Friday, May 14, 2010

May 14th

I am generally satisfied with my life.

It's strange for me to say this, because I never can predict the moment it turns. It seems to have been some time (although it always seems long enough since the last time that I forget what it's like), and I don't want to jinx it.

So it feels so trivial and stupid to even care about this. But lately, I've been in the situation where I'm the third, or fifth, or seventh wheel. Or conversations at picnics turn to discussions of boyfriends, and I'm surpised that I'm the only one in the group of a half dozen girls sitting in a circle without a boyfriend, who has never had one. I pretend to be engrossed in my phone, as I feel the sun burning my back.

It's not even something I care about when I'm by myself. I like my space as much as I dislike most people. I'm about as affectionate as petrified wood. It's only when I'm surrounded by people in happy relationships that it becomes a has/has-not. And I hate being a has-not, even if it's something I don't need. I have tried on jeggings, I buy big sunglasses even though they make me look like a bug. I just want to fit in.

Jesus I feel like I'm in middle school again. Good thing I'm graduating college this weekend.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Funny, within the music faculty, that any professor I've worked with generally has good things to say about me, but the ones who have never worked with me are always negative.

Meh, whatever. I'm proud of how I did, and how I've grown this year.

Sunday, May 2, 2010


I am so thankful for all of my friends here. I have many people here that I care about, and that I know I will miss when I leave. There are a few people who can go fuck themselves, but I don't need to do anything. I'm sure their unprofessional and rude attitudes will fuck them over later in life. And that's all I have to say on that subject.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

April Fool

Hairpin digging into my scalp. Fly catches my eye lit by the screen. I don't move. It's so close to my face.

It goes so quickly, with no middle ground.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Paid off

because I got in.

Still riding this thing.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Phone rang.

Hello? Erin?
This is Dr. S.
Oh. Hey.
Listen, I was thinking. You should contact that guy you auditioned for and just ask when you'll know. Because you have some decisions to make.
Oh, yea. I was thinking about doing that tomorrow.
Why not today?
Well, because it's after business hours.
Well, why not shoot him an email?
Ok. I'll do that now.
It's just, you need to know. And I think you'll do better, regardless. Because then you'll know.
Yea, that's probably right. I try not to choke.
And depending on what he says, I'll have a glass of champagne for you in celebration or to sink your sorrows into. She laughs.
Heh. Yea. I told my friend that when I found out that if I got in I'd spend my next paycheck on booze for a party, and if I didn't I'd spend my next paycheck on booze.
She laughes.
Don't worry, I only worked like twice. It's not including Easter week. Not a big paycheck. I scratch at my hand. Find that I'm crying.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

What goes through my head, when I should be socializing.

Answer: A lot.

What I say:
a. If I know them: Too much
b. If I don't, that well: nothing at fucking all.

It's too cold in this house. I'm by myself, hyper-tuned. Every noise warrents investigation.

The space heater is only a few feet away, but I don't move. Tank top and tights and goosebumps and menstruation and bracelets and disgust and stress-acne.

Friday, March 12, 2010


-fluctuates way too easily, eating chocolate graham cracker cookies in my bed looking at photographs. One week contains the best and worst of my emotions.

-went to the grocery store farther away from the UPS bubble late at night. Went because I thought I had a wart on my hand. Couldn't distinguish "cauliflower-like surface" (their description, not mine) from the miniscule shiny surface on my palm. Ended up buying exactly this: ONE pack G-U-M Eez-Thru Flossers, ONE bundle of "Thin Asparagus," ONE bottle Simply Saline Nasal Mist Cold Formula, and ONE box of Twelve Cinnamon Pop-Tarts.

-got an email response from my thank-you note. Three lines, one of them "Please keep in touch" and a casual sign-off. I am so anxious.

-just wants to dance, all the time. I am tempted to in choir, before class, but am afraid of what people would think. Instead I dance with little kids, the toddler I babysit, bombarding people in practice rooms, shaking my booty and boobies and arms and legs until I stop.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Hell is other people.

Wrote a big long post. Erased it.

We are out of oil in the house. I hate this house.

