurance provider and about to be released from their company's coverage... Amazing what happens and how quickly people change their tunes when their own financial security is threatened, eh? Insurance red-tape being what it is, they might get stuck paying for a month, but the government's medicade benefits will be sufficient for all else. I'm not happy about this, but if I'm hired at the church, which now seems likely, I'll be able to go off SSI soon enough. This assumes, of course, that I'll have any in the first place. Oh, mother, how you do bank on foolish ideas at times... the same woman who wouldn't ever see a daughter of hers begging for handouts from the government is now driving that daughter to the local social security office and practically pleading for the aforemensioned handouts. I haven't changed my position on the issue at all, however. If Mom thinks SSI is the only way to guarantee health coverage for me for the time being, so be it. It does give me a bit of leeway in ensuring that my bank account doesn't completely dry up, anyhow.

On another topic: I've spent the last few weeks absorbed in 19th century cooking and household manuals, and I'm almost certain many of the recipes I've found can be easily prepared now. It's rekindled my interest in historical fiction dealing with the period... *(think Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House novels). All of it stems from a desire to get to the roots of things... to learn how to prepare items from materials as raw as they can possibly be. Now, thanks to this fascination, I have half-formed ideas about making my own sweet cider, doughnuts, sausage, apple turnovers, and so-on. I'm not sure whether all this thinking about 19th century foodways will inspire me to cook or to write, but one can hope for both.

Thirdly: The soundtrack to the food exploration has been furnished by Neil Sedaka, and Radio-IO's acoustic channel, which has introduced me to, among other fantastic artists, Richard Shindell, The Duhks, and most substantial of all, Alanis Morissette. Jagged Little Pill acoustic is now a mainstay in my collection. I love Sedaka so much that I'll likely devote an entire entry to all the reasons, but I wanted to spend a little time here on Alanis. I'd heard all of her mainstream singles countless times on local New York radio, sometimes failing to connect singer and song-- could that screeching banshee really be the celebrated singer/songwriter? Stripped of electric guitars and heavy drums, her music and lyrics can be downright pleasant, sometimes wonderfully delicate, verging on poignant, even melancholy. Lovely and sad, as a Paul Verlaine translator might've put it.

Incidentally, I've also been reading a bit of Verlaine and Charles Baudelaire in the original French, and, not fully understanding that, in several English translations. I can almost translate some of the simpler poems without looking at others' work, which frankly amazes me. One year of French study shouldn't yield this much comprehension, should it?

I'm also on the lookout for anything written by Frank O'connor, Hans Christian Andersen, Nikki Giovani, Sarah Orne Jewett, and Willa Cather.

Current Mood: relaxed relaxed
Current Music: Alanis Morisette, Mary Jane (acoustic)

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To any and all of you who've actually read the last entry,

