Catch your attention? But it's true, I spent my afternoon sitting in a room with about seven other women, discluding the two women presenting the sex products, trying out (STOP RIGHT THERE. I'm talking about massage oils, etc.) a few samples and tallying up possible purchases. Totally not my cup of tea but in about seven days I'll be recieving an 8 oz. bottle of sensual shaving cream because apparently it does wonders for dry unmanageable hair. And how did all of this come about? Not that you asked but I know you will. One of Meagan's fellow bartenders were throwing the party. So Meg was the one handling the beers in between putting down orders for things I don't want to know about, and figured she'd invite my sisters and I. Yes, I know, my family is a little wierd. But that's a whole other field that we're not about to get into. I am not a sex driven person...but I couldn't turn this offer down because it was just too random, and to be honest, sounded like fun. I thought to myself, why not broaden your horizons a little bit? So I went, I conquered, and I came out of the experience with a shipping reciept for shaving cream :) I have to admit, it was a little uncomfortable...it's pretty obvious by the way that I carry myself that I did not belong in that room. Probably pretty obvious that I'm single and not sexually involved in any thing way shape or form. And when the chick sitting next to me asked to lick my wrist to try out the strawberry margharita lotion I sampled I nonchalantly rubbed my wrist against my shirt and smiled. But it's an experience I can find myself mimicking in the future just for kicks. Plus, I really want that after-shower spray.
Eyes mean revenge hatred tell me their perverted thoughts action in a glance What's to come when the blood rushes to my head and I feel like an inhumane experiment subjected to the back of her hand hands grabbing ass grabbing fists tightening words stabbing and I think to myself if any good is to come of me it's the result. What happens when a child becomes a target? When a teenager becomes a target? When a woman becomes a target? What happens is they begin to target themselves. Their mind collapses. They hit a wall... and they stop moving altogether. Paralyzed by the impact.
I can't bring myself to move the muscles in my face. I can't bring myself to blink more than once every couple of seconds. Which sounds like a lot but try and record how much you blink in a minute and you'll get why it's uncomfortable. And the tears are stining the hell out of my face and I feel tonight. And it fucking hurts. I don't w ant to finish that sentence. I think this is my new breakdown. The latest notch to add to my belt of breakdowns. I really didn't want to get into it tonight. But he couldn't...fucking...hear me. And I delved into it and god do I regret it. I think the situation is improving though.
I do feel like I should be considered an experiment sometimes. All of the records I have kept of my life and the absolute shit I pull from it. He was right though. Why the fuck does such a great part of me feel so guilty for not adding up to everyone else's equation? I am a fucking wreck and so what. I've drawn too many crappy hands not to be one. I'd like to be praised as a saint for pulling through unscathed but you know what? I didn't pull through unscathed. I am cut up and leaving trails of my blood fucking everywhere and I don't give a fuck if it's an incovenience. I don't give a fuck if my "issues" have become nothing more than a nuisance to anyone else. My "issues" are killing me and fuck if I'm going to put on an act so that every person who associates themselves with me and with whom I associate can breathe a little easier. Don't associate yourself with me. I won't come running after you. Now that I've said that to absolutely nobody in particular I am going to throw my head into a pillow and try to sleep this off. I can move my face now.
The moments I try to dwindle in longer are it. "It" being everything that I don't think about and just enjoy. The ones that I don't keep track of that I don't count and don't count on. They simply are and that is what I know my life should be about. Cabaret in the parking lot with my friends. Hand on hand spinning and not thinking. Life without thinking about living and how to live dancing dwindling. In those moments I breathe. I hold on to something. Life. I use them sparingly. They come and go. The breath between lyrics written and rehearsed. All of the innocense we feel is lost in the past and the present between the lines and the sheer psychosis we bring upon ourselves. It is in those moments that I feel lucky to be able to realise this. They remind me that I am still capable and it is purely by living in itself that I have that capability. If I can dance in public without care then I can live my life by those same rules. It's a little strange trying to explain this idea because the action doesn't require an explanation.
There was a storm last night. It didn't show it's full potential to us, although that is probably (and this goes against my very nature to say) a good thing that it didn't because it had the potential to be pretty violent. The violence I saw was exciting, if not a little frightening...which is part of the excitement. I like putting myself into dangerous positions. I don't like, however, when the people I love are put into dangerous situations...which is what started the fire beneath my feet when I got into the car and picked up the phone to call everyone I know and tell them to get the hell home. There was a tornado on Fire Island. Probably nothing serious, that is, if there is a tornado that shouldn't be taken seriously. But that was the storm that was supposed to hit us last night and I couldn't get the image of my sister in the ice store staring down a freight train out of my head.
I respect nature although I do have a tendency to respectfully throw my ass in the air and tell lightning to kiss it.
