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Friday, April 12, 2002
fucking piece of shit.
Emily,
Thank you for answering my email. I need to point out that yes , I had your email address and phone no. in NY but you also had mine here in York and I heard nothing from you. Nothing! You did not send me an address or phone no. for
Florida.
I have not given away anything. I made a conscious decision that Sue belonged in my life and as our relationship grew I missing her more and more the days I
did not see her. It was not sexual but more intimacy that we established, sharing.
I did talk to Rachel and she told me to do whatever I wanted with her room and all in it. Perhaps I should have talked to you but even when you were here you make yourself scarce.
I don't want you to be miserable and I do want you in my life. Come talk to me.
I t will let both of us vent and maybe find a middle ground.
Do you love me? Cut to the chase, Em. If you do, we'll try to work it out. If you don't, nothing will help.
You have mail here. One looks like your refund check from PA although it may be a signature form. I could not get the form for Pa to print out even though it was accepted and they may want a signature.
I received my renewal Auto insurance bbill. I did not charge you for last times since you were away. I will need the money for this time. I also would appreciate if you can pick up paying poff the loamn I made you for Beautician
school.
Are you working yet? I see many openings for beauticians in the paper.
Love,
Dad
There is so much I want to say in reply to this email. It makes me seethe. But this is what I did reply with :
Dad.
Chris and I kept in touch fine without my calling him. I had no calling card in NY, and you knew that. As I've said repeatedly, I had no phone number in Florida. I also had no reason to contact you. If communication had been so important to you, you could have called me in NY, or emailed me. I replied to the emails you sent me that weren't just forwards. And for the record, when I got to Florida, I sent an email to you, mom, and chris with the office address. So you did have my address there.
I am tired of you trying to blame me for this. Please take some responsibility. I've been looking for a job every day of the week since I've been home (which has only been a week, not three years). I haven't seen any listings for cosmetologists, and I have checked at salons.
I think at this point too much shit has happened for me to live with you. I'm sorry it has to come to this. You're my dad, and I love you for that. I appreciate all you've done for me and how you tried to help me in the way that you felt best. But now this is best for me now and I don't see how my moving back in would help anything at all. I don't want a new family or anything of the sort.
I feel I have every right to be angry with you. I don't understand how you can't see that, and how you think blaming me for not calling you or writing is helping anything.
I'll pay my insurance, but I don't actually even have enough money to live right now. I have to use the money mom sent me for my birthday to get groceries and pay bills. I'm planning on selling the majority of my clothing to get some money.
Once Chris and I have our own place, I'll be able to take more of my stuff from home. Right now there's really no room at his house for a lot of my stuff. If it gets in the way of your "new life" you can just shove it in my room for now. Thanks.
emily
02:40 p.m.
Friday, April 5, 2002
the most fucked up.
Ems,
I have not heard anything from you for some time. Hope you are well and doing what you want to do. SInce yoiu are not here now I'm assuming you won't be here tomorrow. Happy Birthday!!! Twenty one! Wow. I now it sounds trite but it does seem like yesterday.
Anyway, I love you, and you are the best present I've ever received.
L
Dad
Yesterday was my birthday. I'd been away for two months, at various animal rights organizations. I also went to Georgia to interview for a volunteer position there. I finally got back to Pennsylvania technically on April third, as it was just after midnight. I went straight to my boyfriend's. I got that email, above, from my dad on the third. I called him on the morning on our birthday, as we share the same day and month of birthday, and left a message on the machine to tell him I would be stopping by later in the day.
Chris and I made some errands, I expressed my discontent with my birthday so far, he made up for it, and we went to my house. Evidence of a woman was stamped all over it. Confronting my dad, he told me that his girlfriend (?!) of three months had moved in, and that her sixteen year old son would also be moving in - to the room I had been occupying and had been planning on continuing residence in once I returned. Not only that, I had been renting the upstairs from him, and my boyfriend was going to start paying rent as well. This new event successfully usurped that.
So.
I stormed up to my room and started throwing things that weren't mine, but had been put in it, out of my room. My dad came upstairs when he heard the commotion and told me I couldn't do that. I disagreed, vehemently. So vehemently that I started screaming obscenities at him, ran down stairs, called his girlfriend trash, and then ran back up to my room. I told him to get the fuck out of my room and then collapsed into Chris's arms.
Now I'm staying at his parents' house, by their grace alone. I'm not comfortable with it and I wasn't expecting to ever have to do this. I'm not comfortable with being allergic to their cats, or their smoking, or not liking their dog. I'm not comfortable with his dad making fun of my beliefs at all times, or using their kitchen, or even just existing. But it's a place to stay, and I'm grateful for that.
There are just a lot of things I wish I could change now, and nothing I feel I can really do.
I don't know what to do with any of the stuff I'm going to take out of my house. I don't want to go there alone and do it, but I know I'll have to. All I want to really do is curl up in Chris's bed and cry all day, and that is really the one thing I can't do.
I don't know what to do. And I don't know where to go.
It was not a very good birthday.
11:34 a.m.
Tuesday, March 5, 2002
you seem sad.
Cleaning the small barns with David, teaching him what to do; pretty much lost in my own thoughs. What thoughts they are, as well.
When I came to Farm Sanctuary, I wrote to christopher daily. When it was just Sarah and I, the emails doubled. Alone, I sometimes wrote to him as much as five times a day.
He called me last night and noted that I hadn't written to him at all in two days.
Funny, how that's what I was thinking about when David said, "You seem sad."
I had nothing to say in reply, just kept raking up hay and listening to my own head whirling.
Sometimes I forget how easy I am to read.
10:10 a.m.
Saturday, December 15, 2001
memories.
Sometimes a memory of nothing important will hit me. So many senses go into remembering that anything can trigger nostalgia. A smell, a touch, a certain tilt of the head, and suddenly I'm immersed in a time long past.
Or not so long.
Memory is so fallible, I usually don't feel right recounting things as I recall them. Even feelings aren't dependable, as they invade everything and everywhere. I remember walking through the cool sunlight to my car directly after a counseling appointment in Towson, MD, buoyed by emotion. Sometimes I would feel light from talking, other times heavy and depressed. It was good for me, though. No matter what.
I remember his office, with the strange machine always beside me. Many times I would distract attention from myself by asking him what it did; try to get him to talk about himself. He would answer my questions succinctly, rarely giving more than what I asked. Usually he didn't let me go on long tangents. There are some things I wouldn't tell him. Some things he'll never know. I remember how calm he sounded when he called me in the hospital after my suicide attempt, but I could tell he was upset. I had violated his trust, and broken my promise to not hurt myself.
Sometimes I'd accuse him of only caring about me because it was his job, but I think it was more than that. I used to pick him a dandelion before each of our sessions. Eventually I touched him, I'm sure of it.
12:57 p.m.
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to do.
comics
diesel sweeties.
when I am king.
red meat.
penny arcade.
angst technology.
icecream for breakfast.
lethal doses.
bobbins.
goats
sluggy freelance.
plugin boy.
shaw island.
exploitation now.
c.ulture shocked.
8-bit theatre.
avalon.
life of riley.
jeremy.
indie rock pete.
clan of the cats.
college roomies from hell.
cool cat studio.
weblogs
blackcoffee.
waferbaby.
seth.
mike.
japes.
metagrrrl.
eric.
christopher.
other stuff
email me
memepool.
the onion.
explodingdog.
untitled.
seanbaby.
the spark.
fray.
crashspace.
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