REPORT A PROBLEM
It’s been a long reprieve. I needed to stop. Clear my head. Thoughts and words became jumbled. I couldn't process coherently. I couldn't. I had gone too far, became overwrought, frustrated. I slept less and less, worried more and more. I wasn't enjoying it anymore. I took a step back. Went through the paces day to day and started relaxing. I thought about this for a couple of weeks now and I am ready to rant and rave and return to my old ways. I’ve missed choosing what precise words represent my days and nights, missed the words that comfort.
I love my couch. It is such a big part of my life. I eat on it, watch TV, movies, videos, DVDs, sleep on it, read, lounge, do homework, talk on the phone, socialize, fantasize, nap, plan, so much. I got it at a second hand store; slightly worn tan crushed velvet high back. It was inexpensive, nice shape, not a bad color and could fit through the doorway of my apartment building. I’ve had it for many years; it’s starting to show. I will have to get a new one at some point soon. I don’t want to though.
Gwyneth Paltrow is not beautiful. She is not talented. She has absolutely no personality. She is not glamorous, she has no class. Yuck. I do not understand why society clings to these uninteresting, generic people and calls them celebrities. There are currently 100s of so-called talented people out there. Angelina, nasty. Billy Bob, disgusting. Jlo, get real, she’s down right revolting. Oh wait, she’s dating cardboard cutout Ben. Why, I want to model myself after these celebrities; sleep with my stepbrother, whore around, get involved with drugs and alcohol, Yes, these people are worth celebrating. Give them all acting awards!
The restaurant was highly recommended. “The food is excellent”, “the service is incredible”, and “the best margaritas in town” were some of the comments from people who ate there. I decided to check the restaurant out. I was seated immediately; a server promptly took my drink order and informed me of the specials. I waited and waited but my drink never came. A server came by to take my order. I settled on chimichangas. I bit into the first one and the flavor was delicious, It was the best I ever tasted. Must have been the hair baked into it.
He looked like a Muppet. Red blotchy pockmarked skin, long shaggy brown hair, fucked up yellowing teeth, scraggly beard, bulbous nose and warts. The clothes on his back just hung on his body; He looked like a fucking Muppet. They couldn’t have created a stranger creature. And here he was bitching at me. Something about not getting something somewhere and something or another. He was getting angrier by the minute; I had a smile on my face. The context was completely unintelligible; all I seemed to hear was Manama na de do do do Manama na de do do do. . .
The first few minutes were uncomfortable. The remaining, unbearable. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to go through this. I subjected myself to this torture regularly, couldn’t imagine my life with out this pain, with out this agony. Couldn’t picture having this occur often, Scared myself into believing this was worth it, believing I could handle it. It was over before I could pass out. I unclenched my hands and relaxed. Soon relief swept over me, I wasn’t upset, I still needed to get out of here. I’ll be back for my next check-up in 6 months.
It was nightmarish. Surreal. I watched in disbelief. Dumbfounded. Fascinated. I sat on the shore calmly afterward, my story becoming lore, the mystery of the lake. I was on the speedboat with Beth and Gary and wanted to cool off and dive into the water. It was so refreshing I decided to swim back to shore. No problem until I was about 10 yards out. I noticed this figure in the water moving in my direction. Getting closer. I angled off, it changed course. We collided in about 8 feet of water. It was hard against my thigh, damn turtle.
I am surrounded by a bunch of fucking idiots. The thing is you can’t escape them no matter where you go. In line at the store, sitting at the Movie Theater, driving down the street, dining at a restaurant, they’re everywhere. I can not for the life of me figure out how these people manage to get through a day, that’s how fucking stupid these people are. They’re managers, owners, assistants, politicians, lawyers, telephone solicitors, bus drivers, everywhere you go, fucking idiots. No wonder society is in swift decline. I am beginning to feel nauseous. Numb from the neck up.
Every year I am disappointed. Every year I think it will be different. Every time I get let down I swear I will never allow it to happen again. Every day I say the same thing. Yet each time, I let my guard down, get my hope up and walk away displeased. I was this year. You would think I’d be used to it. Yet once again I found myself deflated, depressed. I thought it would be better this time, it’s not. Why am I so upset? Why do I do this to myself every year? Happy Birthday to me.
I cringe every time I hear her voice. She speaks through her nose. If you plugged it, the stupid bitch wouldn’t be able to speak. That would be great. If she uttered anything intelligent I would probably not hate her as much as I do. Since she never has said nor probably will say anything worth listening to, I’ll just continue to make fun of her. She has got to be the most fucked in the head person I have ever met. I am amazed at the sheer stupidity this woman passes off as wit and intelligence. I hate her.
