I’m back from Oriskany but I’m tired. I was up for 22 hours straight last night (Richard and I drove back to Manhattanville and it was a four hour drive) and I have work tomorrow morning. So yeah, don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a few days.

Check it out. It’s all about reenacting.

It was a very very good day, and I have proof.

• Richard arrived safely in Milwaukee at around 7:00 a.m. CST. It was ironic because he texted me during a dream about me texting him. We texted all day. He went to the Milwaukee’s Best Brewery, Hooters, and a cocktail party. Tough life that boy has, eh? Anyways, he seemed in good spirits, although he was missing me.
• An asylum in my own backyard? Almost. Don’t get your hopes up for me. Mohansic State Hospital (in nearby Yorktown Heights) was supposed to be built and supposed to be huge. In 1918. It never got built, since those in Westchester and New York City feared pollution. I can’t find a direct link, but I’m assuming that huge mass of land it was supposed to be built on is now Mohansic State Park. That’s just me using syllogism though.
• I am going on a tour of an abandoned arsenal tomorrow in the middle of the Hudson. The place is supposedly haunted…that’s why Indians never settled there. *ghost noise*
• Fireworks tomorrow!
• I finally tightened my new stays.

The three best conversations of today:

Mom (noticing my band on the left ring finger): Why is it there?
Me: Rich moved it on me. He moved his too.
Mom: You didn’t elope, did you?

Me (seeing the Eucharist missing a triangle out of it): That looks like Pac-Man!

Lector: …and for the Deacons, Nuns, and Presbyters, let us pray.
Me: Mom, what’s a Presbyter?
Mom: I don’t know, ask your father.
Me: Dad, what’s a Presbyter?
Dad: How am I supposed to know?
(By the way, Presbyter is a nice big word for priest)

Okay, so today after the Hellion of Hellion days (okay, so not only is The General going away to Milwaukee [I know] but I spent the entire day calling people at work as well) I had to march in the parade. And you should of heard me: I was like “oh crap, I have to march in the parade” in that same obnoxious tone I used when I was thirteen. And to make it worse, my new shiny Townsend (before y’all kill me…you have to understand that my sewing skills and funds are limited…and Townsend actually sells the most correct stays for the lowest price. I mean, Silly Sisters has a great set, but there is no way I’m spending $300 for something I have to buy myself. I’ll eventually make my own stays) stays don’t fit. They fit pretty well, but there is still that 1″ gap that I’ll need to fix before Friday. So I nearly killed someone over that. But they really are good stays. Heavy duck drilling, nice narrow green stripes, front and back lace, full boning, the works. But that’s another story. So I put these stays on and, hey, my bumroll never arrived with the rest of my stuff on Sunday. It’s probably still in Rich’s car, along with his hat. So I put my grey gown on and did the whole refugee thing. It was weird without a bumroll…I actually looked more 1790s in it.

So we stopped by my grandma’s to wait for the Kish family, and poor Mac was terrified of my dad. Like he got used to my mom and I, but he was scared to death of my dad. I don’t know why, either, especially since he loves my dad. The Kishes werent there at 6:15 so we went over to Fifth Street to line up. I saw Mr. Ryan and the rest of the Fire Department and I was eternally scoffed for using a cell phone to text Richard while I waited in line (what else is a girl to do?). At 6:45 the Kishes showed up and we had three men at arms. It’s not a lot, but it’s better then one. And then we kicked off.

For the first half, I was kind of in my somber, “why do I have to do this?” mode. Then, I looked around. People were waving and smiling. Old Italian ladies, old Irishmen with brogues, little kids with puppies; they were all cheering. I cracked a huge smile (I don’t think I’ve had a smile that big for some time) and waved to everyone. People were cheering from both sides. I saw familiar faces. Best of all, my former dance teacher was in the crowd. I broke formation to run up and give her a hug. All the smiling, waving, and cheering made me forget my frustration or my huge blister on my heel. I felt like a queen, even if I was in refugee’s clothes.

Okay, sorry guys, I’ve been MIA for quite a while. I have good reason though.

On Friday night, The General arrived here around 9 p.m. exaughsted. He was stuck for two hours on the George Washington Bridge because of assholes who don’t know that they don’t belong in the EZ-pass lane if they are paying in cash. During this time I read him Dr. Seuss via telephone. Yes, I do know that I am a loser. So we got him in, got him a hot shower and a warm meal (and a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio), and sent him to bed.

Saturday morning meant getting up extra extra early to get dressed in our kits and get over to Stony Point. We got there early and set up. Oh yeah, and along the way there was a car accident. It was minor so we really didn’t care to stay long, and I mean, it was pretty obvious that she was going incredibly fast beforehand. So we get there, I found some raspberries alongside the road (that the bears hadn’t gotten to…damn bears) and set up camp. Now we have two Richards in the unit, which gets confusing at times. The General (who really is a private) and I went up to the lighthouse. Let me tell you something, climbing a 19th century lighthouse is really hard in modern clothes. Climbing it in 18th century clothes is near impossible. Petticoats were tucked and flipped and whatnot and modesty was forgotten about. Seriously, the ladders are super duper tiny. And then the men went to play war and I sat and wasted time. No, I made lunch, I’m a dirty liar. And after lunch, The General and dadsie went to do a tactical, and I laid down, which was a very bad idea because that meant I had to get up. Damn it! And around 2:30 p.m. we got in the car and left for…(brace yourselves)…beautiful West Hartford, Connecticut! It was fun though, being that I got to meet Cara and Adam (Rich’s sister and her boyfriend) and we went out to dinner and had fun.

