Like Ice Cream Topped With Honey…

Whelp, faced a few more obstacles/ sources of frustration this morning, but that’s okay.

That’s okay because I’m having a temporary quiet couple of days, school wise.  I just gotta do a little bit of homework and reading over the weekend and that’s it.  Nothing’s due in the immeadiate future.

That’s also okay because what comes out tonight what comes out oh let me think oh it’s HARRY FRIKIN’ POTTER.

So yeah.  I’m gellin’.

To ten million fireflies…

 I slept in far too late today, as I did yesterday.

Part of me feels all this sleep is a good thing.  In theory I’m catching up on all the sleep I didn’t get while at the beach.  I’m also most definitely dreaming while I sleep, and in theory this is my psyche’s way of working through my problems, which again is a good thing.

However, part of me feels guilty for sleeping so much.  When I sleep, I’m not being productive.  I’m hiding from reality and the waking world.  Meanwhile, my life continues to stagnate, rot and fester.  I’m not really sure what I should be doing when I’m awake half the time anyway, so I struggle to see the point of my guilt.  And it’s true that there’s a part of me that can’t stand being fully awake and cognitive right now as well, which is why I’ve had roughly two shot of liquor every night since returning from the beach.  It numbs everything, makes me think and care less.  It allows me to switch to autopilot so I can mentally check out while still getting things done.  It’s the only way I seem to be able to get anything done anymore, be it homework or housework.  Because I can’t for the life of me turn my brain off.  It seems to always be buzzing or clicking nervously away, and sometimes it’s just downright annoying.

But it’s not all bad.  Granted, I’ve been depressed for months now, and likely have been less social and active as a result.  Hell, maybe I’ve really gone off the deep end this time. But sometimes everything has to be stripped down completely in order to be built up again.  Maybe I’m getting ready to do just that… soon!

Really, it’s the small things that cheer me up, comfort and encourage me.  I feel compelled to take a moment to appreciate these things…

Two days ago, I took the bus to the mall.  It’s the first time I’ve taken the bus anywhere in quite some time, and it felt good just to get out of my usual living zone (TWU and the Square).  For the first time in awhile I felt like an active participant in life and less like a ghost, I guess because I was going SOMEWHERE and doing SOMETHING and completely of my own accord.  I felt the same sense of “do what I want when I want” that I grasped at so desperately while at the beach.  Just that little taste of personal freedom and empowerment was very psychologically beneficial, I think. 

I bought scented lotions from Bath ‘n’ Body Works, read books at Barnes ‘n’ Noble, drooled over shoes at DSW, gushed at cute (albeit sick and slightly depressing) kittens at the pet store and indulged in some awesome greasy food at my favorite mall pizza joint.  Hell, if I had gotten there earlier I might’ve gone to a movie.  Basically I took myself out on a sort of teenager-esque date at the mall and enjoyed every minute of it, guilt free.   It felt good to get back down to basics.

The radio’s also been a strange comfort for me.  My netbook, my iPod, and Pandora have all made regular radio pretty much unnecessary for me this last year or two.  And then a few days ago, my netbook abruptly died and I left my iPod’s charger at my mother’s house.  And so suddenly it’s like the power had been cut off in my house, and I was left completely in the dark.  So I (figuratively) lit a few candles.  Suddenly, as if I gained a newfound appreciation for firelight, and I gained a newly rediscovered appreciation for the flickering buzz and hiss of the everyday radio.  I seriously just took what could’ve been a bad moment and made it into a good one. 

Only once or twice have I heard something I absolutely abhor (gay-bashing “Christian” talk and Nickleback music, to be more specific).  Instead, for the most part I’ve heard many songs that I’ve forgotten that I’ve forgotten, even.  It’s all so stimulating and random and reminds me of some of the few things in my adolescence that also kept me sane and safe way back then, just like this.  (And really, everything was so much more chaotic back then!) I’ve even heard what I thought was some of my more eccentric musical tastes on the radio once or twice (no Tegan and Sara yet, though, but here’s hoping)!

Actually getting shit done is also encouraging, but I lack discipline and follow-through.  The trick is getting started in the first place.  It’s kind of like hard-core exercise, which I put off for the longest time but feel absolutely exhilarated and enthralled once I actually do it.  I just need to focus on how I feel once I’m done and I’ve accomplished something.  Also?  Baby steps and micro-tasks, perhaps.

Besides all that, it’s the even smaller and simpler things that are somehow ever more significant and helpful.  The comfort of a clean house (which will be easier to attain once I live on my own and sans incontinent housemate’s dog, I think).  The weight and warmth of a cat curled up and sleeping on my stomach.  A glass of wine and a good book.  The way sunlight filters through the thin turquoise drapes on the back window.  A time and place to paint, draw, write, and dance.  The smell of Fall.  The smell of rain.  The smell of rain in the Fall.  The sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and the feel and taste of a salty breeze in my face.  Even the ridiculous childlike joy that is “wave-jumping.”  Do I really absolutely need to share the joy of all these things with another living soul?  No, I suppose not.  I guess I should be well past that now.

