Ophelia Marley's Blurty Entries [entries|friends|calendar]
Ophelia Marley

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Don't Tempt my Ire [02 Oct 2003|08:52am]
[ music | Counting Crows - Einstein on the Beach ]

An enormous effort is being made to curb my explosive tendencies. I would prefer that people simply shut the fuck up and deal, but I realize that socially, such views are not usually appreciated (nor accepted). My duct tape moments (instances where I would much rather duct tape someone's mouth shut than endure the idiocy of their tongue) are considerably more frequent then I'd like to admit.

Recently, a question was posed: When is it safe to chat with me? Honestly? You've already pissed me off, so obviously the only sincere response would be "Never." With a mere handful of tarnished syllables, I would consider more than three-quarters of the general population to be less witty than a social disease. Mind you, the only difference between myself and that seventy-five percent extends simply to lack of concern. In short: I don't give a damn about pecking order, and I have no desire to impress the people around me. Strangers, sure, but the point with that scenario is that I'll never be aurally raped by their blabbering.

The joy of not knowing a person is not hearing them.

Through only the luck of not suffering the misfortune of spending any significant length of time in my company can anyone hold me in a positive light. I'm considered overly critical by people who are overly ignorant. Why bait me with your stupidity?

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Career Decisions [30 Sep 2003|02:45am]
It's very likely that most of my friends are aware that I'm on a vacation of sorts; a vacation that can last between three and twelve + months. While I'd rather not get into the details (I probably already have), please accept my word that this is completely legal and I'm not leeching from the government or living off of strangers. This was a planned vacation, though as I dawn upon four years, I realize that we went awry at some point.

It drives me bat shit.

I would be a strong advocate of this lifestyle if it were interesting and in any way productive. However, I lack the self discipline to be productive without having, to wit, a boss. Four years. V. Boring.

Friends are people who not only listen to you whine, but they also work small miracles whenever possible. One such miracle was performed tonight, although for anyone other than myself, it's a boring thing to read.
You'll Hate Yourself )
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Fantasies, Procrastination and Flesh Tones [29 Sep 2003|12:46pm]
[ music | Ben Folds - Golden Slumbers ]

Because of my body's desperation, I've taken to wearing a lovely "not the shade of my flesh" flesh toned patch that delivers a hefty dose of nicotine. This ensures my sanity and your prolonged existence. An interesting side effect, however, could prove addictive by its own right.

You see, nicotine induces the most brilliant and amazing dreams a person could ever have the distinct pleasure of experiencing. Just a quick summary: Multiple Wet Dreams

There's the unfortunate counterpart to that, though, which includes (but is not limited to) cold sweat and tremors that come with nicotine-induced nightmares. My last was a nightmare that involved me being a war nurse. My vehicle had broken down, and I was stranded at another unit's base. For an unknown reason (at least, I was ignorant of the reasons why), there was no small amount of hostility between myself and my buddies at the other camp.

Those are images that I'd rather not recount.

The ones that are quickly fleeing from my memory are much more pleasant.

A rather manly gent discovered me spying on him took it upon himself to learn a bit more about the lass who had been tailing him for a few days running. The game that ensued was played by a very erotic and thrilling set of rules. He would drop the occasional hint that he was well aware of the fact that someone had been paying him more than his fair share of attention. Once I was caught, it was due to a mistake on my behalf. Sheer carelessness. With my wrist captured in his hand, my man decided to extract what pertinent information I might have been the proud owner of with the use of his own lovely techniques.

It's very rare that I am actually a witness to anatomical details in these nocturnal picture shows, but this most certainly rated an X. There was cock! And balls. Nicely trimmed, I might add.

This has urged a series of usually repressed desires that should be smothered to death before I find myself meandering out to officially introduce myself to trouble.

The procrastination bit? I'll finish this entry later.

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Extra Angst [16 Sep 2003|08:43pm]
Life has been exceptionally crazy, complete with an extra (heaping) helping of whacko. I've been so very close to slamming a few doors and turning away from those who had, at one time, been held very close to my heart. With little hesitation, I've been lied to and about, ignored, and mocked. Perhaps I wouldn't have been so emotionally wounded if I had expected these betrayals.

Then again, I'm not completely oblivious.

I ended our relationship under the guise of a breather, but I'm completely certain--now--that our parting is good for my sanity.

On a side note, I apologize to those who have made the mistake of friending this account, since I truly don't find enough time to update. Only being allowed ten friends on one's list will drive me bananas. I pray that they hurry with the paid account stuff.

I ran across an image that I adore:

Other than the hotness factor, you have to stop and admire their shower curtain.

Thank god for the internet.
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Extra Angst [16 Sep 2003|08:43pm]
Life has been exceptionally crazy, complete with an extra (heaping) helping of whacko. I've been so very close to slamming a few doors and turning away from those who had, at one time, been held very close to my heart. With little hesitation, I've been lied to and about, ignored, and mocked. Perhaps I wouldn't have been so emotionally wounded if I had expected these betrayals.

