Sick

i'm sick.

i'm achy, and cranky, and generally feeling terrible. my gastro-intestinal tract is currently in "delicate" condition. and i can't, fall, asleep.

i'm supposed to open the store tomorrow, but i'm trying to scramble and find someone to take my hours. (so far, no luck, and the calls were made like, over an hour ago. not good.)

my entire brain seems devoted to telling me exactly how my body feels. my skin is super-sensitive; taking off my work shirt and putting on a t-shirt was a painful experience.

and dear sweet god, i just found someone to cover my shift for me. i am so, fucking, happy right now. about that.

i'm not happy that i feel like a lumpy flesh-sack. which is what i feel like. i can't do anything. i can't think well. i can't fall asleep. i can't eat. i can't read. even video-games are beyond me.

being sick, fucking sucks.

and my friend M. went to the emergency room, and i don't know why yet. but she was able to text me, so i'm guessing she's mostly all right.

i hate everything. i'm going to bed now.

What We Are Dealing With

i submit to you, my avid readership (hahahahahahahahaha! HA!), the following example of the great mind that is now (hopefully) entertaining you.

*ahem*

How I Woke Up This Morning

my phone started sounding beethoven's "Ode To Joy" at seven-thirty in the a.m. i reached out to get it, and realized it wasn't on my pillow. i tracked the sound to the foot of my bed, and over it into the cat-box (thankfully poop-free) where i'd managed to kick my phone during the night, after forgetting to plug it in to charge. by the time i sniff it a few times and flip it open, whoever is calling has hung up, as the line is silent. i check my recent missed calls, and the latest one is from my father. i hit the send button, and he answers sounding surprised. yes, he called me, but that was on sunday. today is tuesday. he might stop by the store today, but no. he didn't call me. that's when i realize that "Ode To Joy" is my alarm ring-tone. the "Can Can" is my call ring-tone. no one called me. its just time to like, wake up.

this is what you are dealing with.

i am teh genius...

Other Highpoints of the Day include:

brewing coffee, but leaving the urn's spigot open, so the fresh coffee (decaf espresso roast) poured down from the funnel, into the urn, and out the spout onto the catch-plate on the counter. and then, when the plate filled up, onto the counter itself.

also, i think some middle-aged guy noticed the clip in my hair (its at that awkward length. my hair, not the clip.) and got really angry about it. i was totally nice to him, and looked totally respectable, so i'm assuming it was the clip. process of elimination, right? but yeah. no joke, no confusion, just like, "WHAT the FUCK, man?" grr! angry!

I AM ANGRY WHITE MAN! DO NOT CHALLENGE MY PARADIGM!

sucker... i totally fucked with his world-view...

also, i am in love with natalie dee. go to her site. read her comics. buy her shit.

DO IT NOW!!!

www.nataliedee.com

Shame shame shame...

before i make this revelation, i would ask you to remember that we all have our personal quirks (ye olde "Everybody's got their Something" clause) and that really, i'm so full of awesome that i'm bursting at the seams. so this is really, just, you know... like, a drop in a bucket. only its a creepy drop in teh buckitt of awesome. and win.

anyway, the announcement:

i am sort of vaguely (editor's note: two qualifiers already!) addicted (ahhh...) to watching abscess-draining, boil-lancing, and cyst-popping videos on youtube.

its disgusting, its wrong, and it makes me ill, but it also fills me with awe.

pus is revoltingly awesome...

i guess that's all, for now.

Hi! We're Your Racist Neighbors!

i'm having an issue.

i'm having a long-standing issue with our (relatively) new neighbors.

i don't know if you remember, but way back in november, our newish neighbors put a sculpture of an "Indian Brave" on the decorative low wall in their front yard. my initial reaction was a general WTF? i mean, its sooo stereotypical, and racist as hell, and it was just suddenly there, like it grew out of the ground one night.

a week later, i realized, "ohhh... its a thanksgiving decoration. a horribly racist thanksgiving decoration." i mean, for fuck's sake... really... you want to put that up as a thanksgiving decoration? all right. i sort of understand. but remind me to get you a copy of "A People's History of the United States," by Howard Zinn.

