☆♠¤°º ★♪ † ☠ ♥ ☆jill_havok☆ ♥ ☠ † ♪★ º°¤♠☆

I enjoy getting where I have to go in record time. One could say I'm a speed enthusiast. One could say that I might be a little too in love with the gas pedal but Christ on a cracker, why wouldn't you be? In your car, you seemingly have more control that you could ever possess in the workplace or in love or even in fellatio, so why my dear readers, would someone want to slap a fine on your beloved narrator for wanting to get home quickly in the late 2 o'clock hour?

The answer: because obviously there weren't any drunk or illegal drivers on the roads that the stupid fucking police had to worry about on that fine Saturday night/Sunday morning. There wasn't that one blue shit 1986 swerving Mazda with expired tags that I bypassed in my incessant need to get to bed. Or the black Magnum in the fast lane going a conscientious 45 mph (had to make revisions from original journal for my beloved American readers) in the "fast" lane. No. They had to fuck with jill_havok.

I was having such a great night. I hung out with good friends and had even "enjoyed" 2 mugs of Tea (that’s right... this bitch doesn’t drink and drive) earlier in the evening. Perhaps I should have left my friends' house just 5 minutes later or earlier and this entire process would have been avoided but no. God's cruel sense of humour was raining down in my direction in this, the week before the Pleasure Palace, drops. So I see the bright red lights behind me, as I was weaving in and out of the 55 mph traffic. I usually stay at the steady pace of 70 mph so the po-po's can't catch me slipping, but the other cars were moving at a snail's pace and I became frustrated. I go 0 to 60. There is no middle ground for me. Calm to fury. Maybe it was my music choice. Usually I drive home with ballads but for that nights trek I chose some more aggressive musical stylings. A little Pantera and there you go, red light in my rear view fucking mirror.

So my little invincibility complex led me to believe that the red lights behind me belonged to an ambulance, so I got over to the left so that they could pass and save a life. Then they the red lights got behind me. Fuck. That is not an ambulance, that is the fucking Highway Patrol and I'm about to be ticketed. Fuck me. So I pull over to the "emergency lane" and I get a cute loud speaker, telling me to exit the freeway and turn right. I pulled off the freeway and realized that I was shaking. Not because I was scared but because I was infuriated that I was about to lose 30 minutes of my life while these assholian Highway Patrolmen would have to write my ticket. 30 minutes where I could have arrived home, removed my dried up contacts from my precious eyes, disrobed. Now I would be sitting in my car seething and helpless. Fuck.

 I pull over, turn my car off, kill the lights, and take my seatbelt off because I should at least experience some comfort in my discomforting situation. The officers turn on their blinding white lights and approach my seemingly hostile vehicle. They then shine their flashlights from heaven into my face from both sides of my car and I am temporarily blinded. I hate them and I wish my car would explode, and send us all to the hell that waits. Self sacrifice. To think someone once told me I was selfish. Harrumph.

 "So you were going pretty fast weaving in and out of traffic, why the rush?" Officer Douchebag 1 asks in his dick like tone.

"Just wanted to get home", Havok replies.

"Do me a favour and look into this blue light. Don't turn your head; follow the light with your eyes." Officer 1 says. Of course I'll do you this favour Officer, but just this once because we're friends and you're NOT accusing me of drinking and driving, I think to myself. I also think how if I sassed him, would I be shot in the face or would he throw a brick of cocaine in my backseat and send me to federal prison for the next 25 years of my underwhelming life. Hmmm better not chance this one. So I obey and follow the light. He then puts the light away and asks me if I had been drinking tonight. I think to myself, I passed the light test, so that must mean sobriety right retard? No, he's probably disappointed that he won't be charging this lady with a DUI, so I have won a little for the night and that's always my ultimate goal.  I tell him that I hadn’t drunk anything and he pauses pensively. I use the word pensive very loosely as I suspect this 5'4 meathead moron doesn't think hard all that often.

He then asks for my license, registration, and insurance. What he didn't know at this point was that I unstereotypically possessed all 3 in proper and current condition. So fuck him. I make a point of opening my glove compartment tortuously slow and then proceed to throw everything on the floor in a more than dramatic manner, in an effort to find his 3 requested precious items. I slowly rifle through my goods and find all accounted for, I pass them to Officer Douchebag 1, Officer Douchbag 2 stands on my passenger side shining the unnecessary light on my more than irritated face.