Then again, I'm not completely oblivious.

I ended our relationship under the guise of a breather, but I'm completely certain--now--that our parting is good for my sanity.

On a side note, I apologize to those who have made the mistake of friending this account, since I truly don't find enough time to update. Only being allowed ten friends on one's list will drive me bananas. I pray that they hurry with the paid account stuff.

I ran across an image that I adore:

Other than the hotness factor, you have to stop and admire their shower curtain.

Thank god for the internet.
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I'm tired of being hurt [25 Aug 2003|03:19am]
I'm a monster, full of fault. I admit as much as frequently as I breathe. I'm an abomination, the lowest of the low, a horrible, bad, bad person. And I repent, oft times more so than one would care to imagine. I'm a clot awaiting thinning, eventual removal. But I only see futility in picking at the scab, causing me to bleed. What great goal has been accomplished, now that I've been plucked at and bled? What more result could be hoped for than a scar and another soiled bandage to throw out with the rubbage?

I can apologize with intense sincerity for the wrongs that I choose to commit, but not those that have yet to be, nor moments where the problem lies within clarity. I'll continue to repent; I feel it's not contrition that is sought, but merely the bleeding that was already brought.

I'll close the door, it's something I can do. It's right for me.

(Simple bullshit post fresh from a brutal betrayal of friendship)
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It's not easy... being green [25 Aug 2003|01:03am]
Life has been amazingly crazy this past week or two. I'm at a loss. I feel obligated to post here of the things that have been spinning my world off of its axis, to continue to make an effort, to release some of this inner ... static, but instinctually, I'm lead away from my computer and away from people.

I'm afraid.

I was recently judged harshly and unfairly, and I'm cowering--my soul grows ill and bitter, and I simply wish to wave a hand and see certain aspects of my life disappear.
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There is nothing quite as humbling... [13 Aug 2003|10:09pm]
As hearing an old friend say, "Who? Ophelia... who?"

I stumbled headlong into a realm of ugliness, something I had been trying to avoid for a long while. Now, unfortunately, I have to suffer the consequences of my first step and finish what has begun. For what it's worth to the person involved, I will be giving her my most treasured items -- memories of her deceased daughter, tidbits that she may have been blind to -- and praying that she'll forgive my selfishness.

In one breath, I received closure. In the next, I reopened a wound that will never heal. My ensuing letters to her will, hopefully, bring another light, another facet of her daughter.

I'm not entirely keen on the explanation that was given to me. Accidental suicide. She spoke of warning signs, cries for help, and followed with an accidental suicide. Is she in denial?

"Ophelia... Who?

Am I in denial? Assuming that six years can pass and a friendship still be solid? Her impact on my life was profound.

"It's good of you to call... Even though she wasn't part of your life."

Have I imagined spending time with her everyday for several years? Did I imagine sleeping in the same bed with her? More than once? Did I 'make believe' several pacts from our youth, detailing our deaths (it is a bit ironic) and hoping we would meet in the *cough* afterlife? It is a bit juvenile, but we were young.
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Habit, meet Foot [13 Aug 2003|03:01pm]
[ mood | anxious ]
[ music | traffic ]

My every passing second is filled with the thought, "Damn. I really want a cigarette." I've been a smoker for five years, now, and I've realized that it's time to say fare thee well to the addictive little buggers. It seems so easy, when I'm laying in bed, considering it each night.

The next day, however, proves miserable.

Jan Siegel's Prospero's Children revealed its tale to be a tragedy more tragic than any I've ever read. Not that I spend much of my time delving into the musty pages of Shakespeare, anymore. But the last page did cause my heart to clench and cry out for the mermaid, the fated soul lost at sea, and the young hero who would complete a vicious cycle by making the ultimate sacrifice.

If I could believe in alternate realities and fanciful dimensions, then I could take comfort that in another word, I'm probably not stagnant and constantly afraid. However, I don't, so I suppose I'll just have to cling desperately to my imagination.

I really need to add more to The Story, continue writing, pick up speed, finish the tale... but I find myself simply lazy and unwilling despite an open vault of stacks of pages written in the ink of the imagination. Is this what it feels like to be in bed with a beautiful woman, only to discover that suddenly--you're impotent?

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Beginnings [13 Aug 2003|02:34am]
[ mood | hopeful ]
[ music | silence ]

I try so desperately to begin a journal where my friends will not find me, where I can find seclusion and peace. This will be my third attempt, and hopefully... my last.

I wish to be a stranger, an anonymous sinner, a prideful woman with confidence. I feel that I must confess my secrets, avoid the mundane, and to speak of what is truly on my mind, but I am a coward. Unfortunately, because I've made another attempt, elsewhere, it's entirely possible that I will be recognized here as well. If you recognize me, please do not bring this to my attention.

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