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July 29, 2003
There are a couple of habits I have when I am either not feeling well mentally or physically that always give me away as being a "sicky baby."
1. I carry a towel around.
I don't know how this habit started but it's a more recent habit, at least within the past 6 years. I carry a towel around like a baby blanket; hanging onto it for dear life. I sleep with it. I eat with it. I sit and watch tv with it. I hug it like it's a real live towel grandma giving me big downysoft hugs. I cry into it when I'm sad. I grip onto it when I'm sick. I love my towel.
And as soon as I'm better, the towel is forgotten. I throw that shit away faster than you can say "Velveteen Rabbit."
It's slightly disturbing to think that I regress that much into a child when I'm sad or sick, but everyone's got their thing. I guess I'm just stickin' with what works.
2. I watch certian movies repeatedly.
The operative word here is repeatedly. I will fall asleep watching them, wake up in the middle of the night and put them back on again in my sleep. I keep them going for hours. These movies give me comfort. They are familiar and cozy. I know the words, I know what's going to happen. I really don't have to pay attention or concentrate but they are distracting enough to keep my mind off of whatever's hurting/emotional pain/crying/bitching.
These movies include:
1. The Ninth Gate
2. Kicking and Screaming
3. L.A. Confidential
4. Pitch Black
Mostly the first two movies are in steady rotation. Either that or any of The Next Generation Star Treks. I own all 7 seasons so I can pick and choose at random.
3. I squint a lot
Granted, I have corrective lenses (read: really awesome glasses) and have a hard time seeing anyway, but when I'm upset or sick I squint more than usual. It's like it hurts to look at anything. So then as I squint, I get a headache which causes me to squint even more pulling my face into an angry, pouty visage.
You ask me what's wrong, I squint at you and say "nothing."
Which leads me to....
4. I say nothing. A lot.
Hey, what's wrong?
"nothing."
What do you want to eat?
"nothing." *five minutes pass* "I'm hungry."
Is there something I can do?
"No, nothing."
Are you okay?
"NOTHING!"
It's pathetic. Yet comforting.
I'm a creature of habit and hate my habitat to become disturbed. I hate change. I hate continuity usurpers.
Let me take that back. I like reasonable change. I like fun change. I like interesting change that leads to bigger and better things.
I hate change that leadsd to uncertianty, doubt, fear and loathing. I hate change that makes you question yourself, your relationships and your existance.
I hate change that forces you to make a decision that is harder than you want it to be.
Hard, life altering decisions that no one will understand. Ones that burn the pit of your stomach. Ones that make you cry spontaneously.
When I'm faced with this sort of change, I regress. I retreat into my hidey-hole and avoid everything. I don't want to deal with it, I just want it to go away. Where did I learn to deal with confrontation this way?
My parents certainly don't handle things this way. My brother doesn't. What happened to me?
I think about "if onlys"
If only I could go back to college circa 1994 and hang with Jason every day.
If only I could go back to college circa 1993 and hang with Amy every day.
If only I could go back to smoking again. God Damn do I want a cigarette.
Back then, I was full of "if onlys" too but of course I dont' remember that. Those were the best days of my life -- right now.
Anyway, I'm gonna go grab a towel and go watch the 9th gate. I'll be in the bedroom if you need me.
posted at 11:24 PM
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July 25, 2003
I'm having issues with blogger. It won't publish anything, hence no posts from me. I'm hoping to figure out what's wrong today and remedy this situation.
Update: It appears that I have fixed it. From now on, I'll have to think of a better excuse...
posted at 11:45 AM
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July 21, 2003
There's something wrong with my brain.
I have an acute inability to enjoy anything. I want nothing more than to sleep or cry.
I hate this. I hate being broken.
posted at 10:37 PM
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July 16, 2003
Main Entry: help·less
Function: adjective
Date: before 12th century
2 a : marked by an inability to act or react
I have wanted to write for the past week. I've been trying. I've been writing a lot of good first lines but I can't seem to move past them.
I've been extremely melancholy lately as well and it's not helping any.
"His truck was blue (or was it black?) with a purple stripe. When we drove, we drove fast."
It's so simple that I love that line. I just love it.
It's written right next to my other favorite first line that I have written.
"Miranda had a horrible history of meeting her boyfriends at the mall."
Genius. imacolata e. coyote. Super Genius.
However. That's all I have.
A bunch of first lines.
I wonder what that says about my life.
posted at 4:19 PM
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July 08, 2003
In the past, I have been accused of being a prude.
I have vehemently denied this fact and can cite several instances that would make your jaw drop and your eyes water.
"I'm not a prude!" I have shouted. I've stamped my feet and pouted my lips.
But I got to thinking.
I saw a picture of Britney Spears just recently. In this picture, she was wearing short-shorts with a tank top. The top button of the pants were unbuttoned and the waistband was rolled down. The shorts were short enough to almost reveal her ass cheeks.
I saw this picture and I gasped. I swear to god I gasped like an old lady at church.
"Look at this. How disgusting. She looks like a whore." I pointed at the picture. If it was hot, I would have been fanning myself with my hand to keep from falling over in a southern-belle faint.
"Oh my god, you're such a prude," he said to me.