None of this was directed at any of the five of you. But it was directed at some of the less than stellar men I know. *yeah, that is you, David, and possibly one woman as well.* All of you are incredibly self-involved and arrogant, think you're ever so perfect and therefore don't need to change in the slightest. Of course, from this lofty position as God's gifts to weak people, you consider it your right to hand out critical pointers and dictums as if there were a shortage of brain cells among the rest of the four million depressives of the world. And it's invariably complete crap. Yes, Angela, just a bit of this yelling was for you, specifically. I'm tired of all the headgames. That is all. If you do not want to talk to me, say so, clearly. Stop dribbling off contact over months. Stop needing your little lesbo lackeys to back your ass up. You're 30 years old, and still feel the need to lie and manipulate and emotionally reel in and dangle and screw around with any and all you find attractive. I don't understand why one would have to do this, especially one with such obvious brain-power and artistic talent. Yes, I know the latter is independent of everything, but why not use it fully instead of being the stereotypically jerky genius? And why am I such a poor judge of character that I fall for these sorts of sophistocatedly charming creeps? Really. I either find myself in a relationship with an intellectually brilliant person who's emotionally cold or just plain psycho, or I'm in love with one who's emotions are finely tuned, incredibly sensitive, and therefore warm, caring, kind, beyond belief, but who can't intellectually engage me. WTF? Where do I get off with this, and why do I sound like an arrogant prick who's too good for everyone and continually put upon, even to myself? Is my mother really right about wasting my life sitting up here? Should I actually get a job, and try to release/unstop some of the emotional blockage that's causing me to be so extremely socially retarded? This is getting ridiculous, because I'm seriously experiencing what should have been in-person high school bits over the internet, ten years too late. And then, even the one thing I knew I was very good, even excellent at doing, my academics, go haywire. Do I have so little controll of myself and my life and so-on that nothing will ever feel complete and totally correct? Why do I feel so bloody stupid and frightened and idiotic all. the. time? Why does Daddy have to be so frustrated and cranky every single day, when he never used to be? Why is Mom's circle closing so rapidly, so that she can only talk about her dog and how many socks she folded that morning? Why are my parents growing old so quickly, when I've only been here for five years? And by here, I mean stuck in the same emotional place: bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it, mad at myself for being such an ungrateful little brat, and not being able to articulate my thoughts as completely or have as much fun and look forward to things as I once could... wanting to return to childhood in too many ways, even to starving my body so that it looks just as it did then, refusing to understand, and then realizing that I was mentally unable to grasp the big picture, the huge significance of anything, any huge or small issue... going through the crisis of not enjoying literature at all unless I was detachedly analyzing it, thanks a lot, Bob... son of a Jewish bitch, you and your Jason Alexander-fueled, self-congratulatory rants almost destroyed my greatest passion for me, stupid little bastard... having the five-year dark night of the soul, finally finding a connection to prayer and the spiritual/supernatural through the old hymns, and then through the prayers themselves, the readings... falling off the wagon in realizing that my narration dream would go nowhere, losing and slowly regaining my vivid imagination, wanting in spite of all the danger... thanks, Jerry Raveeno! to revive said dream... wavering between getting SSI, and deciding not to for self-doubts and conscience prickings, plus the nagging of my own, tax-paying family who're trying in their own way to motivate me into believing that I'm smart and capable enough to get off my but, away from this computer, and into the outside world beyond the walls of my room that's severely in need of a vacuum-job, but again, they're using tough love, and they don't understand, or have given up the idea that emotional tenderness will work... I'm still sitting here with no goals two years later, am I not? So who can blame them? They've lost patience, and so have David, Jonathan, Nina, Elaine, and practically the rest of the people who know me. Why am I so blocked? Is it all based around that fear I spoke of earlier? I've had two years of academic failure, am convinced I'll never be involved in college life again with my record, 1.2 grade average or something, and hate myself for not having the associates' degree at least, knowing that once I begin classes, all my gung-ho interest for them will wane and then completely evaporate. Mother is so angry, father almost never smiles, grams is worried and sad, and pop-pop doesn't mension it at all. But they're all disappointed. You were the brightest in the family, Nina told me this, and Mom has said similar things. But, if I am so incredible and intelligent and honest and was raised to be so independent, why have I also been spoiled and enabled beyond reason? Why do I not feel strong enough internally to do anything important without being pushed, bitched at, threatened, coaxed, yelled at late at night over the phone? Why do I continually feel inadequate, ashamed, guilty, stupid and as though I'll never accomplish all the things father and others are hinting I must do... step up to the plate, Julia Leigh! he yells, whispers, cajoles nearly every week. I don't know what the fuck is required in stepping up to that proverbial plate, or what I'm not doing which warrants a reminder. They're worried. They're holding on tightly to me and trying to give me independence room, and I'm not taking it. We're seeing independence through different channels, hence all the friction, and that's not negating the fact that I'm seeing blind people every day who're making advances in their emotional/social/academic lives, and I'm still here at the mental age of about fifteen. Yes, I gain self-awareness via social interaction, but in any unfamiliar situation, such disappears entirely, leaving me with the shell of pretention which gets me no friends, and tons of enemies who think I'm a stuck-up little snot with a desperately entitled attitude, woefully unappreciative of everyone and unprepared for the rest of the world's responsibilities. I'm simply very confused. I have no clue who to speak to, what to say... I'm constantly forgetting bits, and never expressing myself as fully as I feel I must. I'm never finished. There are so many layers, and people ask me who the real Julia is, and to show her to them? If I knew this, I'd not find myself putting on any number of masks to fit the company, idiots. And yet, that still leaves the statement that I'd not have to do that if I weren't emotionally a teenager. What the hell? Why can I never figure out motives, motivations, except if the time is late and my mind decides to be exceptionally clear? And why can I not surmount the embarrassment of knowing that my mobility skills are so horrible that I dare not show them to strangers, even who will never see me again on the street? I don't feel confident enough to use a guide-dog, a train, or even cross a busy street. Heck, walking across three or four blocks, straight, confuses me. Hence why I never take walks in the evening. But all of this whining is only succeeding in alienating me from those who may help. Why can't I simply grow the fuck up?

