The Secret Sharer

 

Last Updated on 28 December 2002


Time: 5:10 pm EST
Date:
28 December 2002
Reading:
"The Innamorati" by Midori Snyder
Hearing:
Scarlet's Walk by Tori Amos
Watching:
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
Inspiration:
LOR!

Entry: Lost in Time

I have finally seen Two Towers and let me just say that despite the liberties taken with the plot and the total defemation of Faramir's character I loved it. Gollum/Smegol was the best CG character I've seen hands down and his character was amazing. I went into the film thinking, "well, they can either fuck Gollum up or they will get him right on." Right on! As with the first movie, I felt myself pulled into the film, but not in the way of normal films. Every film I visit in the theatre will pull me in and I will stay there for the span of the film. When the film is over, I get up and return to reality. So far, both movies in the Trilogy have kept me in the folds of themselves, not wanting to return to reality. Is this normal, or even healthy?

I think so, and here's why...I belong there. I told Eric after we left the film that I am not meant for this time, that I am constantly feeling out of sync, out of place. He agrees, both in regards to me and himself. Of course, he is harder to place...somewhere between LOR and Bladerunner/Neuromancer. I have always been late, it seems. I feel the longbow of my ancestors from the north hard in my hands, a part of me. I know my aim is only as accurate as their blood in my veins. I remember the horseflesh clenched between my thighs, mighty beasts and familiars and kin. I know the land resides in my soul, but I am no longer one with the land as I must have been in the life I've left behind me long away. Often, I dream of singing the sea, calming the raging waves the timbre that harbors a lineage of Norwegian shipbuilders and fishermen, hunters and horsemen, poets and bards, noble heroes and fine heroines. The moment Theoden's kingdom in Rohan came onto the screen, I felt something inside of me slip away there, into that perfect mixture of Norse architecture and Celtic design. Eowen has my determination, my eyes, my deep and passionate love.

Perhaps this explains my obsession with all of the above mentioned things. Perhaps it explains why I feel no roots in this young soil of America, this land that was raped from its natives so violently and carelessly. This is why I feel that I have yet to find my home. My father and I spoke of this some years ago. When I spoke with him this holiday he mentioned his need to return to Norway for some time, to see some of our elder family that may not be around for many years more. I'm kicking myself again for being in school, for not having any money, when he invites me. I have to go. I know that if I go, I will want to leave this land even more desperately. Norway brings me one step closer to my history and ancestery, one step closer to Ireland, one step closer to my home and my nature. Of course, I would love for Eric to come with me, but in the next two years, the time when my father is planning to go over, he will likely still be inellible for a passport. This dampens my spirits some, though he assures me that he will be okay, and that if I need to go, if the opportunity presents itself, then I must go. I can't imagine seeing fjords for the first time without him, meeting my smiling family whose open arms will greet only me and my father and not the man I'm spending the rest of this life with. It makes me sad. But even more disappointing would be missing the opportunity again.


Time: 9:09 pm EST
Date:
22 December 2002
Reading:
"The Innamorati" by Midori Snyder
Hearing:
"Sipho" by Tony Levin
Watching:
Hopefully "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets"
Inspiration:
Kelly, Kelly, Kelly

Entry: Yuletide Wishes

I am full of wishes. The holiday spirit has landed right in my heart through the smile of one fellow witch upon the appearance of a "real live" Yule log on her kitchen table top last night. I was glad to do it, this labor of love and friendship, sisterhood. She truly was elated and surprised, and I was gladened by it. Not holiday shopping, nor rich foods with visiting family, nor bright Christmas lights and the scent or resin from pine tree lots, nor the chill in the air, not even planning an entire fantasy Christmas city in styrofoam for Eric's mom complete with living topiary--not even these could put the spirit of the season in my soul. Kelly, her shining-with-joy blue eyes and the hugs and kisses and two hundred thank you's, did what all of the aforementioned nuances could not. Bless her for it.

