Oh my god, I can't sleep! I'm stuck crocheting and watching season 1 of Dexter. It's 2:30 in the morning and I know there was a period where I was tired but that passed and now I have fallen into All-Nighter phase. Hunter is in Colorado with his family for the holidays. It's crazy, I have been an extremely independent woman for the past 3 years, now, suddenly, the idea of going to bed without him is almost agonizing. Maybe it has something to do with Dexter. I spent my life checking my bedroom closet ritualistically 3 times a night for Micheal Myers cirque Halloween I, 1971, or something like that. Now I'm in my apartment alone and I am watching episode after episode about blood and murder. I hope I never have kids, my idea of comfort is severely fucked up.
Funny thing. I found myself completely freaked out the other day. I dreamt we adopted a baby girl. She was laying, wrapped in pink fleece, on the sidewalk just waiting for me to pick her up. In my dream I looked over at her and thought to myself "what the fuck did I get myself into?" then I walked over to her and as I bent over to pick her up she started to giggle, hysterically, and after that I fell instantly in love. I woke feeling a little messed up in the head. I think the thing that bothered me the most was that I liked her, and the fact that I actually adopted a baby covered head-to-toe in pink. I'm not the mommy type. Some women are destined for children. My best friend, Lilly, for instance, she's meant to be a mother, she'll be a great one too. Sadly, she miscarried yesterday. She called me broken hearted and I just felt so helpless. Some situations, the best you can do is wrap your arms around someone and tell them that you love them. I couldn't do that for her and it broke my heart. Maybe some babies just aren't meant for this world. Maybe her and her husband needed more time to mentally prepare. He wasn't very interested in the prospects of becoming a father until they were taken from him. What ever the case may be, sometimes you just have to believe that these things happen for a reason, and maybe God has a better plan.
This Christmas is strange. I'm away from both Hunter and my mom. Double whammy. The plans are to go to my aunts house for dinner but she was recently diagnosed with cancer of the lymph nodes, I believe. The doctors say they think she will be fine. I guess they caught it early. It would be nice if this one had a happy ending. Cancer is so fucking prominent lately, more than ever it seems. So I need to call her and just keep praying.
My life, personally, is quite good. I am working 4 jobs and still not pulling in a lot of money but 2 out of 4 of them are in my field, which is always hopeful. Plus, I finally realized what I want to do with my life. I've been talking about it for years, noncommittally really, but I know for sure now, in fact, it's never felt more right. I know that I want to get a second major in journalism, no matter what. I can't wait to go back to school. Since I got my first degree in Interior Design, my hopes are to combine my degrees and write for an interior design magazine, critiquing homes and hotels all around the world. For the first time in my life I know exactly what I want and it feels right. My future has always felt so fuzzy but for once it makes sense. Maybe it sounds incredibly idealistic, illusory and intangible but I don't care. I've spent my entire life not knowing, completely what I want, or who I am , or what I am even good at for that matter, but to just know with as much conviction what I could do and succeed in, is a liberating feeling. It's taken me long enough but hell, at least I'm getting closer to what, at the heart of things, I really am. Love to you all. Here's hoping I'll pass out without dreams of blood baths and serial killers, or babies for that matter.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Humoring Hunter
Just a follow up from my last few blogs, Hunter fears you all think that he is a gigantic gas bag, although we know he is, it is very important to him that all readers understand that there is far more to him than just his bad gas. Don't worry, he is not narcissistic or insecure but, lets face it, flatulence is not an easy matter to deal with. I love Hunter for his massive penis and his fabulous sense of humor, for the record. Not to mention, he does a mean dish cleaning and can clean the bathroom in 17 seconds flat. He also has great arms, he's interesting and he has really beautiful eyes. So, with that said, please veto my past blog regarding his alleged gas problem, there definitely is so much more to him.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Many Complexions of My Death Bed
I am a very self absorbed creature. Don't get me wrong, the Existential Journey has been going well. I have made more of an effort to reach out to others and my waitressing skills over at SOL are better than ever. By the way, speaking of SOL, The Recruit came back! She had disappeared for 3 weeks but now I know why; last week she showed up with Gout and Pediphilio in a new pair of brown leather, thigh high boots, and a brand new EE cup! It was amazing. And instead of smiling and staring off, uncomfortably, into space, she actually batted her eyes and giggled repeatedly! The Stepford Club really did a number on her. I think it's fascinating, if I didn't love my small breasts and loathe dirty, old, saggy men so much I would go under cover and write a story on the metamorphosis that takes place among Pediphilio's girls. I imagine they all go down to some cellar in a big mansion and are transformed into large breasted, integrated, multicultural robots who are than rebooted and retrained by black mama herself.
Anyways, so I am still pursuing my "pull my head out of my ass" experiment. Life has been good, but the other night I was in the bathroom cleaning and, due to the thin sheet of dry wall that stands between my neighbors and I, I heard my neighbor, Robin, talking to her husband and then, out of nowhere, she started singing to a song I did not recognize, in a rather endearing off-key manner. I smiled to myself, because I absolutely adore my neighbors. Than I started to realize how very, very strange it is that there is a whole story, a lifetime even, 2 actually, that exists on the other side of my bathroom wall, and Hunter and I are completely oblivious to it. Our life, mine and his, is all I know in my small, limited world; our apartment, our food, our music, our schedules. How can there be such a full existence sharing my plumbing?
Every few years I go through a realization that the world does not revolve, completely, around me and each time it is a fabulously refreshing slap in the face. The first time it happened I was in grade school; I realized I was one day going to die and that the rest of the world really didn't give a shit, then I proceeded to cry for the remainder of 4th grade. Another time was when I was 16 and I was sitting in detention in my math class and noticed a poster on the wall of all the stars in our solar system, with a tiny little arrow pointing to a tiny little star and it said "you are here". I loved that poster. I felt this natural high emerging from the divine sense of acceptance that the poster seemed to communicate; it was this great feeling that nothing really mattered as much as I thought it did. I assumed my math teacher put that poster up for me personally.
