“I Sing Myself A Quiet Lullaby…For The Pain of One More Loveless Night”

ask-me-anythingI think my blog needs a little more action. Razzle dazzle. Flash. The reaction will be passionate, right? I know I am so why not? I want questions. I want thoughts, I want ideas. I’m also thinking of posting a creative writing blog to encourage myself to write. When people (even if they are imaginary) are reading my stuff, it forces me to actually continue to write. I love writing. There is no comparison to how easy it is for me to explain what I’m thinking or feeling to a computer screen or a piece of paper. I can’t do it to people. I sound like a Valley-Girl, I pause and awkwardly think in the middle of a sentence. It’s horrible. Seriously, just like my crying, I’m an ugly-explainer. But when I’m talking to the computer, when I’m safely wrapped in the lines of college-ruled paper or my notebook with the doodled owls in the margins, I’m untouchable. It doesn’t matter how weird, unique, beastly, absurd or any other adjective that is both strange and wonderful at the same time, I am. Because I’m just me and that’s it. That is my judgment-free zone. That is my white, padded room where I’m free to jump around and smash into stuff like a lunatic. Okay, a little sidetracked. What I was saying, is that I would love for you all to be more into my life, my blog, my thoughts. I want to know what you want to know. There’s this thing that people around me do called Thirsty Thursdays (I don’t know how widespread it is) but we’re going to do “Supposin’ Sundays.” I want your questions, I want your thoughts, I want your feedback. Tell me how I can make reading my crazy, in-and-out, I-don’t-really-understand-it-myself, thinking better for you.

Alright, now that that’s off my chest. I sit here, with a suitcase on my bed, Chicago playing in the background, growing sleepier by the second. I’m supposed to be packing for our big trip. This is our first “real” vacation in I don’t even know how long. Usually, we cheat. We go on vacation and stay with family, which means we stay at the same places every year. Vacation sort of becomes a chore. Well, even this is tiresome. My eyelids are drooping and I can’t get last night out of my head. I just want to curl up in my bed and take a nap. Last night, I went out with Allison and her friend, Bridget, who is now my friend, I guess. Well, I would like her to be. I got dressed up, since it was Saturday and we were planning on going to a bar, which we did. And when we did, no one…and I mean, no one was interested in me. Complain, complain, complain, right? That’s all I seem to do. Sometimes though, I feel like I have this big sign on my boobs, face and ass that says “oh, hey by the way, if you’re looking for a hit-it-and-quit-it, don’t call me!” Everyone seems to know that I am not to be messed with but last night, I wanted to be messed with. I liked flirting with Allison’s other friend’s boyfriend because he was flirting back. Obviously, it wasn’t anything serious because he’s already taken (though I don’t think she’s very serious about it) but both Bridget and I were getting vibes from him. He’s a flirt and you know what, I enjoyed it. I wanted to make out with a total stranger, to just randomly latch on to some guy, grind all up against him and really let loose. Even if I knew it wasn’t going to get past that, the physical attraction between the two of us, the passion and heat of that precise moment would be enough for me. I feel like a soda bottle that someone has been shaking for the last six months but is absolutely refusing to take the cap off. Eventually, the carbon will calm down. Somehow (and don’t ask me how, I have no idea where my science consultant is), the bubbles dissipate and everything is all good again. Your soda might be on the flatter side but it isn’t going to spray in your face. Whoa, let me clear this up first. I don’t mean this in like an “I-so-horny” type of way. That’s another matter entirely that might not be discussed in this episode. I mean it in the “I want to feel something other than this inward obsession.” Okay, that still sounds really conceited. Let me try again. I have passion, right? I’ve said it numerous times that my emotional capacity is that of a child, that I feel like either 360 mph or not at all, and lately, everything I feel has been consumed with my own life. Yes, I do other stuff for other people but in the end, it boils down to me. It’s about getting a job or figuring out school, all stuff that pertains to myself and my own future. For just a split second, for just that one moment in time, I would love to be interlocked with someone so tightly that our shadows can’t fit between us. I want to know that someone, anyone out there can, at least on a primal level, feel the same passion and drive as me. Thomas informed me today that if we could actually see genetic sequencing, women would be striped because of the X-chromosome patterns made throughout their DNA (he’s my science consultant, in case you couldn’t guess). I want to know that there is a guy out there, someone else in this entire universe that can see my stripes. He can see my stripes, can see how clashing and weird and strangely hard to look at they are, and still wants to stare at me. That’s what I want. Because I am invisible.