Officer 1: " Where you coming from?"

Danger: "A friend's house in Mount Pearl"

He walks away with his piece of shit partner and a new Honda speeds past us and I think to myself, there weren't bigger fish to fry huh? I wished for the 20 minutes that they were writing my ticket and profiling me that I had just been a big titted, small waisted, platinum blonde caucazoid. In my present and future condition I would never know the amazing feeling of getting caught speeding and being sent off without a ticket. I mean a couple years ago, I got a seatbelt ticket and I was wearing a fucking seatbelt. The only luck I've ever known is the bad kind. Damn this white chip on my black shoulder.

Okay now its 2:20 am and I'm starting to fall asleep in my seat, a despicably drunken thing to do for a sober lady, but fuck my eyes are dried shrivelled raisins and I'm emotionally exhausted from this bullshit. Then Officer Piece of Shit 2 walks up and it's his time to shine. He is a middle aged stumpy caucazoid with a militant crew-cut. Something about the look in his eye and his supremacist moustache tells me that he defiantly voted Conservative (FUCK you Steven Harper). 

Officer 2: "Can you sign here"?

Danger:" How fast was I going "?

Officer 2:" 85".

Danger: "Really"? (In a rather condescending tone)

I immediately flinched and realized that that brick of cocaine is about to be left in my trunk this very minute. By the way, my entire car is filled to the brim with boxes and at least 2 suitcases that he had been eyeing suspiciously when they first pulled me over. I didn't feel the need to explain that I was moving in a week because what the fuck do they care, they have a quota to fill. He then tells me my court date is on the bottom.

Officer 2: "Do you have any questions?"

Danger: "Nope." (I really popped the p on that one because I didn't care about a brick of cocaine in my backseat, irrationality thine name is Danger.)

He then proceeded to walk away and I yelled out the window, "Am I free to go?" .They did not respond. I wished for their immediate demise and proceeded to cautiously pull away. I took the street all the way home so I could think about what just happened. I was overcome by a thick feeling of paranoia and sadness. As I drove 60mph on the surface street (in an effort to redeem my ego and give a silent fuck you to the shitty CHP) I realized that though I could complete traffic school and avoid my insurance being raised, I wouldn't be able to speed for a year and a half without getting a point on my record. These bastards had just ripped away from me the very thing that brings me joy on a daily basis. I know that it's unsafe and potentially life threatening but speeding soothes the day to day work pain and life pains that I'm always trying to flee from.

Then the denouement... I got home and took a second to look at the ticket and examine it for my court date. Febuaryr 3rd. 3 weeks before my 25th birthday. You Bastard.

Thanks God. What's next? Rabies. Or maybe mono?

Adam Carolla and NWA had it right. Fuck the police.

Hey,

It seems so long since we've talked. I'm well... very well indeed. Maybe even happy enough to say that "I've found Jesus!" No but really... I made a pledged to myself a few months ago to stop the past from ruining my expectations. The repayment of doing so have dwindled my tension level to a measure that I didn't consider to be probable.

Although I still agonize about classes and work, I now grasp that, at this point, nothing is excessive and I can get through it as it means zilch 6 months down the road. I feel bad that I don't get to write to anyone anymore.

I virtually never check my mail (since its usually filled with junk and FW that mean nothing). Journal writing has also been put on the back burner for the past few months. I reassessed my notes/journals that I've written in the previously... how sad that the past consumed me and my thoughts. I decided that I deserved more in life than pain.

Enough about me... how have you been?

I just lay witness to one of the funniest social commentaries that basic cable television may ever offer my gentile eyes. On an all new episode of South Park, Eric Cartman contracted the HIV virus from a botched blood transfusion during a routine tonsillectomy. After he receives this horrible news, his teachers announce to his friends that he has contracted this horrible illness. Kyle, Eric’s mortal frienemy, thinks this is the funniest check karma has ever cashed and he can’t control his urge to laugh in Eric’s face.