And yet, I worry for her this night as she travels to visit her family a few hundred miles across the state Christmas. It is not the journey she is on that is concerning me, rather the journey she is getting ready to take with her fiance, Derrick. The fact that they are actually engaged, these two friends from high school who were estranged for some time and never before in love, even when they had just been reunited for a very brief time. I truly shouldn't talk, as Eric and I got engaged a mere six months after we'd met. I don't feel it is my place to say too much more here about his situation, but he was just released from Fedral prison after serving three years. This fact has brought Kelly and I closer together in the similarity of our current situations, I having gone through Eric's release from prison two years ago, and her experience now. But from there the experiences are totally different. Eric was in prison for ten and a half years, logically for a much more sever crime than Derrick's. Kelly has said as much herself that it is very difficult to believe that Eric is the type to have ever taken a sideways step, let alone commit a felony. The fact remains, and that fact is the difference between one coming to terms with themselves and demanding only better things of themselves from that point on, and one being forced to mend their ways. I have no doubt that Derrick did his required programs and is full of all the lingo one would associate with a "reformed" criminal of any caliber. But, he is fresh out of the jumper, you know. What will happen when he is faced with situations involving the temptations of every day life, the stress, the drugs, the need for cash? I just worry that both he and Kelly are seeing through the love goggles (similar to rose-colored glasses), and not realizing the reality, or even the possibilities for things to not be bilssful. I worry that he might be taking her for a ride, using her as a device of transition and nothing else.

Now, I have never met the man. I hear that is to my detriment, because were I to meet him, which Kelly assures me I will and soon, I would see that he is truly in love, truly through with a life on the non-legit side. I told Kelly to forgive me if I remain skeptical about him for some time, each syllable stinging my tongue, because didn't everyone say this to me with Eric too? And didn't I tell them the very things that Kelly is telling me about Derrick? I plan to ask him some very difficult questions, at least, ones that I think will truly test his resolve and his will power. I will be a hard-ass. I will be the big sister Kelly never had, the one that picks the hell out of a suitors brain, and then, after I am completely satisfied that he is true, show the baby bath pictures and tell all her embarassing stories. But it will take some serious sincerity, and no charm. The minute he tries to charm me is the day he's staked. I won't have it! I think I was an Old Jewish grandmother in another life, the one who carefully culls the flock before setting her dearest grandaughter up with the one who passed all the tests. Watch out, Derrick...

Another reason Kelly has been inspiring in the last few months is due to her tremendous success at losing weight. She told me last night that she has lost a total of 80 pounds! She is doing Weight Watchers, something I've never had any interest in because it encourages an obsession, however slight, with counting your food. I realize that my plan at this point is not far from that, but I work that way. Weight Watcher's wouldn't work fo rme because I already obsess enough, I don't need double the stress. It would be nice to have the support, but that is why I write here, why I put the call out to you all for RADAR anyway. Anyway, we now weigh the same, and I just think that if she can lose that much weight, it should be no problem for me to lose the 40-50 that I want to in as much time (8-10 months). I'm proud of her, I know she knows that. But I am also sort-of jealous because what have I been doing the whole time--making promises to myself and doing nothing. I hope I can make her as proud of me.

 


 

Time: 5:21 pm EST
Date:
14 December 2002
Reading:
Sage Woman Magazine
Hearing:
"Here. In My Head" by Tori
Watching:
The Wizard of Oz (sadly I didn't think to put on Dark Side of the Moon)
Inspiration:
Free Time!

Entry: End of the Semester

I have taken three of the four final exams I had for this semester. I have done pretty well for being out of school for four years, and then only at a pathetic little community college. Of course, now I have lots of other preoccupations: a lovely fiance, a home that we maintain and are attempting to re-furbish, two kittens who are enough like little children that I am beginning to rethink my thoughts about having some rugrats, and a job and somewhat of a social life. A's and B's aren't so bad, methinks.

