10:05 - 10.11.2007
where will you run? where will you hide?

odd taste at the top of my throat/back of my mouth. vomit and citrus mouthwash. no cups in the bathroom for water, and i thought that mouthwash would help cover up the smell and taste of puke as well. yeah, except that, in my halfasleep state, i jerked my head back too far when gargling and damn near gagged myself. not that i would have minded puking again so much. just that the sink in my newplace can't handle vomit. the drain cover, which cannot be removed, only funtions through a series of small holes drilled into a metal plate. nothing solid or semisolid will ever go down that thing. if i puked there, i'd have to scoop it all back out. yuck.

so i'm learning new techniques. reason the mouthwash didn't fully gag me: my gag reflex is broken. can only throwup if i manage to roll my stomach. which is what actually makes a person vomit anyway; gagging usually makes one's stomach roll. not me, through. have to think about it carefully with a very agitated stomach. in my parents home, the morning after a binge and 120 laxative pills, in the midst of a bout of violent diarrhea, i could roll in while sitting on the toilet and cast into the opendrained sink, which sat next to the toilet in all three bathrooms. here, the sink, with its idiotically closed drain, lies on the opposite side of the room. the trashcan used to be next to the sink, but i moved it over by the toilet, just in case, and hoping to imitate the sink trick, only with a trashcan.

it doesn't work. i cannot make myself believe that a trashcan is the proper recepticle for vomit. just like when i was a kid at the beach, and, after hours in cold water, i suddenly had to pee. "just go in the water," my mom always told me. silly woman! the lake was not a toilet, and my brain would simply not allow my body to relieve itself there. so we had to hike clear across the beach to some creepy concrete outpost, which, although possessing flushtoilets, reeked worse than an outhouse.

also when i was a kid, up sick with the flu all night, i found myself in that awkward situation of having a simultaneaously upset stomach and upset bowels. the shit seemed more urgent, which is how i wound up puking on the bathroom floor from my perch on the toilet, when my assertion proved incorrect. my parents yelled at me. my grandmother asked why i didn't just pull the wastebasket in front of me, because that's what she always did in such predicaments. but again, i can't throwup in a trashcan. no good

places in which i can vomit: the toilet, the sink, the bone (meatscrap) can at work, the bathroom floor, the stairwell, my brother when he was a baby (long story; my mother's fault entirely), and i think that's about it. new trick: kneeling in front of the toilet, thinking about how disgusting the "clean" water in the bowl smells, belly full of pills, willing myself to vomit. usually works enough to bring up a handful of pills and various amounts of food.

still feel fucking awful, though. my fiance, determined to sleep in until the last possible second, scanning the clock with a flashlight. lame. just get your ass out of bed already. thrust an unexpected dinnerinaresturant at me last night, where the waitress called me pet names and i had to eat badfood in front of other people. can i go home and throwup now? wants to call a friend tonight, make plans to take me out for my 21st next friday. i don't want to go out. in my mind, i joked that i'd rather stay home and have a bulimic episode. sadly, it's probably mostlytrue. likely, i'll induce an episode on purpose so i'll be too sick to go out. it's all an excuse to escape, you know. a vehicle driving me to a reclusive refuge. go on out without me. get shitfaced in my honor. i'll stay at home and try not to quite die.

$90 that i couldn't really afford at the blick store yesterday. paper, charcoals, glue. and such. really wanted a portfolio big enough to hold everything. the one i have is about to burst at the seams, it's so full, and is neither tall nor wide enough to hold several of my collages. the only portfolio they had that i could see was clearly large enough cost $100. a second, which might have worked, was $50. both out of the question if i wanted my paper and charcoals and glue. no portfolio. thought i could at least sit the big pieces into a trashbag back home, just to give them some minor protection. but they're too big for the fucking trashbag! we saw sheets of canvas as tall and wide as our kitchen wall. i learn to paint and glue and scribble on something that big. cy twombly has some gigantic works like that. and i think he's fucking amazing. my art teacher spring quarter, and all the other students in the class, hated him and didn't understand his work. what the fuck is there to be understood? it's art! i simply adore him.

fiance talking about getting ready for work, having to leave, seeyoutonight. okay. okay. okay. my response to each. stomach churning like a washing machine gone mad. i didn't give a fuck if my fiance was going to china just then, frankly.

still trying to locate a certain hoodie of my fiance's to cuddle in when i'm cold. can't find it. don't feel like wearing my own hooded jackie because it's the perfect size for me and i want to wear something waytoobig.

i think i still have vomit stuck in my throat. superfantastical.

i'm writing a new novel. trying to finishup a really big art project. both are going to take time. the art project is hilarious. it's called "0 year" and involves a certain amount of plagarism. nineinchnails has a concept album called "year zero." about the religious right taking control of the country or something. i don't fully know or care. what i do know, what i do care, is that if you use your imagination just a little, you can easily come to believe that each and every song on that album is about bulimia. or maybe i'm just so bulimic that i see and hear mia in everything. regardless, i took out lyrics that i felt described a bulimic stateofmind quite well and am making a book of collages using the lyrics and random pictures off the internet that i feel depict a bulimic lifestyle. it's coming along verywell. i have images for the title page and the selected lyrics for the first nine song (out of sixteen). the other part is translating the excerpts into german and creating identical collages for them, just with german instead of english words. so after i finish the english side of the book, i turn it backwards and upside down, and run the german version the other way. so they meet in the middle. i had a storybook like that when i was a kid. would like to still have it, but my dear mother threw it out.

she threw out all my toys and books when she felt that i was too old for them. never my brother's. just mine. but i figured out this past hallowe'en that the older of my brother' is the son she always wanted. the younger of my brother's is the daughter she always wanted. (he likes to crossdress and has a very effeminate personality.) no need for me at all, then. misbegotten firstborn. might as well be a bastard.

i want to be the baby again. i only got to be the baby for 14 months, and then my first brother took over. he got to be the baby for 4 years before the other brother came along. who is still the baby. i'm needy just like everyone else, you know. can't stand constantly being cast aside. not forever.

been gone a week now. brother already in my room, furniture changed, walls repainted. like i never even existed. so when my fiance dies in a horribly freaky accident, and the house explodes, where will i go? a cardboard box? better pray nothing like that happens.