Then, by the time we got on I-84, Richard got a terrible phonecall. Josh’s dad, Dr. Zaloga, died suddenly that morning of a heart attack. He was 49. Now you have to understand, Josh and Rich were inseprable when they were younger, and Dr. Zaloga was a father figure to Rich as well as to many others (aside from being a chairopractor, he was a Boy Scout leader as well). Rich took it pretty hard, and it was weird (yet totally understandable) to see him cry. I just wish I could make everything okay for him. So we got home, broke the news to my parents, went to sleep, and got ready to leave for Sag Harbor.

We left for Sag Harbor that Sunday morning at around noon after a brief detour to The ‘Ville so Richard could grab some suits and whatnot. It was really unbelievable to be back in Sag Harbor, considering I had literally just been there two days beforehand. We stopped by Josh’s house to see him and his family. That was hard to see, and I mean, Amanda (Josh’s sister) and Becky (Josh’s mom) were crying, but Josh was just kind of staying composed and doing yard work, which is a pretty typical male reaction. We went home, went to see the Scavarelli family, and then went back home to eat dinner. We went back to Josh’s and watched anime until late that night.

Monday we got up and I honestly (this is terrible) don’t remember everything we did. I believe Chinese Food was had at some point. Then we went to see Josh (of course) and then went back to see George and his family. The Scavarellis were very nice and invited us to join them for dinner, which was great fun. George had his girlfriend over, and Frank joined us. Then we went to Josh’s and watched anime for a while. Then we all took a trip to Southampton to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix. It was really sadomasochistic at some points. Like I know the books are dark and all, but there was a seen where Umbridge had Harry tied to a chair and she slapped him across the face and says “naughty boys deserve to be punished.” Can someone say hot? We got out at like 1:00 a.m. and it really sucked because we had to be up early the next morning.

Tuesday we were up and early. We picked George up and went to lunch at the Hampton Bays Diner (which does have good service, ignore any posts about diners in Southampton from a couple of weeks ago). I ate a lot. Then Richard and I went home, took a nap (which I don’t want to talk about…I had a really bad nightmare during it), ate dinner with his mom and Frank, and went to the wake. The wake was really sad, because it did hit a lot of people hard to see Dr. Zaloga there, especially without a mustache. Then we went to Josh’s and watched anime for a short while. We all had an early morning so we called it an early night.

Wedensday was the funeral. Rich dropped me off at Our Lady of Poland early because he had to go to the funeral home (he was a pallbearer). The funeral was very sad, especially when Amanda and Josh gave the eulogy. They did a series of questions like “who’s going to drive me to school in a limo?”, “who’s going to intimidate my friends?”, etc. Then Amanda said, “who’s going to walk me down the aisle?” and it was seriously the saddest thing I have ever heard. I feel so bad for the Zaloga family. Pray for them if you get a chance.

After the funeral (in which it rained…another story) Rich, Stefan, and I went to Le Parm, ate pizza, and got canolis for Josh. We went to the repast for a little while, then went home and took a nap. We later joined Josh to watch anime and play in the park. And then Rich and I went back to sleep.

Today was sad. Not because of leaving the Hamptons or anything but because my baby is going to Milwaukee (who the Hell goes to Milwaukee?) from Saturday until Wedensday and I’ll miss him terribly. So if I am a blubbering idiot for the next week, forgive me.

I’ve been sitting here for the past hour and a half staring at the screen. It’s hitting me again, I know it. Damn it, why has it hit me so hard in the past year, I think. I look around my room for inspiration. The pink and white puppy, the one that he gave me for Valentine’s day and picked up at a convienence store right before he came to see me so he would have something nice, sits on the top shelf collecting dust with one ear flopped over its eye like in a firing-squad execution. I don’t want to write about that now, though. That’s my past. It’s something deep-seated that makes my face flush with anger and tears whenever I think about it. I don’t want to think of it even. I’m happy now.

On the other side, there’s a set of fairy wings. I wish I were a fairy. I think I’d be a nymph actually, you know, like the ones depicted bathing in John William Waterhouse paintings that just make you want to take your clothes off and bathe with them. I could really go for a warm bath in my yellow duct-tape tub right now. But I have stuff to do. And yet I’m still wasting my time blogging here. It’s what I do.

I keep meticulously staring at my cell phone. It’s looking kind of sad, waiting for a call or a text or something to let me know that the Jersey Devil didn’t eat his soul. I keep fixating on it. Damn it, light up and vibrate. Give me something to look forward to. I send a text. It was thirty seconds ago. I have no answer yet. This can’t be good. My stomach tightens waiting. Why isn’t he at my beck and call? Of course I know I’m being silly since he’s probably busy. Damn it, I hate waiting. I’m like a five year old. He’ll be here soon enough. One minute now. I check weather reports in my spare time. Clear weather, although it’s been gradually clouding over all day.