English and French are my two A's, Sociology and Astronmy my B's. The sciences, even social sciences and stuff abou the stars and universe, still hang me up. I was the ONLY person in my English to get the high mark. Very nice. I stopped in to see my professor after my French exam on Friday morning to pick up my term paper and check on my exam grade. He was surprised that I didn't know, but understood that I needed the reassurance for my GPA. I was not surprised at my grades, true enough...I work hard and deserve that recognition. What I was surprised at though was his suggestion that I enter my term paper into next semester's contest for such things. It is an English department thing, and I think the prize as a grant of some monies that are substantial. You have to be nominated, or sponsored by a professor to even be considered. Go Jenn! I said yes, and that I would do the suggested addition sourcing and writing to make the paper really, really good. I'm feeling really good about that. I will post it, and some of my other essays and non-fiction, here in the near future.

Yeah, so I will have some time to really get this page up to par. I haven't been able to write here (all apologies to those faithful few who check every day anyway) as often or as prolifically as I would have liked. This journal will be archived at the end of December and I will start a new quarter. I hope to allot myself an hour a day to write here and at The Web, my site at Diaryland. Yes, I have said this before, but during the break I will have the time to set up a routine of dicipline and set the pattern in my neuropathways. :)

 


 

Time: 1:26 pm EST
Date: 04 December 2002
Reading:
Rasselas by Samuel Johnson
Hearing:
"Crazy" By Tori Amos
Watching:
That horrible animated movie, "Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmeron"
Inspiration:
"First we've got to zip your religion down..." & IT'S SNOWING!!!

 

Entry: Dreams From Childhood

I was telling Eric about spooky things from my childhood. It all started when I said that I should start keeping track of my dreams again. I got to talking about reoccuring dreams I had when I was a kid and the house at 815 Drew Drive. Of course, at the time we lived there, I wasn't quite as aware of everything that was going on. Certainly, I was aware of some of it, and the fact that it wasn't normal. It affected me profoundly in those formative years.

The room I had as a child was dark. Little to no light came through the single basement window located beneath the deck off the rear of the house. The lack of natural light was noticable to me even then. It began to effect my mind. At night, when my parents would send me to sleep, my mother would lovingly assure me that if I were to get out fo bed during the night, the boogie man would get me. The bookie man soon took up residency in my tiny closet nights, just waiting for my tiny toes to touch the carpeting. He brought his friends with him. After I was in bed, supposedly asleep, my parents often woud remain awake, talking in the kitchen or watching TV in the living room, both upstairs. The light would be reflected down the stairwell, reflected off the white-painted front door, cast eerily onto my bedroom door. We weren't allowed to close our doors at night, and so it was the outside of the door, in the grained vaneer of the hollow-core, that I would see the Vampire. There was a woman reclining in a chaise lounge in the forground, and behind her, a vampire, ready to attack. This image became commonplace and familiar to me, and I would often imagine myself as the unsuspecting woman. This lead to some of my first masochistic sexual fantasies. (Mind you, I was no older than six or seven at the time.) Soon the boogie man disappeared, but the vampire remained until the day we moved out (to the house next-door, the reader is reminded.)

That room also aided in my first reoccuring nightmare. The walls of the room were painted a neutral tone of off-white that my father still calls "partchment." It was basic, plain, and easy to re-paint when needed. Above the bed I slept in, directly above my head actually, were bracketed, wall-mounted shelves containing my already impressive collection of books. (Surprisingly, this never fell, thank the gods, or else my little head might have been squished!) Attached to the bottom of the shelf was a flourescent light I used for reading (and sometimes as a nightlight). The yellowish light cast an odd shadow and made that pleasant partchment of the walls look a sickly pale sulfur. I used to find myself staring at the wall nest to my bed, the color making me sick to my stomach. My throat would tighten up and my mouth would start producing excess saliva, like before you throw up. Then, I would feel myself begin to fall into the wall very quickly, into the sick of that color. That sudden movement would startle me awake, that falling sensation, and I would then realize it was only a dream. I did get sick a few times too, I recall. But I had this dream a lot, on through adolescence and even once while I was dating Jason F. and staying at his dad's townhome in The Springs.