An enraged Cartman enlists the help of his faithful dipshit sidekick Butters to hoist Cartman into Kyle’s room while he sleeps so that he can deliver revenge. Cartman proceeds to draw blood from his arm and inject that needle into Kyle’s cheek. Days pass, Kyle gets sick, goes to the doctor and finds out that he has HIV as well. After receiving his prognosis and an anal sex question from his doctor, Kyle is enraged and seeks Cartman out for a fistfight in the schoolyard. A few references to cancer being the new disease du jour and AIDS being retro and an appearance by Mr. Jimmy Buffet, Kyle and Cartman pretend to be cancer patients to get free airline tickets to fly to Los Angeles where they find Earvin "Magic" Johnson. After touring his mansion they find out that Magic sleeps in a room filled with cash and this has made him stay healthy for the last 18 years. The 3 of them rush to a research facility where scientists inject Kyle with $180,000 dollars worth of liquefied money, which cures him and the boys are treated to another Jimmy Buffet concert for helping to cure one of the deadliest diseases ever known to man. A brief shot of Africa and a funny catch phrase, “I’m not sure, I’m HIV positive, help round this episode out with a few laughs for the intellectually challenged viewers.

I have long held the conspiracy theory that Magic Johnson had bought the cure for HIV since way back in high school. It has been one of the longest running arguments I share with my mom, who feigns oblivious to the ultimate power of money. I remember being like 7 or 8 years old when the news of Magic having the disease came out. It was the first time I had really paid attention to what would become a pandemic. I, then grew up and subconsciously awaited the news of Magic’s HIV turning into AIDS and eventually seeing one of the most successful black entrepreneurs of my time pass away to my behest. But a funny thing occurred to me back in the tail end of the millennium when Magic started opening a chain of successful flare inspired diner styled restaurants. I realized his illness seemed to be in remission. He never seemed to lose weight, his complexion never sallower, he was high energy, and never appeared to be unhealthy at all. If anything he has only grown more healthy looking and active as the years have passed. I know not all cases of HIV mean you become deficient or like Tom Hank’s from Philadelphia but to live for this many years with a depleting immune system and no major hospital visits? Hmmm. Ignorance aside the paparazzi pray on this kind of news so someone somewhere would’ve made mention of it. Patrick Swayze was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer like 4 minutes ago and they are on his ass and he hasn’t been relevant since "Roadhouse". What’s happening here?

I came to the realization after a few years passed and a couple of Magic Johnson’s Starbuck’s opened that this man who topped Forbes list year after year may have purchased a cure to this "incurable" disease. I sit and think about the innumerable charities and the millions of dollars donated to this cause, this hot social button cause for ten plus years and yet no progress? Polio cured, astigmatism cured, fucking syphilis cured and yet nothing for AIDS. It makes negative sense until you think of how this backwards country works. Well I couldn’t quote statistics or give you a fancy number to prove my point but how much money does the pharmaceutical industry make from an AIDS cocktail? A truckload of pills you absolutely must take on a daily basis or your immune system shuts down when you catch a head cold. I’m not talking about a few poppable Airborne’s (RIP fraud), I’m talking $20 a pill horse tablets. And you must ingest like 20 a day to remain healthy.

Where are these research faculties and these mastermind scientists? What did they do with the billions of charitable dollars? Are they knee deep in china white or are they preparing one miracle vaccine only to be distributed to those who possess great wealth, not riches, those who understand what our economy stands to lose if word should ever leak that this fatal disease is with cure.

Think of the Republicans committing mass suicides at the thought of a cure for AIDS going public and the gays coming together to fuck simultaneously without rubbers on the White House lawn in celebration and rebellion. Think about the Democrats, Democrat being another word for a slightly less conservative Republican, projectile vomiting at the mere thought of all the race mixing that will occur when all the hicks that think all blacks have AIDS start getting the good taboo and race mix until America is a sea of beige and the white superior race is practically extinct.

Social order is fucked and no one gives Matt Stone and Trey Parker credit for anything. They haven’t been relevant since 1997 to lesser minds but the truth is they are onto something and they don’t give a fuck who knows. South Park is more aware than your Deepak Chopra and you’re "Secret" or Eckhart fucking Tolle. They all ready got on Oprah’s ass, scientology , AIDS and you’re precious global warming. Beware Clinton-Obama you’re about to get found the fuck out like the governor of New York. What’s up Client 9? South Park bitch. Tune in next week.