The cats are getting skinny. I need to try to tweak my work schedule so that I can be home more to take care of them and the house and, I suppose probably, myself. I haven't been home earlier than 12 am (for more than perhaps an hour at a time) in two or three weeks. Work is beginning to take it's toll. Part of why I work so much though is because I don't know how much free time is too much for myself to handle. I almost feel like it's better to over do it than to risk any other alternative. I've always had a hard time finding middle ground.
A glass Mother Mary collects my ashes without a choice because that is what all the good little saints and servants do. If religion is your nicotine then what would my cigarette be? Tar lines the walls of my lungs and my veins and my heart and I wonder, was it before or after religion that humanity fell apart?
FIRST SIGN that you've chosen a bad plumber: he uses a lever on your piping to pop the tab on his beer.
My skin is peeling in in patches of acrylic mud on my hands. There is more of me dropping onto this table than I have been able to find in months. I thought I had digested art but now it has begun consuming me.
You Are 72% Open Minded
You are a very open minded person, but you're also well grounded. Tolerant and flexible, you appreciate most lifestyles and viewpoints. But you also know where you stand firm, and you can draw that line. You're open to considering every possibility - but in the end, you stand true to yourself.
So anyway, the resolution is that I might have a lawsuit against Suffolk County Police Department and I wanted to ask the twins to represent me in court. ;)
--update--
25 June 2006
Hospital called yesterday, they believe the doctor "overlooked" a fracture in my elbow. I think they're right, seeing as I can't bend my fucking arm past roughly a 165 degree angle. My father checked my ribs out seeing as they are still in a lot of pain (he is a certified nurse on top of his VP position) and he thinks I broke one or two of my left ribs. Lawsuit still pending. I'm visiting the orthopoedist tomorrow and following up with the police report when I get back. I don't know how I want to treat the lawsuit. I don't like lawsuits. I think I'm going to try to focus on paying for a lawyer, paying whatever might be left on my medical bills that my health insurance might not have covered and paying for my glasses which are bent up from the fall and the new pants I was wearing at the time which are now a bloody mess. There is no psychological damage to deal with here, only a few days of discomfort and a few hours wasted at the hospital. I don't care to much to fuck some cop for being an idiot, I just don't feel like I should lose anything for it. If I can avoid a lawsuit and settle on those terms then I don't think anyone loses out. The officer is responsible for my injuries as I am a pedestrian who was paying attention to what was going on around her and wasn't speeding down the sidewalk like a jackass on wheels. I was breaking already, and when I saw him I began breaking even more. My wheels had reflectors on them, on top of which there is a large reflector between my handle bars. The sidewalk was lined with street lamps. I do not know how he could have missed me other than he was not paying attention...or he didn't miss me, and decided he would try to get out first so he didn't have to slow down or stop for me. So in my opinion he is responsible for whatever Friday night might have cost me out of pocket. I have two witnesses, one unrelated to me in any way other than the fact that she's run me up at Stop n Shop a few times...and I recognized her long before she ever realized who I was. So the case is sealed. I'm a little grumpy today but I don't think that is effecting my decision whatsoever on this. And I'm grumpy anyway because my body's hurting and I'm adgitated that I have to spend my day off in Mineola because that is where my father works and that is where the orthopoedist is.
We watched the pink panther tonight though :) It was great. One of those idiot comedies that become an immediate classic. If you like laughing it's worth watching. If you don't like laughing, what are you doing on my friends list?
let's go on pretending we can't see our imperfections scratching at the eyes of our friends our mothers our employers. those strangers. like wild animals we sit down to drink our choca mocha dopaminechiattos and have our civilized conversations using our language like fangs to bite down the backs of our friends and our mothers, our employers. even those strangers. those dumb mother fuckers. those stupid dumb motherfuckers. I am one of those motherfuckers. And underneath your kempt hair and your perfect complexion and your civilized tongue you are a stupid motherfucker too. We can't always be perfect friends and perfect sons and daughters. Perfect mothers father sisters and/or neighbors. As humans we falter and we break. What is strength without weakness? We are not all addicts. We are not all delinquents. We are not all disjointed and/or disconnected. We are Suzie Homemakers. We are John and Jane Doe. We are you me and the other person. We're animals wearing pressed suits and sporting our own hatred softened by language. We want to be, always, because of our own immperfections. our eyes are bleeding because of our own blindness. Every day I listen to the tapping of our ignorance against the ground, like a droning reminder, which with it's tapping warns all the rest of us blind men: our existence is redundant. and serves as a reminder to the stick holder: stop where you are if you want to avoid a collision. We are constantly slamming into one another, faces locked and tongues tied.