Then, there was the game of "Bloody Mary" I played at a small slumber party locked in the bathroom of that house. I'd gone into the bathroom with my eyes closed, pushing on them rather firmly as to not "peek." The lights were off and the other girls closed the door as they left, holding it shut as they listened for my chant/invocation, which was to say the phrase "bloody mary" three times. I opened my eyes and happened to look in the mirror above the sink. From where I was standing, and with my eyes still adjusting from the pressure of my hands on them, I could see a Black Mary emerging from the linen cabinat ebehind the door. The strangest part wasn't the phantom itself, ratherthe door to that cabinate being open. It was never open, unless in use, my mother insisted on it being shut to keep mildew off the linens. But there it was, open, birthing this menacing and vampiric Black Mary. I remember moving to the door in slow motion, frozen in what I know now was psychic paralyzation. I had summoned this spirit and now it was reluctant to let me go. But the girls finally opened the door, likely hearing my sobs. The vision was gone. I wish I could say that the cabinate door was closed when I checked it again, but it remained open until morning. I don't know what the door being closed would have meant for me--either that my mind was truly playing tricks or that the spirit was tangible enough to close it. I never liked using that bathroom afterwards.

There are other significant things, supernatural things, attached to the house itself, as well as the house at 819 Drew Drive, but those are for another day.

 


 

Time: 2:09 pm EST
Date: 08 November 2002
Reading:
Milton: Paradise Lost
Hearing:
"Do It Again" by Tori Amos
Watching:
"The Money Pit"
Inspiration:
Lack Thereof

 

Entry: New Journal

Well, well...Welcome back to those of you who are familiar with this journal, and merry meet to those of you who aren't. I'm back. In the days to come this webpage will be undergoing some serious transitions and updates. Please be patient and thank you in advance for that.

So what have I been doing for the last year and a half? I've been around :) I'm back in school, plodding along on the degree that never ends. I'm doing pretty well. I tend to set my goals too high and, as many of you already know, I am my own worst critic. Sometimes I let my perfectionism get in the way of my work. For example, just last Monday I had a term paper due in my only English class this semester, something I was very excited about working on. I made it too personal; I got too close to my subject and forgot to keep in analytical. So, when the time came to turn the thing in, I was not best pleased. I felt that I'd done some crap work in it, and some good. Not enough good to get me a high mark--or so I thought. I got the paper back today with minimal corrections and an "A" mark. Apparently, I was the ONLY "A." This had my mouth hanging open in awe, shock, disbelief...I wanted to contest it. How ungrateful of me, eh? I garner the highest mark in the class and I contest it. What am I thinking? I'm too hard on myself. And this is why I have such a high stress level right now. All my work needs to be "A" work, and I am getting solid "B's" in all my other classes. It is a very strange feeling to come away from a test and feel really good, and have it returned with a "B." I'm too hard on myself. I forget that I've been out of school for four years, and the last years were spent at a most unchallenging community college. My work easily earned "A" marks, and I am just used to that simplicity. I need to gear up and push myself a bit harder to do the same at a major state university, while keeping a life and a job.

Aside from school, I've co-purchased a house. I am currently living with my fiance, Eric (yes, the same Eric mentioned in the archives) and we are very happy. The house has been keeping us busy (and broke) with improvements--it is definately a fixer-upper. Last weekend we planted 8 pots of bulbs and pansy's for the porch and deck areas. Soon, we will be taking a maddox and tiller to the rear yard preparing it for the fallow months, and eventually the planting season. Busy, busy.

We recently acquired two feral kittens, rescued from the basement beneath Eric's building at UNC. They have adapted to such a spoiled captivity well. Anyone who says that having pets isn't like having children is worth smacking. They wake me up at 5:30 am, either crying for attention or food, or just being plain obnoxious in their roughhousing. They chew on special things, make a mess of the place, somehow manage to get into the things we've "kitten-proofed," just like kids.

There will be more updating on my past year and a half in the days to come, I'm sure. Right now I am just trying to get back into the swing of keeping a webpage. Bear with me, it will get better and far more exciting as we go along.

 


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