I hear a sound. It’s the phone, but not my phone. It’s someone I don’t care about. That happens a lot, being in such a busy household. As of Wedensday, I have sent out 109 text messages. That’s a lot of text messages. My bill is going to be insane. How can I pay that? I haven’t gotten my paycheck yet. I should probably do my work, but I’m sitting here, taking space instead.

Looking through the cracks in my blinds, I see a bit of blue. Blue makes me think of the ocean, of past loves, of warm summer days laying in fields. It makes me think of Rockland. I have the sudden desire for it to be fall, you know, the fall where it’s perfectly freezing outside but the sky is as blue as cotton candy? I love days like that, especially Saturdays. Good days for reenacting. I can’t wait to reenact tomorrow. I love that site, and it always makes me think of summer. Oh, summer. I went swimming today. It’s freezing outside. Where’s my summer?

I keep myself locked away from the world,
From the horrors that haunt me in garish light,
Screaming into a plastic bag,
Suffocating poetic thoughts into white-gown notebooks.

The empty asylums of co-op city,
Monsters in this wallpapered sky,
Call to me.
I find solace in the empty promises of high heels
And the hydrotherapy tubs that are Utica Coffins.

I wonder in naked cold sweats,
I ask “what cost my spirit?”
“Why am I afraid?”
“What are my options?”

And I hide in the back of my mind,
A pleasant world of hysterical open fields.
Both bunnies and demons and angels run,
Admist the Jacobite Rebellions and calculus formulae.

And I think of future days,
Of cracked chess pieces and broken vases,
Of deaths in shit-stained underpants,
Of no one by my side,
And my soul runs into pink sequined panic.

May I hide in a world I dispise?
May I sit for chamomile tea with a walrus and a hatter?
Is this theraputic?
Why am I crying again?
Must I nonerotically cry?

I long for excitment,
And fear T.S. Eliot’s pain.
I wish for the past,
But long for the future.
And fear the unknown lard-canister depths.

So I’ve been in mindnumbingly painful pain (sorry to be redundant) for about three weeks on average. We figured, hey it’s my ovaries since I had all those pesky cysts. Turns out the cysts are gone (yeah, thanks, I loved having my bladder engorged to the point it put me in painful tears) and an ultrasound and pap smear later, I have NO gynecological problems whatsoever. So…what is it? They have two guesses, both similar:

1. It’s my kidneys
2. It’s my colon

So, I decide to call my mom’s friend, who has collitis, to ask him about his doctor. Apparently this guy is really good and always gives accurate diagnoses. So, I call, and lo and behold I find out that: a) this guy does not accept insurance, and b) it’s $500 for a consultation. So at this point I am pissed out of my mind. What doctor doesn’t accept insurance. But, the friend reccomends me to her doctor, who is also apparently very good and not as expensive. I call up, once again citing severe pelvic pain to the point that I can not function. Yeah. She can see me August 2nd. August fucking second. So, I have three weeks to sit and wallow in miserable pain because, as the doctor explained it, “she’s a very prestigious office”. Really. My current sick fantasy is to take degrees away from all these doctors who are “that good” that they can’t even consider seeing me for almost a month. Maybe they should have to suffer in pain for two weeks and then wait another three weeks for any action by someone who, in the end, has no fucking clue what the problem is.

I seriously think I’d be better off going to the hospital for care.

So, today my aunt had her 50th birthday party at Sunnyside Manor. It was pretty fabulous, even though I didn’t get to see any ghosts. So here is a list of places I’ve been, and places I want to see.

Where I’ve Been:

Boscobel
Van Cortlandt Manor
FDR’s Home in Hyde Park
Huguenot Street
Caramoor

Where I want to go:

Phillipsburg Manor

Kykuit
Lyndhurst
Vanderbilt Mansion
Montgomery Place
Union Church
Olana Castle

That’s that…let’s go!

Dear Diary,

 Today I realized that I am blessed to have the greatest man on Earth in my life. Actually, this isn’t a matter of epiphanies, wheras I have known this. It’s just something that blows me away every day. Everyday, I wake up, I take my phone out (my text messaging rates must be so high by now) and I say “wow, Richard K. Vazquez II is in love with me! He chose me!” I often wonder why he chose me out of all the girls an amazing man like him can have.

I feel needy a lot of the time. Just this night, I broke down in tears because I don’t feel pretty anymore. I feel like a bloated mess with oily hair and greasy skin. And to make it worse, this pain won’t stop. But he was there, by my side, whispering in my ear that I was beautiful. He always makes sure I have a big smile on my face before he leaves for the evening. Then, as he was driving, he sent me a text with the words “ur beautiful”. And of course, this made me cry again, but they were tears of sheer joy. I am so happy, and I am lucky that Richard is not only my lover, but my bestest friend in the entire world.

Are we growing up?
Or just going down?
It’s just a matter of time
Until we’re all found out.
Take your tears, put them on ice.
‘Cause I swear I’d burn this city down to show you the light…