I came forward. I told the truth to Flower about my momentary lax moment. She was (obviously) concerned but didn’t want to make too big of a deal out of it. Heading out to California tomorrow is drawing my eyes closer and closer to my stomach. Scrutiny is getting harder and harder and I can feel how my shirt and shorts fit me now at every second of every minute of every hour. And I hate it. Sometimes, I can ignore it, and sort of be okay with the fact that my thighs are bulging a bit or that my calf sticks out funny when I cross my legs because I’m alone in my room, or I’m only around my family. But even now, that is ridiculously hard. And, as I was packing,  I found an old, external hard drive that had literally 1,000’s of pictures on it. Some from high school, where I was smaller (but at the time believed way too big) and some were from a few months…well, I guess it’s been a year. It’s been a year since I’ve lost a dramatic amount of weight. And I’m not okay with that. The numbers haven’t moved since that lax moment and I don’t know how to get them started again. The girl Allison, Bridget and I met at the bar yesterday was whining about being in the low 100’s. I had to refrain from punching her in the face. She had no figure but I know if I looked like that, I would look amazing. I would be just trim, and fit and just amazing. I don’t know what to do with those pictures. I don’t want to keep them because most of them contain Mara…I know, a name that has not been mentioned in a long time! But, some of them are pleasant memories. To delete or not, that is the question!

Thomas has gotten no better at…adulthood.

I miss my dog.

West Coast bound. Will write when we land/unpack/whatever exactly you call settling down in the first city we’re not actually going to be settling in.

(Oh, and expect those updates I mentioned!)



“…And Then It’s Work, Work, Work All The Time!”

images (2)Aha! I didn’t make myself out to be a liar, a cheat or a thief…well, I don’t really know what I would be stealing. Your faith? Your trust? Whatever, it doesn’t matter because I didn’t steal it. I’m here, just as promised! Not that anything I have to say will be Earth-shattering or sky-moving but hey, that’s not my call. Where did I leave off? Oh yes, eating…

My little laxative adventure has been lingering in my mind since that fateful weekend. Don’t worry, like I said, they remain untouched in my drawer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about them. I’ve kept to the schedule Flower (my nutritionist) recommended but sitting there, on a little rocking horse, like a kid in a horror movie, is this voice. And the voice is rocking back and forth on that stupid rocking horse, telling me over and over that I’m fat and that I eat way too much. It tells me that my thighs move too much when I walk, that there’s too much overhang on my gut and that my face is too round. I thought about jogging today. I can’t even begin to explain how weird that is for me. I never want to run. Anywhere. Ever. Unless I’m racing my dog. That’s usually fun, even though I usually lose. His little legs are fast as hell. I can feel those pills on my tongue. I hate the way my body feels during the process but afterwards I feel better. That’s what matters. And I look amazing in my clothes. That matters too. I need to figure this out. Quickly. Because if I don’t, I will grow. And being my age, that is not acceptable.

Workforce- I feel like a team should pop out of nowhere and we should all jump up like in Power Rangers and yell some team slogan in a power pose. “Workforce, go!” I was a big Power Rangers fan as a kid, okay? It was pretty awesome watching all those horribly fake explosions and puppet tricks. Now, I have been trying for a million and a half days (I can’t say years because it hasn’t been that long, I won’t say that. I feel like that would be an insult to people who are super unemployed) to get a job. I’ve been on all the sites, pulled out all the stops, dropped in everywhere I could and…nothing. Not a call, not a ring, nothing. It sucks ass. And I need a job. Yes, I’ve been volunteering at the library. And I’ve been able to hang out with people other than the four walls of my room and the dog (which is actually quite refreshing). But I can’t continue to hang out with said other non-wall-people if I can’t fund myself. It’s a cycle that I can’t break until someone cuts me a break. I’ve heard it all from just about everyone. “It’s hard when you first get out of college.” “Things get better in a few months.” I don’t have a few months. I need shit to start moving now! We’re expected to go through all this stuff in the airport: the ticket-buying, the jostling, the difficulty and wait of boarding and once we’re finally on the freaking plane, the captain wants to announce that we’re not moving anywhere for a while for one reason or another. School (at whatever level) is the airport. Life, you may have correctly assumed, is the plane. And yet again, you have correctly assumed, mine has not taken off. Oh, oh, but Thomas’s has skyrocketed. His broke the sound barrier the day he was born. Star Child. Always aimed up and out of this world. Me? Well, I was but at some point, my gaze dropped. Rather than blink, snap out of it, or yawn and turn my head back up to the clouds, I just kept staring at my feet instead. Look where that got me. Stuck with four walls as friends. Well, not any more. I’m busting out. Okay, not literally. That would cost thousands of dollars and haven’t we just spent much longer than even a generous paragraph explaining that I’m broke and jobless? That’s what I thought. I have friends. Good ones. I think they’re good people. My judge of character might be skewed but I think this time is different. Let’s just pray (frankly, for my sake), that I’m right. Do friends get me a job? No. Do friends help me afford a new car battery or pay for the speeding camera ticket I got a few weeks ago? Nope. But they let me feel a bit better about myself, and less fat when I try and say the car had to have more gas to move because I weighed so much. So, you see my problem? I’m getting a job. I know the phrase usually goes: “if it’s the last thing I do,” but it won’t be the last thing I do. Hell nah. I’ve got a long, long list and my lack of a job isn’t going to stop that.