"No I am not. She's got a good body but she doesn't need to be pratically naked. Practically naked IS NOT SEXY unless you're on your way to fully naked and you're going to have sex. What a whore."
"Prude" he said, smiling.
I threw the magazine down and said "well, fine. She looks good. Let every guy drool over her and I hope they get herpes. The end."
I rightfully justified it in my head. Being prudeish has nothing to do with having good taste. I am not about to parade around in half-next to nothing and think that I'm being anything but slutty. I'm just pointing out flaws, I thought. He's just being an ass.
Well, today. We're sitting around the table at work eating luch. My boss (who also happens to be the president of the company) was telling us a story about a concert she went to last week with one of her best friends. They had an extra ticket so my boss (M.) invited along another friend who happened to be male -- and who also happened to have a crush on the best friend. Throughout the course of the evening, they got drunk and drunker until the best friend was teasing the boy so much that it became "obvious" that it was effecting him. M. said to her friend "look, you have to stop teasing him, or at least give him a sympathy blow job."
I nearly fell out of my chair onto the floor, through the Earth to China. I swear to god.
M. went on to say some more things but I couldn't really hear them because my ears were ringing. Did the president of this company-and my boss-just say to give her friend a blow job? Is she talking about sex and how often they get it?? I was so embarassed to hear this sort of talk.
I'm not offended by any stretch of the word. She can talk about whatever the hell she wants whenever she wants...but it made me think...
am I a prude?
I'm a prude with a kinky secret.
posted at 1:34 PM
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July 07, 2003
Having spent the weekend with my parents, I realize how 'grown-up' I am becoming yet at the same time I remain that selfish, bratty 13 year old with a chip on her shoulder the size of Montana.
My mom irritates me because she's so much like me yet so different. While we were driving home from a casino, we had to get gas. My dad, driving in the 'boys car', pulled up to a pump a bit of a ways down from my mom's gas pump. She sat in the car and waited. "Do you want me to pump the gas?" I asked. "No, your dad'll get it," she replied. And sure enough here comes my dad to pump her gas.
She's such a diva that she won't even pump her own gas if my dad's around to do it for her.
Oh she knows how, and I've seen her do it before, but if someone will do it for her she won't lift a finger.
We sat down to dinner at the buffet. My dad was still playing in the casino. I hate playing the games (ie. throwing money in a machine recieving only annoying sounds and flashing lights in return. Not worth it.) so the buffet was a decent distraction. My mom sat down. I sat down. She looked at me with those sparking diva eyes and said "Can you go get me a roll? I just sat down." I blinked, hard, and went and got her goddamned roll.
She plays these games while we're on vacation. She did it while we were out west, she does it when we go camping.
"I don't want to have to do it and I shouldn't have to." is her motto.
It's so bizarre because she raised me to be "You better do it yourself because no one else is gonna do it for you." I can't stand being waited on. I can't stand playing that stupid "I'm just a girl" card to get out of some chores.
Her favorite line while camping "We'll wait here while you go do it." sending my dad off to go do whatever while she sits and relaxes. I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't stand it.
I get pissy. I get short. "Are you okay?" "I'm _fine_" I reply, tersely. I just want to be away from her and the games. It's what reduces me to that snivling, tantrum throwing, door slamming 13-year-old girl who wants to do everything the opposite of her mom just because. Which makes me wonder, am I doing it just because I want to be the opposite of her? Am I so angry about this stuff just because I think I should be, not because I want to be? Do I harbor a secret wish to be waited on hand and foot by a man, batting my eyelashes and smoking long cigarettes? I'm constantly trying to please her at the same time trying my damndest to be nothing like her.
Don't get the wrong idea. My mom likes to play the role of a diva. She wishes she were Karen from Will and Grace. She wants the lifestyle but deep down she isn't that. She likes to cook, she sews almost constantly, she's really artistic and is a (really high up) manager who has a team of 40 people working for her and gets paid beaucoup bucks. She's a born leader and really runs the show in my family.
Does she play this game to make my dad feel good? I don't know.
This is where my new found adultness steps in and takes over. I have never seen my parents as humans. It's a humbling experience when you realize that they had to work hard to get where they were. Becoming parents was not as effortless as it seemed when you were their little kiddy-tot running around the neighborhood on a dirt-bike. Somehow they managed to work 40 hours (mostly more. My dad averaged about 60 hours a week for years) a week, always have dinner ready, have active social lives while driving me and my brother to band practice, friends houses, drama club, theatre activities, concerts, movies, dates everything else and more. It all seemed so easy. I work 40 hours a week now and I cry because I can't get enough time to finish my computer game or stuff I'm working on at home.
Seeing my mom parade around and my dad take care of her, I look at how they relate to eachother. I see how much they love eachother and how they've taken this love and honed it over the last 30 years. It's a well oiled machine. My dad knows how long to let my mom stay in a store, my mom lets my dad bitch about holiday traffic and listen to country music. It never occurs to them how crazy it may look from the outside. It never occurs to them how hard it must have been over the years. It never occurs to them how crazy they drive me. It just is to them and that's so awe inspiring. I hope that I can become as happy as them at their age and one day I hope that my children love me as much as I love them.
But without the 13-year-old tantrum throwing chip on their shoulders.
posted at 4:52 PM
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