It’s funny, but my dreams of the future are becoming much simpler than they have ever been before.  I think life has finally defeated and expelled some of my grander dreams.  Instead I simply dream of having a place to call my own, with my kind of furniture and food and drink and life.  And it would be nice, maybe, to be able to send my friends and family presents at Christmas and at birthdays, and indulge my godson in the goodies and advice I would’ve given my own kids if I had any.  There’s not even the rather vague idea of another person in the picture, at least not intimately so, at least not anymore. 

I am really looking forward to living on my own come December, even if I have to work more to pay for such a thing (that is, of course, if I manage to pull it off in the first place).  I’m looking forward to a house I can actually keep clean, and a place I wouldn’t be embarrassed by if I invited friends over.  I’m looking forward to getting my teeth fixed, my hormones level, and my bone spur removed.  I’m even looking forward to finally getting Mana’s future sister, Soma, so they can cuddle with each other and I can cuddle with both of them.  I’m looking forward to life as a cat-lady librarian, a keeper of the books, the female Quasimodo of the library instead of the bells.   I’m looking forward to a stable, chaos-free life full of good food and the occasional vacation.  Sad, but true.

 And when I get there, and the world seems to have actually beaten me, there will still be a part of me that is stubborn and rebellious.  A part of me that thinks and creates and dares to ask questions and encourages generation after generation to do just the same.  A part of me who still wants to be a catalyst and seeks to fulfill the self-appointed mission of changing the way people THINK first, in order to eventually change the way they ACT.

Anywho…

Final thoughts?  And, lastly?  I need to find true peace and comfort in my solitude.  I need to nurture myself, for once.  It’s nice having other people but it shouldn’t be the be-all and end-all for me, because that brings intense fears of abandonment and opens one up to injury, and jealousy.  I shouldn’t be always sacrificing so much of my own life’s stability in a desperate attempt to hang with other people all the time.  I need to stop living for the next vacation, the next holiday, the next drink, the next concert. I need to stop putting off my own needs for the sake of others’ wants all the time.  Because how can I be good to others if I’m not even good to myself? Instead, I just come across as a total ass, as an angsty little emo thing. I need to learn to take better care of myself, and actually indulge myself every once in awhile (like the mall, not the booze) without feeling guilty about it.  Because it’s my life, my choices, my consequences, my values, my empowerment, my freedom.  And so what if no one else may know all the things that make me smile, laugh and cry?  That’s what blogging and creative endeavors are for!  It’s enough that I know.  It should be enough that I know.  And if someone else may know one day?  Even better, but it shouldn’t be necessary, and I’ve been going through life thinking it is necessary.

For the next few weeks, I think, I’m gonna learn to be a better friend to myself.  And then maybe I can be a better friend to everyone else.

Today, I’m gonna clean house, clean myself up, do homework, and maybe watch some Legend of the Seeker.  I’m going to be a happy little pudgling hermit, be a better friend to myself, sing to the radio and paint my nails just for the hell of it.  Oh, and I’m going to post this where anyone can see it, if they actually want to see it.  That is all.

On [Oliver]

In early December of 2008, my mother brought home a black and white pitbull puppy.  Apparently someone left him abandoned underneath a truck.  He was small, sickly, and malnourished.  He did little more than sleep.

At the time, I was still living at my parents’ house and, like I tend to do, I mothered this little guy.  Because of that I had the honor of naming him, and so I named him Oliver.

Oliver also formed a strong bond with my mother’s other dog, Sadie Belle.

After a few weeks, Oliver became more energetic and rambunctious.  And pudgy.  Like a puppy should be.

He grew up and I? I, unfortunately, moved away.

Over the last summer, however, I got a distress call from my mother.  Apparently, Oliver was out of control.  She just didn’t know how to handle him.  He had too much energy, and needed too much of her time.  So I took him in over the summer.  I took him on walks, gave him lots of lovin’ and taught him some doggy manners.  His behavior improved tremendously.

At the end of summer?  I had to give him back to my mother.  This was due to circumstances out of my control.  Still, I was fortunate enough to be able to come visit him whenever I pleased.  It was clear he still saw me as his mommy.  x3

But now, something else has happened.  My parents are moving out of their house, and they have chosen not to pay the pet deposits for two of their three animals.  This means they are getting rid of Juliet…

…And Oliver…

They’re giving Juliet to my stepbrother, and they’re taking Oliver to the SPCA no-kill shelter.

:(

I wish I could take him, but my landlord says ABSOLUTELY NO.  Their insurance policy expressly forbids pitbulls.

So I spent the night at my parent’s house last night and cuddled on the couch with my dear friend Oliver.  I came to say goodbye.

Goodbye, Oliver.  Goodbye.

ON [TOPIC]

I’ve decided to do something a little new en regards to this blog, journal, diary, whatever.

Reading my blog (as it is now) is kind of like eating nothing but Triscuits all day.