If Las Vegas is just sin city then St. John’s is Sodom and Gomorrah and I think its going to implode momentarily. One can become misaligned with thoughts of committing a small infraction and engaging the cops in a high speed chase just to get a little camera time. The fact that the evening news still has Britney Spears custody battle as the follow up story to the raging fires and the horrible floods.

My odds are at an odds with the fact that we still want to enrapture ourselves in these celebrity miscreants to escape the truth, that the apocalypse has arrived and a lot earlier than expected. We are being brainwashed and consumed to not live. They view us as vegetables juxtapose life forms. We are worse than banana leaves, sallow, vapid and pointless. And so this great false city is starting to turn in on itself. The most obvious suffocation of life since the extinctions of dinosaurs.

We have less use than ever. Every single one of the deadly sins has been exhausted in this great melting pot iconic city of ours. And we will now pay. Flee west my wayward children for St. John’s will be done forever in a second. The snow is closing in towards our vanity and hedonism. Suffering will cease as this urgent time driven youth obsessed city shall once and for all do us all the way in with no lubricant.

Hop into your environment friendly electric vehicle, grab a biscotti and skip the tanning salon for today you drive away from this bubble or you will disappear forever, just like Britney Spears self respect.

Venting over... whew its been a while bitches!

Choose your priorities!!!

You’re 23 and what can you say about you’re existence?   This question was mockingly asked to me by a “full-fledged grown up”.   On other occasions I’ve walked away with a smirk on my face.  I’ve been asked this question several times by this pathetic ageist man! 

I guess I have a certain disposition about me.  My emotional wall is miles long with no windows for those who ask dim-witted questions.  Sorry… let me rephrase that.  There aren’t any windows for those who don’t have the balls to ask me a question to my face, without phrasing it in a sarcastic style! 

This ignorant man believes that a person’s age makes up the volume of ones life experiences.   “How can a ‘child’ be so damn jaded and critical?  Little girl, you haven’t lived long enough to be cynical!”  His comments tend to roll off my back.  In point of fact, his ignorance of my life amuses me.  This man is in his late 40’s.  He has a mediocre job that he hates and didn’t need to attend college for.  He’s married but doesn’t seem to appreciate that this woman lowered herself and settled when she found herself pregnant.  I guess that a child can be seen as a life accomplishment.  Though how big of an accomplishment can it be?  He found a woman who was drunk, wasn’t on the pill and he broke the condom… nine months later here’s Sara!

This non-achiever has the idiocy to question the events of my life?  “You haven’t lived yet little girl!”  Why should I educate this man about my history? I no longer care what ppl think.   This world owes me nothing!   We are the ones who choose what happens in our lives.  I choose to fight for what I believe in!

                 Jill

Sometimes I wish I had lack of complaint and patience enough to be a teacher… if only to have the summers off!  Though the thought of listening to all those gooey nosed children puts my mind back into common sense mode.  I might think of admiring these brave ppl that take on such a job but then I think back to the bastards that attempted to “teach” me.  My prayers are with you… if I could find time to pray!

Work has been confining these past few weeks.  As a way of escape, my mind wonders at the strangest times.  One shouldn’t be thinking about laundry when putting down a cat… it’s just not right.  Yet my mind wonders more. 

I can’t stop thinking about my trip to Toronto.  What shall I wear on the plane?  Will I make Drew take the middle seat?  I don’t care too much for the window seat of the isle seat either.  Oh well I guess the pilot will have to make room on his laps (I like to see where I’m going!)

 Whales are a common site during the summer here in Newfoundland.  These pictures were taken Saturday morning as the caplin (tiny fish that the whale LOVE!) came on shore.

Even if you don't have a dog, I'm sure you have friends who do. This is worth passing on to them instead of those dreadful chainletters and boring forwards. 

Cutting can be used in many ways I guess.  Some do it for attention, others do it to stop the mental pain, and then there are those who do it to feel anything!  I can only speak of my own experiences. 

