memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
Starting this at work although I don't know how long this is going to take me. Yes, I mean the first job, not the second. Read more... )
memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
Writing again because I inherited the laptop at work and I have a chance to think. I'd be writing in the records, but at least this way I can work and make phone calls at the same time.

It occurred to me last night again that I take everything too seriously. Even something I guess as fun as karaoke has to be a performance, and I should be ashamed if I don't do my best in it. After waking up like a mess this morning, I gave myself a hard time about it until I realized what I didn't know until last night: that letting yourself off the hook is the key to being human.

I'm not fully here. I feel like I'm in the longest (though thankfully not most severe) panic attack ever. I'm a little ghosty. I'm disocciating but I'm going in and out. I called in and said I was sick, which is true but more from a mental health standpoint than a physical health standpoint. I feel like all of my strength has been sapped. But thankfully my spirit is okay. I refuse to be the victim in this situation. I'm not going to beat myself up, but I'm not going to go super soft on myself as well.

They're helping me out today. I feel like I'm getting more done. Then I'm gonna stop by MJ's and then go home and work on the jeans I'm currently wearing. And I'll be okay. I'll always be okay.
memorialrainbow: (Default)
Stayed out way too late last night. Did NOT get drunk but left at 2 and got home at 4 because the trains sucked. I dreamed that my ex was at the gym and he leaned over and hugged me and I tried to squirm away, but I couldn't. And then I learned he was working there now and would be closing with me, and I put him to work doing something upstairs, marched downstairs to the manager's office, and said to the manager, "Who the flying hell hired my abusive ex?"

Today is gonna suck.
memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
So I figured I'd write.

A long time ago, when I was going through some rough times, I wrote in here a lot. I wrote about the things that were going on in my life, and I used this journal as a place to promote my work. People read along, for a good couple of years. I came out with an album, and then I came out with a book that grew into a series.

I'd post on here every once in a while after that, and my entries got more cryptic as they went on. And who knows how often I'll write now? But this time, I'm writing less for you and more for myself. Tumblr is too PC, Twitter not enough characters, Facebook too perfect. And yeah, maybe I'm writing from work at the moment, while I'm putting in information and being a database.

But nobody's really reading this yet, are they?

Here's the thing: I've been in New York City over four years now. Do you know how many albums I've produced in that time? Do you know how many songs I've written, how many times I've gone out there to promote myself? I actually made a habit out of it a long time ago, before places closed and I had to work instead.

There was a boy. It always starts out that way, there was a boy. We promised we wouldn't get too far in deep, that we'd be honest with one another. He supported my art. I was able to find temporary work, go to open mics. When I was let go from that job, he ensured I wouldn't have to worry, took a new job himself to make sure he could support both of us, moved in because living in New York is crazy. We were both crazy, we both had our faults, but at the end of the day, we were honest with each other. We didn't go to bed mad.

That was the most creative period of my life in NYC. I got a new job, one that enabled me to grow up from the crazy that I had been accustomed to. I found an open mic I could go to and even got my own show. I went to Comic-Con and we performed, and I created an album, and everything was perfect -- until it wasn't. I don't want to say my anxiety got in the way, but having all of your belongings in trash bags in your kitchen is more than a little rough. We grated on one another. Somewhere in the shuffle, my flash drive with my Comic-Con stuff was thrown out. I blamed him way more than I should have. I started blaming him for everything. He let me.

I went through a depression for the first part of 2015. Nothing happened. I woke up, went to work, came home. I wrote a little bit, but I was out of it. I was in survival mode all over again. The old-school methods I had used a long time ago woke up again: God hates that you were being creative, so He sent bedbugs to stop you. You might think I'm crazy, but that was the way my brain was operating.

I wasted a year. I wasted an entire year. At least he was around, right? At least he was being productive, starting his YouTube channel. I stayed off the computer. I let him have it. I was just in the way, right? I didn't want to take the computer and waste time while he could be recording his shows. For what it's worth, I did try. I lost sleep composing music for a friend's cabaret and now she's not talking to me because I wanted to be paid for a future one. I choreographed a dance and performed it in front of others, and then a fight broke out and my boyfriend escorted me into the nearest Mickey D's before the cops could show up. It was supposed to be a competition, and nobody won.

Things like that wouldn't knock old Emily down. I'm not sure he ever properly knew old Emily. Old Emily existed before January 5, 2012.

And you're still here in black and gold
Your inner core the only change
So how much of the girl I fell for still remains?


You know what I should have done on January 5? I should have quit the city. I should have called my dad, said "this isn't working out, I'm coming home." And yeah, I signed a year lease, but those things are just numbers in this city, anyway. I would have gone home, maybe gotten yelled at a bit, but hey, I would have gotten what I wanted out of the city, right?

But in the end, I'm glad I stayed. I've learned a lot about myself, about the way I process things. I've learned that it doesn't matter where you are, as long as the people you love are around you. And I've learned what that actually means. I know now what New York City is, for better or for worse. I know it's not a be all, end all. I know people romanticize it, and even those who live in the city romanticize it. It's our bubble. We live here, and if anybody threatens it, we act like it's 9/11 all over again. (Ted Cruz just made some interesting comments on this.)