*I would also like to save my Interwebs cred and note that I watched the original Power Rangers…as in Mighty Morphin’! None of this Mighty Force, Mystic Force, Ninja Force, Grandma Force, Culinary Force, Nazi Force — blah, blah, blah! It just happened to fit the reference! And you do know how I enjoy a good reference!

“You Can Have Anything In Life If You Sacrifice Everything Else For It”

RollercoasterBrick by Boring Brick. Folie a Deux. I’m gonna have to break this down since it’s been literally like a fortnight since I’ve written. Brace yourselves for this roller coaster…

Graduation- Thomas graduated. Yup, my baby brother is, according to society, no longer a…wait, yes he is. Technically, he isn’t an adult. But he went through that ever so fun rite of passage that signals the transition from goofy kid without a care in the world to an adult who is suddenly struggling with the entire weight of the universe on their shoulders. The ceremony was nice enough, posted pictures on the stereotypical social media, relatives came, ate, and conquered. It was a nice, little weekend. At least, until I started having my moments of total self-destruction and inner chaos. Literally, the gates of Hell opened within my chest and started sucking me in from the inside. I was a total monster. I was pissed at everyone and everything. Thomas isn’t an adult. That statement is both legal and moral (is that the word I want to use?). Thomas doesn’t do anything around the house. Okay, wait, let me rephrase that statement. My shortcomings and failures as a person are being highlighted and noticed more that Thomas is home now. I have Younger Sibling Syndrome and I’m the older sibling. Everything is about where he’s going to school, where he’s going to work, what he’s doing for the summer. No one is interested in me. At all. I feel like I can’t be seen or heard by anyone, unless they need something. Lucy, I need you to sign for that delivery when it gets here. Lucy, I need you to go to the store. Lucy, I need you to take Thomas to blah, blah, blah. I’m like JARVIS or the Bionic Man in the weird Robin Williams movie that totally stomped on my heart. I’m a thruway for everyone. And to sort of cement those feelings that bubbled up throughout the week while sitting around and chauffeuring Thomas, I was roped into going to a graduation for a library employee. And that was like 100 times worse than Thomas’s graduation. At his, I was genuinely the proud sister, the family member that sort of sighs along with the graduate, like “we survived.” But at hers, there was no relation. She introduced all of her friends to each other, curiously skipping over me each time. I felt invisible. There’s no other analogy or way to describe it. I felt like I wasn’t there. And, of course, the after party was the same sort of thing, except it was coated with a layer of “what do you do? where do you go to school?” and other questions I couldn’t answer out of shame, or lack of answer, I really don’t know. I can’t figure this game out. Speeches were made at each graduation, reminding me that this is the time when they’re (I almost typed “we”, ha!) supposed to grow up. The fun’s over and now the world is at their feet (or crushing them, depends on how you look at it). Except, the “adults” lied. There was no truth to that. They were making it sound like they used to when we were kids. “You can be anything! You can become an astronaut, or a fighter pilot if you want!” Well, no, not if you’re color-blind or lack depth perception. “You could be a ballerina or a world-class gymnast!” Um, not if you turn out to be too tall or have weak knees. Why do they feed us so much bullshit and then when we fuck up, when we make mistakes, when we get to this age where we have no idea what we want to do, they grow frustrated and charge of hundreds of thousands of dollars to make that decision? The tide is set against us from birth by the very generation that put us in the waters. When it comes time to place the blame or figure out what went wrong, the kid is to blame. You’re expected to know who and what you are from the start. Brave New World Order, my friends. Welcome, aboard. We used to play a game when Thomas was a kid to figure out what he was going to be when he grew up. This was when he was just a baby, still in a high-chair and throwing spaghetti on the floor with his hands, rather than eating it. Drummer, firefighter, professional explosives handler were our top three. And look where he is now. None of those are even close. Well, both of us still really like explosions. Okay, I feel like I’m getting into the typical “kids need to be kids” spiel but there is some truth to that. Simple characters like Olaf in Frozen, Timon and Pumba in The Lion King and Donkey in Shrek are the ones we quote the most. There the ones that make us want to stick with the main character, even after they lose faith because they can see the good in them. There’s an urge in all of us for that feeling. That feeling like it doesn’t have to be so complicated and maybe, just maybe, if we roll the ball up the hill one more time, it won’t come back down. That‘s the lesson they need to be teaching kids. Hold on to that. Being a child. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean immaturity or irresponsibility but I mean deriving true emotions from things. And right now, that’s my problem. I feel like that when the rest of the world doesn’t so explaining myself is…eh.

