that's a misremembered amanda palmer lyric, but i like it better my way. I have the following projects going: an embroidered ombre heart, an embroidered caterpillar, embroidered marzipan skull, embroidered fashion doll, sewing lace and pearls onto a cardigan, several unfinished canvases, several unfinished paper dolls, gold-leafing an oyster shell, i WANT to make a tree and puppet for a friend, i WANT to make an embroidered clive barker face for a friend, several unfinished papercraft my little ponies, plans to make a purse shaped like a pangolin, plans to make felt envelopes, the dream of some kind of Wheeler (from Return to Oz) inspired project, half a papier mache sculpture... and most of the time i just stare at it all, wishing i wanted to do any of it. and even if i made those envelopes I don't write letters like i usedtacould.
but it's all okay, actually, because the wanting to do it and the moments when i do work on the projects are good. i do get those guilt blossoms "you're wasting time" but then the process is supposed to be a pleasure, too. so it's okay.
After five hours of waiting, checking up every hour, the Inwood police finally called me back to say this: there is no one named Michael Fisher living at that address. They spoke to a 'spanish family'. Nevermind that Michael is Dominican, and all his neighbors speak spanish. The police would not tell me the name of the family, if there was a dog barking (michael's dog wyatt barks when someone comes near their end of the building) or if there was an SPCA sticker on the door.
i know michael fisher is my boyfriend because i have seen his driver's license. i know he lives at that address. it is therefore unlikely that the police went to the correct address, unless somebody has murdered michael and his mother and stolen the apartment.
my godfather will go next, he will get the address right and he will get shit done. he's very good at that.
i think i broke a blood vessel in my eye from crying- is that possible? i am still a wreck. i think i will never see michael again.
The police are going to check on Michael's apartment. Called the operator again, now says phone signal is 'normal busy signal' and not 'trouble on the line'. So maybe it's been off the hook for three days, because... because he had a fatal athsma attack and his disabled mother didn't replace the phone? because someone robbed and shot him? because he's been in the hospital for some other reason.
i'm so focused on the image of him dead. i don't mean to be morbid, it might be because of the euthanized cat that i am so upset, but it's there. there's no available reality where he calls me back and everything is fine.
For three days, Michael's phone has been down and he hasn't answered his emails. We usually talk every day. The phone is a landline (he has no cell) and the operator says there is "trouble on the line" which means it is not disconnected and he is not intentionally ignoring my calls. <-- Mom insisted for the first day that he was breaking up with me, so I am fixated on the fact that the phone issue seems to not be his fault.
On the second day I checked google and saw that there was a fire in his neighborhood which injured people and destroyed two apartments. the photos showed a building like his, really nearly identical, so of course i freaked out until i saw that the address wasn't correct. I called his neighborhood police and found out that he hasn't been arrested, there haven't been any complaints or emergencies at his address, and he's not in the morgue.
I don't know the numbers of any of his friends or neighbors, and his school had no second phone number for him.
Assuming that there is an electrical problem that is causing his phone line and internet to be down, why hasn't he used someone else's phone to call me and tell me he's fine? Or used someone else's internet?
Assuming that he or his mother is injured, why would that cause the phone line to be down? The only thing I could think of that would break the phone and cause injury is a fire. Is there another possibility?
I can't bear to think he might be hurt, or his mother might be, or his snakes or dog. And if they're not, I can't bear to think that he would be so idiotically, thoughtlessly unreliable not to call me after three days. No matter what the cause of this, the outcome isn't good.
In other news, I took one of our cats to be euthanized, watched a car-struck blinded deer wobbling around in circles on the road, and have been trying to get a painting shown at a local restaurant.
I am training to swim across Harvey's Lake, which is the largest lake contained entirely in PA.
I am applying to programs that place teachers in high-need schools.
*sigh* Well, I could do worse. Most of the people I love are crazy about Cory Doctorow. It's funny, people say I look like either Kathleen Hepburn or Muriel Hemmingway, neither of whom I like or find appealing. Hm.
Spent the weekend at a family reunion in Lake Lure, NC near the town of Bat Cave. Kudzo vines everywhere, loud cicadas, and the most wonderful cousins a girl could have. Swam across Mirror Lake with my third cousin Jeremiah and then played Squares with him, my fourth cousin Eric and his girlfriend. Other fourth cousin Caitlyn used this little Face Analyzer program she has on her game consol to see how related we were to each other. Caitlyn (who is 8) and I got TWINS, but she and her father were NO RELATION. Other answers were more typical. What else. Met a wonderful new principal and founder of a public charter school down there, this very lively and warm woman raising her son alone and starting a school.
Learned a new lexical variation: scrapple in the North is livermush in the south.
So, wake up tomorrow and begin driving to North Carolina. Full trip should be just shy of 11 hours plus break times. Am trying to make mixCDs for the trip, but as always, it's a big hassle. Bleh.
Stayed up to the wee hours talking with Dave, who I haven't seen since just before I moved to China. He is still with the same woman, but is now a year shy of graduating from vet school and has developed and honed himself wonderfully. Talking to him about our mutual friends and our history felt like talking about another person- my twin, perhaps, someone who I love deeply and very slightly pity.
Therapy has been a good experience for me overall. I am not the sort of person to read abuse-survivor books but I did get a lot of information out of Mean Mothers by Peg Streep. My biggest problem in terms of mental health seems to be forcing myself to take my antidepressant every day. Well. Jenna has insulin and I have Lexapro, so I should just shut up and do it.
His name is Michael. My adorable gorilla. It's been pretty breath-taking. We met in May and, circumstances being what they are, have met each other's parents quickly and sort of bypassed the stage where you date casually. Which is nice for me. I can't help but compare him to Sebastian, who even after a year didn't want to meet my parents. And who, at 5'8", used to throw a temper tantrum if I wore heels. Michael loves it when I wear heels. Think of that.
I am going to therapy about once a week, sometimes twice a month, and doing that cognitive thinking jive that everyone is into these days. It's not very satisfying, but it's obviously got a lot of sense behind it.
I got back into Kingdom of Loathing, which I did in 2004-2005, but then stopped. It's much more fun now than it was back then. Was amazed that someone from my old Clan actually recognized my name and remembered me. We randomly ended up in the same new Clan.
Remember a million years ago when I helped my friend Dave dreadlock his hair? He just auctioned off the (enormously long) dreads to pay for his trip down to the Gulf to volunteer. I haven't seen him since 2006 but will see him tomorrow or the day after.