Because we make it, right? Because we all struggle in this city. It's a shared struggle that we romanticize so much. We talk about how hard it is to find a dollar coffee, how we're squished like sardines in the subway car, the number of homeless people and pigeons and piles of puke we walk right past on our way to work, where we must dress exactly how they want and act exactly how they want in those high rises lest we go back to working at Mickey D's. (And they probably make more money, at this point.) Everything is always our fault, but that's okay, because we're making it in the real world. We have our shoebox apartment and we wouldn't have it any other way. We can't afford to go out because we're too busy working two jobs, but we certainly have it better than anybody at home, right? We blow through our bonds and have no money left in our savings accounts, no future, but we're living like the starving artists on Broadway. You know, just like Jonathan Larson. God bless Jonathan Larson.

We pick up and we scrape by, and we're nice to those near us as long as that niceness doesn't actually hurt us any. We put on our headphones and ignore the beggars on the train, the people sitting with cardboard signs as we go to work in our elite sports clubs. We oversleep because we don't want to get up in the morning, but hey, it's what "real people" do. And I don't doubt that anywhere. But I used to talk about the Oxford bubble, and now I'm talking about the New York City bubble, and I'm wondering just what is real. Is real life what we make of it? If so, then everybody in New York City automatically gives too much control to everybody else. We have to, in order to make this city work. If you deviate too much, you're left behind. If you don't move at supersonic speed -- and that's saying something, considering this city must be moving faster than Top Thrill Dragster -- then you have no time or energy or money to write or music or create or anything. And it's even worse for those of us who deal with mental problems, who were bullied as kids, whose fathers' words echo in our heads even when our mothers tell us they no longer matter. New York City is okay -- but it's not for everybody. To pretend it is for everybody is to shame the world we live in, to shame every place that isn't New York, to ultimately shame New York and the individuals who might be creatively trapped here.

And I know what everybody in NYC might be reading. You don't like it, then leave?

Maybe I will.

I go to Jersey for a jaunt and I plan my life, knowing that when I'm back in NYC, I'll be moving too fast for me to properly think. I go to Albany for my yearly jaunt to the convention and I feel tired the entire time, unsure if I should return back to the city. I go to Cedar Point, because maybe racing for the sky and racing underneath the sky are two separate things. Maybe I can't fly in NYC. But maybe that doesn't mean I can't fly at all. Maybe it just means the buildings are too tall here for my liking. Maybe the skies are too crowded. Maybe it's more hopeful for me to leave.

There's only so much you can learn in one place
The more that you wait, the more time that you waste


In July, I went outside of the city to have the most successful gig of the year. We made it all the way through and my client was so happy, and I'll never forget the look on his face and I learned we might actually be making something here. While I was in Charlotte for the gig, my boyfriend was busy being in somebody else.

He told me in October. I should have chased him out, burned his things, but I was stunned enough that I let him stay another month. I still haven't gotten rid of some of his things.

But I dealt with the stress of that, and I've dealt with the stress of it, and I need to toss those things out. I've tossed out memories before, and I'll do it again. I say that I remember everything, and it's true -- but just because I remember something doesn't mean I don't want to remember. The past means nothing. The past doesn't help me out. The past doesn't pay the bills. It only holds me back.

I'm furious.

That may be the best thing to be right now.

For now, though, I work. And I plan, in the little bits that I can. I get outside the city to think. I take the ferry. I fix music. And hopefully, this summer, I'll go back to the place where I had my successful gig, and lightning will strike twice.

And the thunder will follow afterward.
memorialrainbow: (garden)
I woke up this morning with a headache the size of Cedar Point, and it all went downhill from there.

I drove for miles just to find you and find myself.
All these screams, all these voices in my head.
You gave me strength, gave me hope for a lifetime.
I never was satisfied...


What do you do when you can't pick somebody off of the ground? I used to be in charge. I used to understand what I was made for. I used to know that it was up to me to save the day, to pull through, to make things better for everybody else. And then something came along that showed me that I could stand up for myself. He showed me because he stood up for himself. He didn't take crap from anybody. He just didn't care. What has that boy been reduced to? I'm finally learning how to claim something for myself, and now all I want to do is jump in and save him. Is it okay to save him? Should I be saving him? He would say no; that he does not need saving, that he can do this himself. But that's not the picture I'm getting.

This time won't you save me
This time won't you save me
Baby I can feel myself givin' up
This time won't you save me
This time won't you save me
Baby I can feel myself givin' up


I sit alone here. But I'm not completely alone. I have my God to save me, a fact that I've been constantly forgetting for the past, oh, couple months or so. Who am I to think that nobody will be here to stand up for me? Maybe February's just rough. Maybe I need to move someplace with less snow (lol, Jake). Once again, it's a crucial time in my life, and I don't know if I'm running away or to where I need to go. My heart, my mind still yearn for New York City. I went there last night, in my dreams. What does it all mean? Why don't I have the strength to make a decision?