I first started to burn myself for the final reason...just to feel anything.  I was 9 when I first started this form of treatment.  I was just out of the hospital after the being left on the side of the road by "he who doesn't deserve a name".  I spent over a year strapped to a bed.  I had doctors telling my parents and I that I would never walk again. I had to g through excruciating pain to prove those bastards wrong!  I was on heavy doses of pain meds when I finally got home.  I spent most of the time in a drug filled daze.  When the pills were in progress of draining from my system (usually in the evening) the pain would come with a vengeance...I can't even begin to tell someone what that pain feels like. 

After a while you get used to a certain amount of pain...that numbs you psychologically!  I determined that the flame from my ever present scented candles was a way to feel...a way to say that a fraction of me was still alive someplace within!

By the time it was established that I had cancer, I had successfully stopped trying to feel in that method.   Cutting soon became the next step.  No matter how strong you are mentally…the pills and other treatments get to you after a while.  There’s a deep depression that happens when you go through chemo for that amount of time.  Depression is a cruel state of mind.  One feels nothing, it exhausts the little amount of vigor that you have.

Depression would kill you if you let it.  I’ve lost many friends to cancer but I think that I’ve lost more to the depression that goes along with it.  You give up fighting, you can’t care about anyone and you certainly can’t remember the radiance of life. 

I’ve also lost friends to suicide.  There are those who take their life with to thought to others.  They are healthy beings that only see the sad parts of life.  These ppl are pathetic!  I’ve known extraordinary ppl who fought to save their life.  They used every fragment of strength they had to stay in this world.  These were good ppl.  It makes me cry as I sit here.  I see their faces, I hear their mothers crying…it makes me so angry that they had to go so young.  How dare you shit on the graves of my beloved friends?!  Suicide is only to be used to those who know that their illness isn’t going to be cured!

I miss you Nancy!  I miss you Karla!  I miss you Melissa G! I miss you Cara!  I miss you Janice!  I miss you Jenny D!  I miss you Simone!  I miss you Gabrielle!  I miss you Michael!  I miss you Kyle!  I miss you Lisa!  I miss you Sam!  Meloney…I love you and miss you every day of my life!  You are the reason I fought so hard!  You are the reason I found laughter again! 

To those who seek attention from kind hearted ppl such as totalwreck, NEVER speak to me.  I will be more than happy to deal with you ignorant selfish children!!

            Jill

I’m sitting up by my own! I thought that I should be able to have my laptop privileges back.  I’m a mess…surprise!  The last time that I had this kind of infection (spinal), the cause was the surgeries that I had from that car that ran me over.  I haven’t had any other surgeries affecting my back in over 2 years.  Sometimes an infection can move from one part of the body to the next but I haven’t had an infection anywhere recently!  I’ve had all my shots (Meningitis is also a known cause but I don’t nor have I ever had that!)  I’m not an alcoholic, I don’t have diabetes and I certainly don’t use intravenous drugs…I mean I don’t do any drugs) The only thing that I can think of is a needle that I had a few weeks ago when I first came to the hospital.  I had to get a shot of morphine in the back.  I told this to the idiots that preside over me but they didn’t quite appreciate the insight from the patient.  Never mind the fact that this isn’t my first time having this problem. 

Fortunately for me I was already taking cypro(strong antibiotic for the flu/anthrax…lol  My immune system is fucked up so I had to take that drug so I won’t have the flu for a month!) I can’t read the damn IV bag…but I believe that I’m on Cefotaxime(claforan) I’m so glad that I can read the dosages… 1-2 g IV/IM (meaning intravenous/intramuscularly) q 6-8h!  I’m a sicky girl!  I’m on this drug till the lab gets back the results of the exact kind of infection I have growing inside me…what a lovely sentence! 

I’m not feeling well and I don’t know when I will.  I’m seriously thinking about leaving school till I get better.  I’ve already lost 3 weeks of classes and finals are a month away.  I have no other choice!  My motor skills come and go…a pleasant little side effect! 