Eating- During my little meltdown-graduation-uphill-dowhill fiasco, eating was tricky. My family eats…a lot. They like food. Even if it’s bad, they’ll usually keep eating it and just complain about it while they’re eating. So, I knew this was going to be a tough time. We didn’t have any sort of schedule with meals. People just ate whenever they wanted to. That’s usually my philosophy anyway, to eat when your body tells you and not when the clock says to, but when I’m around, that sort of thing doesn’t work. I managed the weekend okay but after they left and we were stuck with tons of food, empty boxes that once held food and ice cream (from the local dairy farm down the road. Homemade…so good!) It gets better though (and Allister is going to LOVE this, I can see his face now!). I was at the mall after making several important phone calls the following day when my doctor called and informed me it was safe to resume my birth control. I had stopped when I had my surgery but she said it was cool to start up again, so I did. Big mistake. I’ve never felt so bloated, fat and disgusting in my entire life. I seriously felt like I couldn’t breathe. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that it could have been my birth control but it was such a small thought, I didn’t really pay it any mind. What did I do? I took some laxatives. Mind you, that sentence was plural. As in, more than one. Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t go over the dose recommended on the package but I did take the highest I could. Timed it right, I mean, I knew what I was doing. I felt better too. It wasn’t a complete waste of time and energy. My waistline was smaller, I had space in my chest cavity and my pants fit a lot better too. Now, my ass didn’t feel very nice after all that (sorry if this is a little too candid, I usually forget that I’m hard to gross out!)! I got weighed the day after because I saw Dr. Glover and found out that I broke through the 170’s. I was back in the 160’s. Okay, can I just say I had to pause for like half an hour to actually write the local range of weight on the Internet? I’m not giving you specifics but just that little bit of information about how heavy I am…whoa, my heart is still pounding. But, I’m leaving it. I kept my little experiment to myself, mostly trying to convince myself that it was all in an effort to become less bloated. I don’t think it actually was. I think once I realized what was happening (as an added side effect), I had to bungee jump with myself. I would fall off the edge and be certain that this was my ticket, this was the way I could get those numbers down and make sure everything would stay slim and trim. Then, the cord would snap back and I would fly up and remember that this isn’t right. Logic would kick in. Something would tell me that it didn’t make sense for me to risk my health like that. It happened over and over again for the two days I spent running to the bathroom. Fast forward- bloating returns because I’m still taking The Pill and the dose is getting stronger and I’m getting fatter. Laxatives are still in my nightstand drawer, teasing me, but I haven’t touched them. Eating on the other hand, is weird…at best. Obsessive about certain kinds of foods (mostly Pringles and Lucky Charms) and weird schedules. I can’t survive this type of thing much longer. I do not want to gain weight. I can’t gain weight.

This post needs to be over. It needs to be finished. But there is so much more to say. There is so much more to talk about, to address, to refer to. For now though, I will leave you with this: tomorrow.