It's not your fault.
I'm a bitch, I'm a monster.
Yes, I'm a beast, and I feast when I conquer.
But I'm alone on my throne
All these witches
I came this way -- all this way -- just to say


I'm still way too focused on making everybody else happy. I'll do that. No, I won't do that, because my dad wouldn't like it if I did that. I'll do this instead. No, my boyfriend won't like that. So I'll do this. And I keep running around and around in circles until I end up doing nothing, like right now...when I'm stuck here. Does anybody else understand what I'm going through? Is there anybody out there who feels my pain?

This time won't you save me
This time won't you save me
Baby I can feel myself givin' up
This time won't you save me
This time won't you save me
Baby I can feel myself givin' up
I'm givin' up baby, yes
I'm givin' up baby


Feels like I've been driving for miles and I can't seem to silence these voices in my head. Who'll save me?

Am I supposed to go home?

I don't even know where home is anymore.

But I'm only waiting for one person's response.
memorialrainbow: (garden)
Music

I had a dream last night.

Oftentimes, when I'm sleeping, I'll have dreams. When I try to wake up at two, and then I go back to sleep, when I go back to sleep I often have a dream so vivid that I understand it must be from God. I let myself sleep in today -- the weather has been changing, and I have such a big sleep deficit that I wanted to make it up. Plus, yesterday was very, very productive, and I didn't have much that I wanted to do today (although I kind of wanted to go to Starbucks -- and I might still do that).

Anyway, this was one of those dreams.

I was in a library. The library had started being outside (Presser Hall, actually) but by the end of the dream it was inside a student center, and I was pretty darn sure I wasn't at my alma mater anymore. I was looking for a locker -- my locker. Previously, I had told somebody -- Kellie, one of my good high school friends! -- that I would meet her uptown at one of the bars. Perhaps I was just visiting? I don't know.

But I was going to find the locker to get my old books. I realized that it was probably spring or something, and I needed those books -- I did pay for them, after all, and COLLEGE BOOKS ARE SO EXPENSIVE. So I drove out in my car, Navi-Widget, and parked where I thought my locker was near (Yeah, I drove in the library -- it was outdoors at the time). My locker had my name on it, so I looked around all over the place for it, but could not find it.

I went back to the front of the library and saw a locker with a girl named Jennifer's name on it...and another name that I recognized. I opened the locker. I had been opening all of the lockers (there were no locks) to look for my stuff in case one of the names were wrong. When I looked inside this locker, I did find music books in the locker, but I also found a binder, one of those Trapper Keepers that zip up. I promptly unzipped it.

Have you ever had a person in your life who has not spoken to you for ages? Unfortunately I have several. One in particular has requested that I never speak to him again, and so far, I have respected his silence. I will continue to do so. But if his locker is *right there,* I might as well find out what's going on in his life.

I open up the binder and I find blank sheets of paper, a pencil holder, and -- surprisingly -- some of my drawings. One of them is me in a white hat and a black outfit -- my Speedkeeper, for those of you who read [livejournal.com profile] topthrillracer -- and there were holes in some of the papers. Later on, there were worksheets and journals, saying that he was in class, bored. It was a bit separate from what I thought he would be doing right now (through the grapevine -- I do have my sources) and it also mentioned that he had a girlfriend fiancee, and that they would be getting married soon. But he also said that he didn't have any future career plans. This was really opposite the person I had known for so long, and I thought it weird.

I grabbed a marker -- he had several Crayola markers in his bag, and the one I grabbed was a nice dark sky blue. I wrote several things on some of the pages -- I do this sometimes with my own journals, writing notes to the past me. But I was writing to him, hoping that these notes would get through to him. Then, I opened the binder to the first page, where the blank paper was. I opened up to the second page and wrote "I'm still here!" in big letters, and then wrote the date below it.

8-3-11. Written in standard writing, instead of the "080311" that I use at work.

I hate it when I have dreams about the future. It definitely means something, or at least it does to me. Am I still in my hometown when it is August 3rd? Perhaps I am coming back for my books because I won't have another chance to? Whatever it was, I definitely was NOT in Oxford anymore. The library had changed to an indoor one while I had been looking/writing, and I zipped up the binder and placed it back into the locker, which was now smaller and on a table, still next to Jennifer's. (I could pick up the locker now! How weird.) From there I investigated the rest of the library, finding some Pokespe and an escalator that led up to a cafe. Shortly afterward, I woke up.

What do we make of life? What happens when we go? How do we live it? Those are all questions that we need to ask.

I have a gift for all of you today. The song that I wrote about this person I dreamed about, Song of the Miko, is now available for all of you to hear! The song itself is not completely done; it's just the Garageband version, so it hasn't been mastered yet. And it's not available for download. But I want for you all to get a chance to listen to it.  You should be able to listen below; if not, click here.


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