I’ve known him a year. It has been an interesting one. He’s made my life hell. He’s made me happy. He’s made me angry. He’s made me sing. He’s made me cry. He’s made me smile. So many conflicting emotions and I wouldn’t change anything. Well, maybe a few things. I am wondering would I do it all over again? With him? Someone else maybe, him, not a chance. I know that if I long for something different, I will want something more than I’ve got. I’ve got him. He may not be perfect, but that’s what makes him perfect.
I wonder how much I could get for these crutches. Went to the antique warehouse looking for bargains. I’ve found some awesome things. I’ve found some awesome junk too. I never expected to throw myself down a flight of stairs in the process. Nor did I expect to trash an entire display of glassware. I wouldn’t be too upset if it was nice glassware, not sets of 1970s Burger King red white and blue glasses. Gaudy and dated and overpriced. I did the owners a favor really, the glasses would never have sold, they expect me to pay. The nerve.
The night started out badly. It never got better. I was wearing one hell of a headache, he wanted to go out. I made the mistake of agreeing. I was cranky. He was drunk before we left the apartment. Once we got to the bar, I lit a cigarette and dropped it on my coat, burning a hole in it. He drank himself senseless. He ran out of money, I ran out of patience. I wanted to leave, he wanted to drink. We don’t respect each other anymore. “Hey bartender, can I get a shot of dignity for my friend?”
Another night couch spinning. The clock concaved and I felt awkward talking to the bamboo tree after the incident with the dawn detergent. I need to watch what the telephone feels like before I use it. The parrot next door wants a cup of sugar to throw at the TV because the networks are on the same channel, I can’t reach the remote through the dark chocolate. The end table wants my input on the grape soda shooting down the street but I was distracted by the bear swimming. I cheered when he won the gold medal. I need sleep.
Automaton. That’s what I am. Day in, day out. Sleep. Work. Clean. Sleep. Work. Clean. Automaton. Lifeless routine of life, plastic imitation of plastic, paint by number painting. Automaton: A self operating machine or mechanism, especially a robot. One who behaves or responds in a mechanical way. When did this happen? Why have I let this happen? I have got to take control and find my personality. I am faceless, nameless, blend into the background right now. I am much more than that. I’ll get right on it, later. I have to go to bed, I work in the morning.
I found him to be quite annoying. He was at a party I went to. I disliked him immediately. He kept telling everyone what a nice guy he was. What the fuck is wrong here? “I’m a nice guy” he rambled over and over. He was generic looking, nothing appealing about him, definite weak chin, scrawny legs, thin hair and monotonous voice. As the night went on, the more annoying he was, “I’m a nice guy” I had to get him to shut the fuck up, so I hit on him. He was incredible in bed, still very annoying though.
I have decided to write to Bode Miller and tell him how much I admire, respect and want him, I mean, want to be like him. (oops, yeah right) I want to be his second skin, just like the skin he wears downhill. I want to hang around his neck like the silver medals he got in the Olympics. He’s absolutely charming, over six feet tall, beautiful eyes, strong thighs and from the looks of it a hot body. I am so lustful of him. I like the gung-ho attitude of him. (Hope he’s like that in the bedroom too)
I just watched a man die. Not literally, figuratively speaking of course. He has not been feeling well for some time now and he has given up the will to live. I cried. I’m not sure but I think witnessing the utter hopelessness and the personal collapse is more devastating then watching someone pass away. I felt hopeless. I could do nothing to save him. I could not even save myself from the despair. I am wounded now but will recover. Now the anxiety kicks my ass across the floor and back. Will I recover? Have I started to fade?
I do not like Kit Kats as much as I thought I did. I wanted to get some snacks to keep around the house and they were on sale for a dollar a bag. What a good deal. I bought a bag. After I got home, I plopped down on the couch and started snacking. One after another I ate and ate. Damn, Kit Kats are tasty. I emptied the bag in one sitting. They really were tasty. Then they were nasty. I started feeling an ache. The first wave of nausea hit, followed by another and another and another.
What tattoo do I want to get? I thought I knew what I wanted but I don’t. Do I get Tinkerbell? She is my favorite character. But then would people make fun of it? I could get Nordic runes or Egyptian hieroglyphics across my back. Would I have to explain what they are then? How about a saber tooth tiger or stalking panther or a fire breathing dragon, something fierce. It should be the cowardly lion, I am easily intimidated. Something I should be proud of. Maybe patriotic? Damn this is tough. I think I’ll just buy a porno instead.