I just hate feeling like I'm the only one who does things. Before I left for NJ, if I didn't get the mail, no one did. That's just fucking retarded, for a house full of adults. I don't get what people do at home.

If I have to continue to live with people after this... I thought I wouldn't feel lonely around other people, but it just gets more and more crippling.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Night before.

I wish I was a violinist. I could bring my instrument anywhere, practice whenever I want. I'm getting antsy. Listening and mental practice help, but I'm still terrfied.

Drove by myself, in a rental car, two hours there, one hour back. No map, GPS and phone batteies both on low. The phone is what I really needed, to talk to anyone. Instead, I talk to the GPS machine.
Turn right on Eagle Rock Drive.
Is it this one?
In point two miles turn right on Passiac Street.
Where is that? Did I miss it?
Stay left.
What? I didn't hear you. Did you know this car has XM Radio?
Stay left.

There are so many highways here. I drove on five today. I'd have to go quite a distance in Washington. There's not enough space here.

It's been awhile since I put myself out there, I guess. I pick at my tights, new ones, of a slick sealskin texture, as if water would roll off in beads. Ten students here. No one else in my program. Three have auditioned already. They take 2 students a year. I make appropriate small talk.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

February 26th, I guess.

I'm making the same mistakes all over again, I'm sure of it. We're sitting in a bar, in Hilltop. Red retro lesbian lounge, two join from the biker bar: me, Old Friend, New Friend, and his Straight Boyfriend.

I hate Straight Boyfriend. New Friend always pays for drinks. SB talks about how NF pays for his gas, because he can't afford to fill his tank to drive to his two shifts a week at Panera Bread. Old Friend rolls her eyes. I handle the pack of cigarettes in my purse. I only smoke to have something to do with my hands, and it's probably better I play with the half-empty pack of menthols than the can of mace.

SB and OF get up and dance. New Friend leans in. Do you like sex?
I ponder. I don't know the right answer to tell him.
I mean, because I don't. I think I was raped.
I think that you can learn to have sex. For the first time, since that doesn't count if you don't want it to. And it's a good part of relationships. So I hear.
I just don't like it.
That's fine.
And he basically has a fiance.
Does she have a ring? I joke.
Well, yes. He frowns. On layaway. And she hates me. But I friended her on Facebook.

NF tells me the news OF already shared.
Yea, I mean, I don't know. He contacted me recently, so I figured he was single.
He nods. Yea. I feel bad.
Because.... New Friend, in his chivalry, skirts around the issue. She doesn't like me.
Well, that's fine. I don't really like me.
She has a lot of problems, though.
Well, so do I.
I can clearly see the dotted line tracks in his mind, dodging around spears and knives.
Let me put it this way. He pauses. K is anorexic.
And you.... are, well-
No, I get it.
And I think it really messed with her.
The same way it would mess with me if the guy I had been seeing for years cheated on me with, well, her. Schwarz-Erin and Licht-Erin, or I guess-the last name can be debated. The dark and light. I'm always the light, always the fucking light one. Guess I'll continue to tell them I keep cigarettes around purely to smoke. My hands are shaking.

Straight Boyfriend and Old Friend are arguing over money. New Friend and I exchange glances from across the table, winking, grimacing. I look in my lap a lot, maybe the answers are there.

New Friend drops his glass of Lambic. Splinters, shards, shreds, scattered, landing everywhere. I drive home, peeling off my bloody tights that scratch the porcelain sink and cut clear through my hands the tighter I vainly wring.

Sunday, February 21, 2010


Same old roads. Same old fucking roads. I’ve passed them each four, five times. Lake Flora, Lake Helena, no lakes in sight, only J. M. Dickenson Road, Glenwood Road, the same old fucking gas station and the same old fucking trailer park.
There’s no use calling anyone. I can help you if you’d like. But I can’t give them anything to do so.
I always get lost here. I always think turning right is right. I always end up spit back somewhere else. I am convinced the Key Peninsula exists solely to fuck with me, to suck me into wormholes and
A deer stares at me from the side of the road and I burst into tears. A fifth of tequila, a fifth of vodka, lay unopened at my feet. It’s been hours since I left. My arms are very tired.
Here is the information you need, messages my dad.
No. You don’t get it. I’m not going. I want to go home.
Ok. Drive safely. Love you.