Dying all the time:  Jill Havok’s life story. People will be petrified of a title like this especially when the central character is not in the conventional western civilization way dying. I am morbid but not depressed. I liken myself to being much more of a realist. And realistically we are all dying. With every breath, every second that passes, that mole will turn cancerous, that car will inch closer to a fateful accident, after 12 beers too many you will insist on driving, the condom will break with the WRONG girl, or someone will push someone else a little too much and that will be the end.

In my life story people will be depicted as fantastical, village idiots, seemingly wise, or uneventful. The slots are filling up quick friends so make your last minute decisions. With everyone in my life so very much on the move it makes me feel snail paced. We got better jobs, we are moving to better our lives, I want to create a life with him, and I’m getting an education. I feel like a baby progressing a step every four years.

How I figured it a few years ago I would be lumped into this category and that would be my life. Concentrating on elevation and self-improvement: The Jill Havok’s Story. I guess I should’ve never been facetious enough to ever think I would allow myself to be categorized. At twenty-two, I have no great love, no great career, and no baby, hell I even hate my car and it’s the only thing I really have besides my dogs and this hell of a house. That seems to be quite the pattern in my life. Have little appreciate even less. I feel that though I am a technical grown up I have no real talents to hawk and I’m not attracted to any conventional jobs. I want it all. But I’ll try for nothing. I complain about settling but that’s all I do, lounge around and accept my fate. Its tiresome to pick at your life like a fresh scab. It hurts and will only scar you in the long run.

Alongside the fact that I’m virtually confidence-less (correction: I fear that comment might not truly apply so I’d say insecure with a bruised confidence, Jill Havok 9-10-06), I’m in constant comparison mode. Why do they have this? Why don’t I have that? Why are they great? What’s wrong with me? I only know developmentally incorrect questions. I need to stop being so spoon-fed and place blame where it belongs…on myself. You have to own up to what you won’t do also. Sure I’ve stayed out of trouble but aside from avoiding things what else am I good at?

Avoidance is one of the things I live by. If you avoid it, maybe it will go away. If you box your feelings and lose the cargo maybe you’ll never feel again. It wasn’t always my intention to be heartless but somehow that became a realized goal. I figure if you can walk away when it hurts then it must not hurt too much. The thing I’m scared of is the situation I can’t walk away from. It will tell a lot about me that I didn’t want to know.

I guess I should take the time to thank my so called former alcoholic attacker for doing such a good job with this whole running me over and leaving me to die when I was 8.  I just wouldn’t be Jill if I thought for one second that someone in my life would actually stay with me, no that'd be way too fantastical and you know us realists hate dreamers. No but seriously you degenerate, I’m sure that if by some dumb luck or if God wants to stop butt fucking for a second and cum in my hair, that I’ll win the lottery!  Maybe there will be some experimental back surgery that restores it to its once glory.  Then I wont have to have that lifetime channel: attacker apologizes to girl after 14 years and tries to make nice only to find that the girl is unreceptive so he gives a damn good reason, tells girl all is forgiven and in 2 hours flat she’s calling him uncle. Oh poor bastard, you should be as lucky as to have me forgive your shortcomings in a month. You sorry son of a bitch I hope you know that I have only hate boiling in my veins for you and the contemptuous, painful life you’ve given forced me to live. Though I’m articulate, I’m also spiteful and petty and unforgiving and you’re going to get it. See this is why I hope you die a painful death. Because revenge takes much too much energy and I could be sleeping. I hope you die in a car crash, drink yourself to death, shot and killed by a hunter; perhaps have someone kidnap and rape you for a year straight with minimal food and then one day set you free only to have the dog come gather your remains after you get twenty paces south. Or maybe you’re dying slow, kind of like me but hopefully a lot more painful. Maybe your wife will catch you cheating with a man because it would be laughable if you were a closeted queer and she shot you dead. That’s pretty humiliating.

Or maybe God made it so that your wife can’t have babies, so you never got to be a father. Boo fuckin hoo! I could spit in her face. But all flattery aside I’d miss the pain if it went.  And they say I’m a little heartless.

I guess what it boils down to is how much repetitive redundant trauma you can take before going aspirate. What will be the episode that finally makes me do what I need to do? What will give me the push to not become a victim of the past or a prisoner of the present?

You can take me all you’d like, just never take me literally!

                                                   Jill