ive been a little lonely lately.
(Refer to my Eleanor Rigby page. “All the Lonely People.”)
Actually that’s not reaĺly it. Ive been very alone. You start to lose track.
My father…
I wrote a long article in the style of a poem in the 25th (?) or (30th?) class notes called “ode to my mother.” that summarized my life, including my college years and how I fell down. I wrote it right after I sent in a completely ridiculous welcome to my life, heart and home in the 1998 Notes because my ex directed me to when I want to crawl away and hide. I just FINALLY accepted that yesterday when I realized it was for Ian’s good although it was to my moment by moment mortification.
So, after I sent that in I wrote a sensational poetm (I thought) about three pages long and then, aroiund the turn of the millenium so, it must have been the 2003 notes, I submitted it for lack of words to say.
And I did the stupidest thing. I’ve learned from it. Not to risk everything for the sake of a quaint turn of speech or a funny joke that isn’t that funny to others in the room, et cetera.
I referred to a blemish in a way that invoked the name of an old lover in a way that didn’t need to happen. And I am so, so sorry for this. That name just needed to stay latent and be reprieved just like I absolutely did not need to see my mother in 2003 but my ex invited her anyway and now I see that that had to happen but not the way it did. So, for whoever read that “poem” you would remember that awkward moment in it.
My policy today, since being baptized in a Catholic Church in 2018, is to imitate the life of Mary Magdalen and she is leading me to the song that got me into so much trouble with someone else, whom I wrote about a decade about and I did use his name and it was responsible for another 2 blog-related suicide attempts and I am not going to go there this time.
I just want this person to know that I did let go a long, time ago and I wish I could strike that seemingly apt remark from that “ode.” It’s similar to all the stuff in the archives of the Advocate and the Crimson that scars my life in perpetuity.
And also I don’t know if they knew at the at the Lampoon that the xxo (designated as nauseating, or something like that) was directed towards this person (who was on the Lampoon) and NOT the Editor of the Lampoon or the organization. Or am I just too brain dead to have to have that spelled out. Also I DID NOT KNOW WHAT IT MEANT TO PUT A GIRLS NAME UP ON THE WALL.
What I knew? I mopped the walls with a sponge mop and washed away years worth of shit. Dean Epps walked by and saw this. My roommate’s mother, wife of the Dean of Engineering at Stanford, gave me a card, Freshman year, which was a detail of a painting depicting a maid with a bucket and mop. Layer upon layer of paint was getting sick after 100 years. I was an original. I was hi-tech. I was organic. For real. I suffer from organic personality disorder. I respond to computers. I had fantasies about a robot boy lover when I was a little girl. I named my husband’s computer Hal and stroked it gently at times.
I am English. As my stuck up roommate said, I was eccentric. I was born ultra-hi-tech. At age 1-2 I lived in Silicon Valley.
There are several problems here that my father just couldn’t be on top of. He didn’t have a clue about Kent School and what would be expected of me, on that basis, at a major University. He didn’t understand that I didn’t really get the education that I should have at Kent because of the language barrier, which was severe for me. He didn’t understand that my mother wasn’t taking care of me as she ought to have been, for whatever reason. I wasn’t washing right or dressing right and I wasn’t talking to any of the boys. My favorite teacher was desperate for me when he learned that I intended to matriculate where I did but there was nothing he could do.
My brother, who was persona non grata at Kent (I just figured out) kept everyone from coming near us after the ceremonies. I felt like I didn’t even graduate.
My parents weren’t even there for my graduation, they were there to make a stink about my brother. The English are like that in America. I’ve seen it again and again. I’m ashamed as I think back to how I grabbed the Math prize without even saying thank you. I was embarassed becaseu all the girls were saying that I was having an affair with the math teacher, which was COMPLETELY UNTRUE. Now I see how that fell in with what my parents and my brother and his girlfriend were doing there.
It’s way too late for this. I dunno. Better late than never. I just never thought of this before.
The Wart-Mole thing. It made me SO STUPID. or, I was just never told things. Or both.
I don’t know if there is any point in what I am trying to do. It comes naturally to do it but why? I lived a lousy life and nobody knew why and now they do but…
I’ll go think about this for a while.
Un.Bon.Mot 