Something broke. The pack of Diet Coke splits apart, rolls around in my trunk, hitting the sides with a dull metallic thunk. I’m not leaving here the same, says the man in the mask. How cliché my vision is. Feathers and blue jeans, he stands, waiting for me to get out. I drive in the other lane to pass him.
I see the car and I don’t even think. Quick jerk left. So many things I can blame this on, exhaustion, a seizure, loneliness like a tic. Get out of your car and come see me.
She just lays there. Smoke whispers out of our crushed hoods.
I get out. Hello!
Doesn’t move.
No, see, I reached out. Your turn.
I almost got in an accident here before. Maybe I only just saw someone almost get hit here. It seems to blend interchangeably. I’m not in an accident, get out, get out, your turn!

She sits up, without looking, and drives away. My car is totaled. And somehow, I’m at the gas station again.

Monday, February 8, 2010

The cat is howling. Every few cries, one gets caught in his throat. I hear it scratch along his vocal chords, grasp onto his soft palatte, until the air forces him out, choking. Fine, he says, I'm upset.

What still surprises me is when I think about this. Not when I'm sad, not when I'm lonely. Or. Maybe I am, and this is how I realize that. It just catches me. Plugging in the toaster. Checking the mail. Practicing slow, dotted rhythms for grad school. My voice cracking- "Murder on the High C's," I heard, the other day.

Saturday, February 6, 2010


It's the same feeling I've been getting, off-and-on, mostly on now. I'm semi-fooling people, and any minute my mum's going to walk in, apologize to the room, and take me home to play with Legos and wrap Barbie dolls in tea-stained bandages, things I am capable of.

I feel so in over my head.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

This is just to say:

Today I laughed so hard that I actually peed my pants a little.

I wasn't actually wearing pants, so I had to take off my panties and tights and stuff them in my boots (alao off because I felt weird wearing huge knee-high boots and no panties)

We have fun.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Last night I had the strangest dream

It really could have just been a continuation of the night. Fell asleep on their couch, four blankets, only one small piece of ground beef left on the table from our slightly illegally obtained feast.

We were in a bar. I kept on taking pictures, trying to get the bartender to match poses with the bear cutout moving across the top shelf, like a target at a fairground shooting game, stuck in a hula-la pose, arms waving to one side. Each picture I got made me laugh.

We went upstairs, to the hotel-dormitory above the bar, and started to cook a meal. I saw you, wearing a hairnet very similar to Scary Spice's 90's hair cones. Your girlfriend was stunningly gorgeous and madly sane. You ignored us, even though we had been talking loudly about you. I hoped you didn't hear.

I've lost my friends, and am with a married couple I vaguely know. He's lying on top of me. She's watching.
Now, he is going to lick up your leg, and you're going to enjoy it, she says. She does. He does. I don't, but feign interest as his tongue runs up my thigh, past my hip, beard tracing scratches in my skin.

I go downstairs, to the bar, to discover the bartender has been devoured by a bear.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Who even goes to bars alone anymore? Women, I mean. And I don't want to be bothered.
But how horrible would it be if I wasn't even bothered?

Maybe I will go tomorrow.

Cat is sitting behind me, on the back of the couch. We're not touching, he purrs in my ear. He never purrs like this, alone, without me. I feel his weight shift, he comes closer to me, hums in my ear, then moves away from me. Still purring. Cat, I cannot understand how your happiness is so independant from mine.

I want to get a drink. I know the dive bar, motorcycles in front, dimly lit, long hilly road, at least a half hour away. Or the one in the downtown boondocks, Christmas lights strung up year-round.

Maybe I'll go to the strip club, where there are rumors of wooden legs. All of these places are far, near naval bases, men my age only knowing a completely different life.

The cat crawls over my arms, ignoring my typing, up my arms, and starts to lick my ears, never silent, resting on my tattoo, claws gently digging into my shoulder.

Monday, January 4, 2010


Notes: Things to write about later
-Thomas moving in
-Why I am so angry at the Good Man who Once Plunged my Shit, and cannot get over something that really has no effect on me
-grad school grad school grad school. Or better yet, actually write my grad school essay