Current Mood: confused confused
Current Music: Stacey Kent, What are you Doing The Rest of Your Life?

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First: If you are a passive-aggressive, manipulative, or otherwise emotionally stunted jerkoff, bitch, or dickhead, get out of my life. And don't bother driving me to the mall as a consolation prize, please. Just let the door hit you in the appropriate private parts, and I'll be a happy girl. Plainly put, I'm sick of being lied to, having all sorts of miraculously victimless, non-occuring excuses thrown my way while said excuser accuses me of similar crimes, and, seriously, if you have not learned to be slightly tactful in delivering criticism by age eighteen, and you are not medically classified as mentally slow, there is something truly wrong with you and your ass. Cowardice is based completely upon perceptions of behavior, and is certainly invalid if one accusing another of such is equally guilty. That is what we call hipocracy, kids. If examples are needed, some will gladly be provided:
First offense. Blocking folks from MSN, and/or disappearing from said communication service, repeatedly, so as to avoid being called out on various strings of bullshit? Oh, please. If you are 20, and impulsive enough to do this, you have profound emotional issues. And I'll not even attempt to begin analyzing them, because this behavior is symptomatic of a much larger set of problems, which I earlier termed passive-aggression. I might also call them narcisism, since they're an outward expression of the internal belief that the doer is never at fault. Furthermore, if this is a pattern noticed by multiple partners/lovers/friends, all female, one should conclude that one has difficulty relating to women. Whether this is due to one's family life being less than Ozzie and Harriet's idyll isn't exactly relevant. If one seeks to be proactive, choose one's own fate, and so-forth, can one also not choose to follow the dickish ideas of one's father? Sorry, but this is a clear case of do as I say, not as I do. And also of being able to dish criticism and tactlessness like it's going out of style, but cowering and crawling into an emotionally protecting, but socially harmful shell speaks directly to an extremely thin skin, and a desire to appear tons stronger/less vulnerable than one actually is. And all of this has nothing to do with one's intellectual aptitude, mind you. One's aptitude is quite high, but maturation in other areas is woefully not. I'm fed up with the lopsidedness of it all. And oh look, the rain perfectly captures this mood. It has just started to pour, and thunder here, so this entry will summarily be closed.

Current Mood: pissed off pissed off
Current Music: Amy Winehouse, Rehab

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It's apparent I need a change of scene when the old things bore me to tears. Since I'm not able to use my own internet connection very often, postings here have been infrequent, and bland. But, my caretakers are away for several days. So, I'm back for a while. Catching up with all sorts of people is fun... but I need something else to do with my time. I need a job. I need to get out of this house. I need to see the woman who might become my girlfriend some day. The woman who is, just now, a voice, and a wonderful writing style. And many other things not mensionable in public. Mostly, I need to be paid, and I need to see her. And I need my own apartment. Not necessarily in that order, but all three are vital.

Current Mood: unsatisfied
Current Music: Chris Brown, Wall to Wall

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First, to business. XM radios are apparently much more fragile than they appear. After leaving one in the sun for half an hour, I discover that it no longer receives a signal, and whatever white noise I can hear comes from a single speaker. Methinks electronics will never be my strong suit. If I can break something after only owning it for a month, what the hell will I do when I have a house full of appliances to keep in decent order?

Oh, that's right. This is for an audience, who'd probably want a little introduction to the oddity calling itself Cousin Cap. I'm a blind girl who happens to live in America's armpit, theGarden State. Some third-class Russian architect and his wife decided to name me Julia, and promptly threw me into an orphanage for lack of funds. Read: I was adopted by a slightly wealthier, but, I imagine, much more tight-assed Scotts-Irish clan, with whom I've lived more than 20 years. (More on them as the weeks pass.) Really. So much more that some of you might argue by the end of this ramble, you'll know a huge deal about their lives, motives, etc. and nothing substantial about yours truly. As of today, I'd say that the bulk of these entries will reference, analyze, or evicerate them.

Enough with the ponderous verbiage, however. My folks and I have a few problems resulting from living together past my eighteenth birthday. It is those which, sadly, might take up more than their share of space in this journal. It's safe to assume that the friction was, and is, caused by my less than stellar efforts at job-hunting. That's the truth, y'know.

More on all of this at a future date. The eyes are closing.

Current Mood: lethargic lethargic
Current Music: Jo Stafford, Roses

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