Sure, a handful of Triscuits is fine every once in a while. They are dry, and salty, and, uh, texture-y, and have some fiber and fat and shit (figuratively not literally, if you know what I mean), and that’s just what we all need sometimes, but other times I WANT FUCKING PEANUT BUTTER DOUBLE FUDGE FUCKING ICE CREAM. And, honestly. Triscuits have figurative SHIT against ice cream.

In other words: I lack motivation, skill, mojo, and pinache. I need FOCUS. And balls. And ice cream. I just grossed myself out.

I have a cat licking my elbow.

She is a rather cute cat.

OW.

So what I am going to try for awhile (until I forget and grow bored of it or squirrel) is this: FOCUS my entries around a particular topic. On Pizza. On Antagonization. On Hard Cider. On Obama. On Tegan and Sara. On Money. On Guitar Hero. Etc.

So instead of the usual watered-down emo shit like this: “oh my life sucks I can’t find the motivation ’cause I’m all alone and we live in an illiterate backwards religinut hypocritical society blah cheese and blah crackers” and whatnot…

I’m going to try to write something more like this: “On Procrastination. Period. Oh Guitar Hero is just so awesome look at me I know how to press the blue button with my little pinky finger now! Wow look how I have progressed but man does it annoy me when the sounds of the guitar don’t match up with the buttons on the screen wtf am I playing like two different guitar parts at once AND a synthesizer AND a kazoo?!”

Hell, maybe I’ll actually learn something about something this way. And find some of that elusive motivation. And maybe I won’t despise myself as much anymore. And I’ll be a little less alone. And I’ll learn how to be an expert at Guitar Hero. And I’ll probably continue to intentionally speak in incomplete sentences. And this might be a good time to go do all that homework and job-hunting and FAFSA-completing stuff I should be doing instead of writing this. Yeah.

Anyway, I think I’m gonna relax a bit with some Guitar Hero now (and oh, perhaps make myself some pasta and sauce), so, uh, taa-taa~!

Like a Phoenix…

Here is what happened today.

This morning, just as I was clocking in for work, I unfortunately started having one of my fits. You know, the crippling ones with the pressure headaches/migraines, stabbing “pings,” muscle spasms, blurred vision, and general sweeping waves of pain and disorientation, concentrated in but not limited to my left side. Like having a lobotomy while conscious, or maybe being electrocuted, and stabbed and punched in the gut at the same time.

Usually these fits happen at home and I spend hours curled up in a ball on my bed, listlessly recovering. Except for today.

Today, it happened for the first two hours of work, while I was to cashier outside at the Garden Register, during the absolute busiest time of year for the type of retail job I happen to work at and have grown to detest with everything sensible within me. The Management at my work calls this time of year The 100 Days of Spring; the underlings and my coworkers call it The 100 Days of Hell.

So I take two mediocre painkillers and hope they take the edge off. They don’t, and as I’m just starting to check out a herd of human cattle outside, the fit sets in. Soon I am cashiering one-handed, almost one legged, wheezing and gasping and huffing, gritting and gnawing my teeth and trying, with great effort, to speak clearly and articulately to customers in my line. My left shoulder tingles and the nerves there seem to tighten the ligaments in my side, arm, and neck. My left arm rests curled and stiff and immobolized across my abdomen, where my muscles feel on the verge of ripping in pieces. Occasionally I attempt to unfurl and stretch out my mangled arm, but this only causes more pain. Paralyzing knots form in the backs of my left calf and thigh, and my leg threatens to drag or worse, collapse. The threat of nausea also waxes and wanes, like a quick but silent tide…

And I feel crippled. And I utterly hate myself not only for the state I am in, but for considering my work important enough to continue anyway, when others around me hardly notice or care. We are all cattle here. Cash cows. Utilities and commodities and assets. Numbers to be crunched. Walking, talking dollar bills. Use ‘em or loose ‘em.

I ask to go to the back for a few minutes, to take OTHER painkillers and sit for a moment, to let my body relax, unfurl, recover. The stress and pressure of the situation is only making the fit worse. I know what I need to make it stop, but there’s no one to replace me. We are short-handed. We are ALWAYS short-handed. We are budget-lines, inefficient symbols of efficiency and progress. The people keep coming, and I’m not getting any better. I have to blink and force myself to focus.

I am on the verge of panic.

After nearly two hours of this, another cashier finally comes to release me.

“Whatever you need to do, do it quick.”

In the back, I take two more painkillers, and in the calm and sensibility of the people sitting back there, I realize how ridiculous this situation is. Even better, I already put in my Notice awhile ago. This was to be my last week here. I think of all the reasons I am quitting. The lack of adequate transportation (and time) is only the most recent addition to a list I’ve been building in the three years since I first started working here.

Orlando offers me a ride home, and I take it.

I bail.

I’m done.

When I get home, I eat some chicken, and then I lay down for a two hour nap. I sleep on my right side because my left side is still sore. I end up sleeping for five hours.

When I wake up, I still ache. There are still knots in my thigh as I write this. I still have a slight pressure headache. But I’m free.

I’m free.