I wanted tickets to the ice show so bad. I dialed the phone frantically. Busy. In frustration I hung up and redialed. Busy again. Panic, frustration, agitation and nervousness flooded me. I hit redial. Anger, hostility and disbelief started using me as a punching bag. I never hung up the phone, the busy signal was screaming at me, wailing, piercing my ear drums. I wanted to start smashing things, throwing things, kicking things. I had to get those tickets. I needed to be the tenth caller. I jammed my thumb on the plunger, pulled up, slammed into the redial. Ringing!
Guilty pleasure. Instant gratification. I had to give in. I started cruising the aisles looking. There were several possibilities. Drove me wilder. I was hot. So I removed my coat and seemed to run up and down looking for the object I desired. A guy over in the deli caught my eye, I moved closer. Not what I crave though, I moved on. In the frozen food aisle, this blonde guy was checking me out; I liked what I saw and made my move. I reached down and grabbed. The gallon of Neapolitan ice cream was just what I needed.
One day I would love to just QUIT. Whatever. Drinking, my job, breathing, being nice, walking upright, memorizing faces, guys, reading the paper in the same order every morning, driving a car, liking fish, carrying a wallet, liking people so much, smoking, fantasizing about Jon, the bowling league, feeding corporate greed, being selfish instead of selfless, craving chocolate, iced coffee drinks, procrastinating, forgetting birthdays, bouncing checks, hating my boss, fantasizing about Jon, being skeptical, daydreaming, underwear, biting my nails, judging people, reality shows, late night sundaes, fantasizing about Jon, explaining myself, shovelling, ironing, drive-thru windows, cell phones . . .
I woke up with a splitting headache. I guess I really didn’t need that last rum and coke. I did need the bartender though. He was incredibly gorgeous, deep green eyes, smooth muscular build and a very pronounced endowment. I stopped for a drink immediately after work, stayed until close and went home with, oh, I don’t remember his name, I will remember the time I had, he was that incredible. I would do it all over again, think I’ll be stopping in for a drink again tonight, after I take a nap, I am exhausted, he was that good.
One of those days. It was. Started off bad, stayed bad. I did nothing but laugh. I got up late, forgot to set the alarm, rushed through a shower, soap in the eyes, jumped out, bent to dry my legs, burnt my ass on the screaming radiator, held for a cartoonish moment, thought my, this isn’t good, reacted, eyes popping, wailing, I got dressed flew out the door to the Jeep to go to work. No traffic, made good time, actually might get to work on time, increased speed and got to work with a minute to spare. It’s Saturday.
Most embarrassing moment: Telling my best friend I was in love with him. She wasn’t too thrilled about that. I love her so much, she gets me through my life unscathed. I am without a doubt in her debt. Most thrilling moment: Telling my best friend about the first time with him. It was without a doubt more intense, more electrifying than the act itself, more than the anticipation too. Most unforgettable moment: Telling my best friend he was in love with me. She is my confidante, my tower of strength. Thank you. Most forgettable moment: um. . . .
It snowed for the first time today. It was beautiful, a wonderland. I went outside. The cold air was refreshing. What a great feeling. I went for a walk through the neighborhood. People were shoveling, some decorating for the holidays. I crossed the street into the park. I was exhilarated. I had to undress and experience the snowfall naked. The cold air was exciting on my skin. The thrill of being out in the snow pushed me over the edge without much effort on my part. As I laid down and created a snow angel, I released myself and smiled.
30 days from heaven to hell. I am not that picky, but there is one thing that I expect my boyfriend to do. Bathe. Seriously. When I met gritty man, he was well groomed, clean, shaven, he looked and smelled good. That was in the beginning of July. By the end of July, I was appalled, completely sickened. Gritty man showered every other day, then once a week, he didn’t use deodorant, only talc, he didn’t stink. YES HE DID. Middle of summer, heat, humidity, sweating, he stunk and the talc became a paste and I’m all grossed out again.
I am obsessed with Gabe, Jono, Lemonade, Pulo, Golum, Grover, Domino, Dancing and the 100 or so guppies inhabiting my fish tank. I became mesmerized by some blue fish at the dentist’s office. By the time I left there, sure the Novocain helped, I wanted a tank of my own. I stopped at the pet store by my apartment and bought the set up and got instructions from the cute boy behind the counter. After running the tank a couple of weeks I went back and the cute boy helped me pick out my fish and came home with me.
You have been a thorn in my side since day one. I don’t know what I saw in you. Maybe it was the fact that someone was paying attention to me. All the alarms and warning signals were going off but I ignored them. You are charming. You are attractive. You are conniving. I gave you everything, you take everything. Now there’s nothing left to give. You still want more. You take and take. When will you return the favor? I expect never and now reality sets in and I’m smarting already, hurting myself to save myself. This is love?
The Tip Jar