Unfortunately, in spite of these "realizations," I am still very self-centered. I rest in my own little world and only step outside of it long enough to feel uncomfortable, then, whap, I slam my beautiful front door shut again and ask Hunter if he is up for a game of bananagrams. I settle for the mentality that as long as I live a decent life, as a decent person, then that should be enough. But I find myself still constantly in my head.
The fact is, at this point in my life, I feel as if just being a good person just isn't sufficient. I cry for myself but barely cry for others. I'm so quick to laugh at people but lack the ability to laugh with them. I have this outrageous ego that's badgered incessantly by a protruding inferiority complex. The other day my girlfriend and I were talking about how her cousin, who was an alleged pedophile, died in his apartment and was discovered 3 weeks later, in a state of dreadful decomposition. She said, "a person's death is directly correlated with the way they lived their life." A flash of deaths ran through my head; my grandfather died quickly and painfully from asbestos poisoning, he abused his children and cheated on his very devoted wife, my grandma, who he threatened to abandon after she was hospitalized and given shock treatment for bipolar disorder; my friend's sister rotted away in her room when she was a teenager, it took her family 3 days to find her after she had overdosed on heroin; my old co-worker and ex-member of AA died of a severed artery after his intoxicated girlfriend had stabbed him in the thigh during a drunken fight in their trailer home-this man was a drunk, a drug addict and a compulsive liar. On the other hand, my dear friend Sharon died of cancer, in a beautiful room filled with flowers and people singing to her and holding her hand, she was a magnificent woman, she was colorful, animated and filled with gratitude. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her. If I die tomorrow, how will it reflect the life I'm living? Internal bleeding as a result of self-absorption? Busted brain aneurysm from interminable self-obsession? A woman from my home group had 4 strokes last month, now she is deaf in one ear and was told she would be facing persisting vertigo for the rest of her life. She got up tonight at the meeting and went on for 5 minutes about how grateful she is. That is the kind of person I want to be. At 50, this woman is more beautiful than I have ever been in all my vanity-driven youth.
I'm going to bypass the resolution for the evening and end this blog with a simple good night.
Anyways, so I am still pursuing my "pull my head out of my ass" experiment. Life has been good, but the other night I was in the bathroom cleaning and, due to the thin sheet of dry wall that stands between my neighbors and I, I heard my neighbor, Robin, talking to her husband and then, out of nowhere, she started singing to a song I did not recognize, in a rather endearing off-key manner. I smiled to myself, because I absolutely adore my neighbors. Than I started to realize how very, very strange it is that there is a whole story, a lifetime even, 2 actually, that exists on the other side of my bathroom wall, and Hunter and I are completely oblivious to it. Our life, mine and his, is all I know in my small, limited world; our apartment, our food, our music, our schedules. How can there be such a full existence sharing my plumbing?
Every few years I go through a realization that the world does not revolve, completely, around me and each time it is a fabulously refreshing slap in the face. The first time it happened I was in grade school; I realized I was one day going to die and that the rest of the world really didn't give a shit, then I proceeded to cry for the remainder of 4th grade. Another time was when I was 16 and I was sitting in detention in my math class and noticed a poster on the wall of all the stars in our solar system, with a tiny little arrow pointing to a tiny little star and it said "you are here". I loved that poster. I felt this natural high emerging from the divine sense of acceptance that the poster seemed to communicate; it was this great feeling that nothing really mattered as much as I thought it did. I assumed my math teacher put that poster up for me personally.
Unfortunately, in spite of these "realizations," I am still very self-centered. I rest in my own little world and only step outside of it long enough to feel uncomfortable, then, whap, I slam my beautiful front door shut again and ask Hunter if he is up for a game of bananagrams. I settle for the mentality that as long as I live a decent life, as a decent person, then that should be enough. But I find myself still constantly in my head.
The fact is, at this point in my life, I feel as if just being a good person just isn't sufficient. I cry for myself but barely cry for others. I'm so quick to laugh at people but lack the ability to laugh with them. I have this outrageous ego that's badgered incessantly by a protruding inferiority complex. The other day my girlfriend and I were talking about how her cousin, who was an alleged pedophile, died in his apartment and was discovered 3 weeks later, in a state of dreadful decomposition. She said, "a person's death is directly correlated with the way they lived their life." A flash of deaths ran through my head; my grandfather died quickly and painfully from asbestos poisoning, he abused his children and cheated on his very devoted wife, my grandma, who he threatened to abandon after she was hospitalized and given shock treatment for bipolar disorder; my friend's sister rotted away in her room when she was a teenager, it took her family 3 days to find her after she had overdosed on heroin; my old co-worker and ex-member of AA died of a severed artery after his intoxicated girlfriend had stabbed him in the thigh during a drunken fight in their trailer home-this man was a drunk, a drug addict and a compulsive liar. On the other hand, my dear friend Sharon died of cancer, in a beautiful room filled with flowers and people singing to her and holding her hand, she was a magnificent woman, she was colorful, animated and filled with gratitude. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her. If I die tomorrow, how will it reflect the life I'm living? Internal bleeding as a result of self-absorption? Busted brain aneurysm from interminable self-obsession? A woman from my home group had 4 strokes last month, now she is deaf in one ear and was told she would be facing persisting vertigo for the rest of her life. She got up tonight at the meeting and went on for 5 minutes about how grateful she is. That is the kind of person I want to be. At 50, this woman is more beautiful than I have ever been in all my vanity-driven youth.
I'm going to bypass the resolution for the evening and end this blog with a simple good night.
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