tavie.com

It's a warning sign of some sort when I don't find anything in life interesting at all, right?

I am barely holding it together now. I'm so totally just existing it's spooking me out. I can barely drum up enough interest to be concerned, though. I've got my whole regressive immersion in reruns. You know when else I was immersed in reruns? Back when I was 9, 10 years old, right when the trouble hit.

Maaaaan I enjoy the reruns, insofar as they distract from the utter numbness of my soul. Thank you, Mrs Garrett. Thank you, Geordi and Data. Tootie. Maude. Bull. Roz.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:54 AM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

I had an amazing dream on Saturday night that had me slightly euphoric most of Sunday, just on pure dream residue. I keep thinking about it. It was about meeting Glen Keane, my childhood hero, the greatest living Disney animator. In the dream I met him and I told him that a long time ago when I was a little girl full of delusions I wanted to be just like him when I grew up, and in the dream he took me under his wing and had me work on a project with him, and taught me everything and I was drawing like mad and full of excitement and creative energy the likes of which I have never felt in waking life, nor even come close to since the days before Effexor (which has been sapping my creative juices for nigh on 8 years now.)

And then last night, I dreamed that it was before college and I had applied to an art school and gotten in but declined it to go to Hunter, and was lamenting to erin, "Why didn't I go to that school? Why did I give that up? What was I thinking?" and she was like, "Dude, I dunno."

Yet in my waking life I don't even think I could draw a straight line anymore. I don't even doodle anymore. I don't even doodle, what the hell has happened to me? I think my subconscious really misses drawing, but my consciousness doesn't have clue one what to do.

Maybe I just miss those damn art classes at school where the professors told me I was worth something.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:46 PM | shower me with attention

Thank god-- Rynn's back online, and I heard news of Ade! All is well! People are returning!

Now back to my stories. I'm sick of the internet.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:37 PM | shower me with attention

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Courage. Courage. I'm up to my last episode of The Facts of Life on On Demand. When will they switch to season two?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:45 PM | shower me with attention

Monday, September 19, 2005

Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!!!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:29 AM | shower me with attention

Sunday, September 18, 2005

I've mentioned before that I'm torn between my anxiety at interacting with strangers and my desire to devote my time to something I consider important (for me), which is volunteering my time to help the elderly. I don't know why that's my "issue", but it tugs at my emotions like nothing else. As horrifying as Katrina has been, nothing made me cry until I read about the seniors who died in their retirement home, forgotten by everyone.

I'm still not ready to deliver meals to homebound elders or even spend an hour visiting with people in a nursing home. It's still a daunting thought (and with my frequent weekday insomnia, I'm exhausted after work and on weekends and spend the time selfishly catching up on sleep.)

But to prepare me for it, my Mom suggested I find some sort of pen-pal program and interact with seniors that way. That seems like a good idea. I found Elder Wisdom Circle (there's a good Salon article from 2003 about it here`.) It seems like such a good idea, which is why I'm blogging it... if answering these questions really does make older people feel needed, then, dammit, I've got problems they can have a hand at wrangling...

I think I've always been in search of a Grandpa, that's all. I've never had one. And I miss my Grandmas a lot. One of them was so crippled by depression that I barely knew her, even though she lived with us for the first 7 years of my life. The other one I did know, and she died when I was 16, and I miss her (although my dad is morphing into her, god help us all.) I also wish I hadn't sold this book, one of the most moving and affecting things I've ever read.

If anyone else has any ideas of how I can help ease into this volunteering-for-seniors business, let me know.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:29 PM | shower me with attention

Friday I was supposed to go to J-Rock's band's show and I crapped out. I'm pretty sure that M&J hate me now, as I was supposed to meet them and they never called me back to forgive me. But sleeping was so much better for my head, so I'm glad I did it.

Saturday I spent the entire day with my parents, in honour of my Dad's 68th birthday. We went to the Chinese Scholar's Garden and then a Mongolian barbecue place on Staten Island (where I succumbed to the pressure of the incredibly nice owners just picking up, through osmosis, that it was my Dad's birthday, and surprising us with an ice cream cake at the end. Because my Dad is such a jerk about being a diabetic, I ate most of my piece to counteract that, and then took that as license to eat pretzels and dehydrated plums and other naughty things later. Whoops.)

Then, because my Dad reallyreallyreally wanted me to go, I went with him and Mom to that monthly nerd meeting. We were there so late watching Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle (high-larious) and The Muppet Show that I went home with my parents again to avoid the incredibly long trip from Inwood back to Jersey City in the middle of the night. Which is why I'm still here on Roosevelt Island wearing my mom's nightgown. Because she won't let me keep any of my own clothes here anymore, how mean is that?

Happy birthday, J-Rock.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:15 AM | shower me with attention