1. I'll respond with something random about you 2. I'll challenge you to try something 3. I'll pick a color that I associate with you 4. I'll tell you something I like about you 5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you 6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of 7. I'll ask you something I've always wanted to ask you 8. If I do this for you, you must post this on yours
The trip was really nice and I have a lot of stories, but now that I'm home I almost hate that I went. I love New York, I really do. It will probably always be my passion...but I feel so miserable being home. I'm a completely different person here than I was in Pennsylvania. I get angry and I hit things. I can't control myself. I can't sleep easily and as long as I am awake I want to hurt myself. I feel caged in and pretty much worthless. I didn't feel that way when I out of state. I felt like my stress levels were at a minimum and I was able to relax and to sleep and joke around and laugh without trying. I wasn't angry, I didn't want to hurt myself and I felt free. I felt almost normal. I know I really needed that, to feel that way for a while...it just sucks coming home and losing all of those good feelings just by taking a step over the threshold. God it's so fucking miserable here.
i want a perfect body, i want a perfect soul i want you to notice when i'm not around you're so fucking special i wish i were special
but i'm a creep i'm a weirdo what the hell am i doing here? i don't belong here
that one last line has been repeating in my head non-stop for the past 28 hours. It's almost annoying. I've been panicking pretty much the entire day. I think I'm having some sort of a breakdown. I can't shake this depression and I can't shake this panicky feeling. All I want to do is mutilate the hell out of my body. I want to rip my skin apart and take off running. I want to take right the fuck off running. I want to feel my naked soles burning against the pavement. Of course I can't. I can sit here and wait until time finally passes and I board that ferry and leave for school. It's going to be hard doing that though if I can't shake this. I want someone to feel this. Selfishly. But I think I would find some sort of pleasure in knowing someone else is feeling this. I always feel alone and maybe if someone else were just as miserable and in just the same way I wouldn't feel so lonely any more. I want someone to be there when I crash into a wall. And I don't want a voyeur. I want a fucking trainwreck. I live amongst voyeurs and parasites. I want someone to burn with me.
My father got into this Greenday obsession a few months back, and he would play American Idiot (the entire album, not just the song) nonstop every time he was in the car. Which is a lot, considering not only does he commute on weekdays, but on the weekends, he is in and out of the house like a bad trend. Recently, he got into this Neil Young kick, and suddenly Greenday was out of the picture. He especially likes this one song called "It's a dream", which I know he only plays to depress himself. My father is a depressing man. One day this week, I was in a pretty good mood and didn't much feel like listening to my father howl along to "It's a dream", so while he was in the shoestore, I switched the CD back to American Idiot, and we drove around singing along to St. Jimmy. (I really hate to say it but I told you so so shut your mouth before I shoot you down old boy) This morning I recieved a package from Johnson & Wales. We were sitting in the car driving to the school I'm attending right now (he offered me a ride, and I could have used the busfare for breakfast, so I didn't turn him down. It's on the way to the hospital he works at.) and we were listening to American Idiot still. I think he kept it in because I was the one that put it there. He's been doing that a lot lately. Letterbomb was on while I was reading him the contents of my package. It was at that point of the song where the lyrics rush at you and they say "She said I can't take this place I'm leaving it behind. She said I can't take this town, I'm leaving you tonight..."; the paper read: "Dear Heather,
Congratulations on your acceptance to Johnson & Wales Univeristy! Enclosed is the 2006-2007 catalog, which contains curriculum outlines, course descriptions, and information about scholarships as well as the current tuition fees and schedule..."
They recieved my check. I'm in for sure. Come September, my house will be my temporary residence: a vacation spot if I choose to come home on the holidays - and Rhode Island will be my home. I couldn't have recieved this package at a more gratifying time. I am so fed up right now with this place. By the time reality settled in for him and I was beaming, the Greenday version of It's a dream came on, and suddenly I heard my father howling out the lyrics "Summer has come and past, twenty years has gone so fast - wake me up when September ends." Normally, that would have depressed me. But it felt really good. His howling represented the manipulation I am about to leave. I am so fucking ready.
Oh my god. Holy shit oh my god. It just hit me. I can leave. I have been waiting for this opportunity. I can fucking walk out. This is it. Less that five months and I am done with this. No more getting trampled on. No more sixteen hour work days. No more of this chaos. I can leave it all behind. I don't think you can even begin to understand what this feels like. I couldn't for the life of me explain it. Oh my god.
I have spent the past...forever, telling myself that nothing like this would ever happen. That I'm a loser and I will spend the rest of my life working my ass to the bone for absolutely no good reason. Do you have any idea exactly what this package means? It means that everything I have gotten down on myself about, and everything that I have always told myself was reality, was the truth, was who I am - isn't. DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG THIS IS?
I need to ground myself now or else my mind is going to collapse. In a fucking wonderful way.
you're just a sucker for the ones who use you and it doesn't matter what i say or do the stupid bastard's gonna have his way with you...
you're an unrescuable schizo or else you're on the rag if you take him back i'm gonna lose my nerve i never met a more impossible girl
depressed