In heaven everybody listens to Slowdive

and in hell they are all forced to listen to margot and the nuclear so and so's and read science fiction

hahahahahahaha

hahahahahahahaha

hahahahahahahaha


current mood: edgy
current music: slowdive - catch the breeze

fraility, thy name is woman

today i was on the bus and i felt all kinds of surreal. i am choosing to attribute it to my new med cocktail, but i can never tell anymore.
i came home and stared at the blank tv for half an hour before i realized it worked better when it was turned on.

ive been listening to a lot of The National lately. it feels highly appropriate.
especially this one:

current mood: and then i tripped on my cupcake and signed up for basket wars
current music: the national - conversation 16

i think the kids are in trouble...

Lets call it a Hiatus Appropriatus

Why?
...because
because sometimes the pen can not keep up with the brain pushing it
because i've turned over like 5 new leaves and the world needs to know
because i get lonely and writing here makes me feel like i'm talking to folk
because i've insanely deep thoughts and your life is better for knowing them
and because i've a writer living inside me and i hardly ever let her out and it just makes her get louder and increasingly needy

So, anyway, here I am again. I welcome myself back. I've missed the eye strain of the screen and the clickity-clack of the keyboard.
Loads of time has passed and admittedly I got worse before I got better.
Where I am now is a (relieved to be) single gal, full-blown Bipolar, desperate to finish up with the daunting black cloud that is my master's thesis, now proudly A Best Friend, an avid reader and a gainer of ten lbs that have been politely asked to leave this frame but, upon their defiance, are about to be brusquely ushered out.

I dated and dated and and dated, to no avail. I tried patience, I tried fervor, I tried apathy, I tried complacence. I was wined, dined and intertwined, but I just couldn't lasso up enough feelings. They were either arrogant or meek, pushy or doormats; all were just so utterly mediocre and achingly insipid.

**Let it be known now:

I'd rather just be single and not have to worry about being nice to someone all the time.**

Being Bipolar is rough enough. It's a whole endeavor to be nice to and nurture myself. I really can't be bothered to do it twice!

So here I am. A little worse for the wear, but slightly renewed and really, well, just quite ready.

current mood: red carpet green envy
current music: queen - under pressure

stay in character

Oh.
Hello.
Hi.
Umm.
Hmmm.

How do I...
I'm not sure where to begin...
...
....
. . .
. . . . .

We did it.
There was a ring; I said yes.

I got married.

It was (kind of) spontaneous and the ceremony was intimate and beautiful and high up and officiated by the most odd little Aussie, and I cant wait to see the pictures.
...So now my story ends here. I can dust hands and plan life. I can close this chapter, close this blog, say goodnight.

Thank you everyone for all your support and love.

I got married!


Disclaimer: Now, before you get too carried away, it was a spiritual wedding. Which means there was a ring, a ceremony, vows, photos, a reception, etc, but we didn't sign any papers. It was all about celebrating the connection that happens between two people, falling in love, infatuation, whatever it may be; celebrating the fact that it *exists*, that it actually *happens*.

I've always wanted to be a wife; I've always wanted to have a wedding, and to be married and happily in love. But I've now reached 28 years old and so far, I've been nothing but WRONG about love, about men. And though it breaks my heart wide open, I'm beginning to accept that I might not get the one thing I want most in life. The tragedy of this reality is unfuckingbearable.
So even if it never happens for me, at least I had THIS. Even if its invalid, at least I had a ceremony, a wedding, a vow exchange, pictures. I had the moment, the celebration, and all of the feelings.
Whether it is an escapist idealistic fantasty or not.
Even if it never happens for me, at least I had THIS.

mind the gap

I've landed myself a Brit! (Doesn't he look like a taller Keven?) He's so lovely and he says things like he's "keen on" me, and "fancies" me.
He earns points for:
-his charming accent
-his kindness
-his gorgeous apartment
-his height
-his charming accent
-his generousity
-his uber cool job
-his wardrobe
-his accent.

So another 'morning after', waking up in his light-filled apartment while he calls me 'babe' and grabs us some coffee, and I'm swooning.
And though he's eager to make me 'the girlfriend', I've been quite a bit hurt in the recent past, so I'm making every effort to pump the brakes on my heart's tendencies to open up and bleed. Not easy.

And in the meantime, today I'm filming the online preview thats meant as advertising for the play. The director needs Pris to be "all sex" in this scene, so I've the proper black lace lingerie, garter belt, and thigh-high fishnets. Not to mention the new hair cut Lorissa gave me. Half of my head is practically shaved, and the other half is purple and choppy.
Oh Pris.


current mood: punk rock
current music: art brut - good weekend

valoir le coup, c'est bien dans ma peau

Slowly, unsurely, but with loads of effort, I’m beginning to feel more grounded and sane. I’ve even been deemed well enough to return to school in Fall. I’d say a lot of it is due to the people surrounding me right now.

Agata signed up for the same ballet class I’ll be taking. She says it will be fun for her, but that mainly she wants to see me at least once a week. Amazing gal.

Lorissa promised to do something new and edgy with my hair.

Ryan owes me a glass of wine, and I feel he’s definitely earned a Scotch in reciprocation.

Calle has written the most beautifully supportive things.

And Keven, the absolute best rescuer. The other day he played The National’s Sorrow on his guitar for me. It was so beautifully appropriate, it really touched me, and took me back to the day that Leila literally serenaded me with Mirah’s Archipelago under the shade of the biggest tree at the park. And Keven’s actions are all the more punctuated with the familiarity of our closeness; we truly were best friends, and if that’s real, well it just never goes away. We even reminisced about being raised with the same parental dysfunctions: an impulsively volatile and unpredictable mother, and a quirky French father that was fantastic but mostly absent. Thus the primary source of our deep bond.

And so we laid back and stared at the starry sky, and talked about some of our favorite memories. Like the first time he told me he loved me: he had my landlady let him in when I was at work, and he laid down rose petals and herseys kisses in a path from my bedroom door to a big heart on my bed, where inside he had written in rose petals “I Love You”. I fell down on my knees and cried. And in return, that same night I drove to his house in the middle of the night, and I lined up little toy cars from his front door to his car, where I had written on his drivers window “I Love You Too”; he drove around with the window up for weeks. Or the time I attempted to recreate Shutter in our apartment to surprise him when he came home (we had had to miss it that month); he immediately changed clothes and we danced around our living room for hours, and he thanked me for months afterwards. Or the time I came home on Valentines Day and he had completely transformed the living room- bunches of my favorite flowers hung from the ceiling, scattered around the furniture and floor amongst hearts, chocolates, and a million love notes he had written.
Such fantastic and beautiful memories. I’m so grateful to own them.
We truly had great respect and admiration for each other. So upon hearing my recent story, Keven made me promise him that I’d never let anyone talk me into anything ever again. He’s right- I’ve to learn from my mistakes or I’m bound to find myself back here; and I’m too smart and have worked too hard for that. He also told me that my own decisions, the ones that come from the deep recesses of my cracked heart, have given me a beautiful life that most people wouldn’t be brave enough to live.
But his best compliment was when he said I was truly beautiful, ‘because so very much of it came from the deep inside me, that it seeped to the outer”.
Wow.

And, with other folks, in the grand tradition of the character that Zach is, he gave me the most bizarre “compliment/or was it”: You’re perfect just as you are Kendra, because you have the body of a model, the style of a designer, the demeanor of royalty, and the mouth of a sailor.
thanks? Typical ‘endearingly weird’ Zach. Aww.

Either way, weirdos, exes, best friends, and old lovers, I’m  grateful for the people in my life right now. I can’t wait to meet Pris’ Roy. (We get to make out.)
And I can’t wait for my new hair, my new ballet class, my new semester, and this new play.

current mood: enveloped.
current music: derby – don’t feed the bear

friedrch nietzsche

"I can forgive you for what you did to me, but how can I forgive you for what you did to yourself?"