can i also mention, the matriarch of this family is a school-teacher? public education is great, except for the fact that it exposes one's children to the public... sigh...

anyway, yes. so i tried to let the indian go. not my business. and i let it go throughout december too. i mean, its still the holiday season, and i don't take my decorations down like, ever, if i get around to putting them up. no really, its totally common for people to leave their christmas lights on all year round in my neighborhood. i mean, on the house. you don't light them up at night, unless its like, your birthday or something.

but now we get to the crux of the matter.

the indian is still there.

its february. thanksgiving is long gone, and it was barely an excuse, so far as i'm concerned. christmas is over. mlk day has even passed us by. there is no, fucking, reason to have that thing out there anymore. i still find it really disturbing.

i have fantasies of taking it down at night and leaving it on their stoop, facing the front door and ready to be found in the morning. there'll be a sticky note on its forehead; "Hey! I'm racist!" maybe just put the sticky on and leave it where it is. or maybe just hit it with a baseball bat until it goes away.

its their bad taste, and its their private property, but aren't these the reasons that zoning laws exist? doesn't public opinion (or at least my opinion) carry a certain weight?

i hate that motherfucking indian.

and i would hate to have to do something about it myself.

but sometimes...

I May Be an Utter Doofus

things is bad.

today i had to ask someone else if i liked them. because i genuinely didn't know if i liked them.

i don't trust my gut when it comes to quasi-romantic stuff anymore, because i just don't. i'm not getting into it right now.

i don't trust my gut, so i just ignored my first impressions and decided i would keep talking to him. if i liked him, he would grow on me until it became obvious. right?

no. its been a month or two, and i was still confused. so i asked.

he told me, quite honestly, that no, i definitely did not like him, but i would find somebody yet, so don't fret.

the sad thing is, he's completely right. i don't like him. its not a question of him being an acquired taste, or his being a different kind of person than i normally get involved with. i just don't like him.

god bless the internet for making such things possible.

and god bless me for being such a hapless, though lovable (maybe?), twit.

and god bless him, for being honest.

i really need professional help...

Just For The Record...

if you meet someone, and in the course of conversation, they tell you they are jewish, do not, DO NOT, say:

"oh! i knew that!"

or:

"i would have guessed that!"

or:

"well, that makes sense!"

none of the above are appropriate responses, and even if they are completely, COMPLETELY true, you will sound like a total douche, and your new jewish friend, will more than likely be feeling less friendly.

because they will be asking themselves:

"what stereotype did you buy into that makes you assume i'm jewish!?"

c'mon people. use your fricking heads. we don't go up to people and say, "howdy, you're a mexican, aren't you!"

its RUDE!

same goes for jews. hey big nose; hey kike; hey money-lover; hey neurotic; hey whiner; hey smartie; hey nerd; hey christ-killer. these are what cross our minds when you say, "well of COURSE you're a jew!" i have to stop being a person, interacting with another person (marginal person, perhaps, in your case) and be THE JEW. i have to stop being a complex human being, and wonder exactly what caricature i've been reduced to in your head.

and yes, most people have to go through this to some degree. no. most people who are of minority status have to go through this. and if its a question of "passing" for whatever is normal in the area (white usually, and protestant usually) jews have it easier than many. we're often white, in a way, and religion is usually, USUALLY, a private matter. people who are not white invite judgement just by wearing the skin they were born with.

truly, i shouldn't bitch.

but i do. because i'm pissed off. maybe because i have never met as many people with ass-backwards ideas about jews as i have in texas. maybe because those same people have no desire to be educated about the subject, but are quite happy with their ignorance, thank you very much. maybe because those people are just so happy to share, in a completely good-natured way, their views with me. maybe because i'm just born to bitch; perhaps its my raison d'etre, my purpose in life, what have you.

it makes me want to strike a new deal with the general populace. if you feel the need to tell me just what you think i am, then i will reciprocate in kind. in the most offensive and bigoted way i can imagine.

so when it happens, if it happens, you just drink it down. savor it! you've earned it!

February is for Chumps

it happened on the first day of the month. it happened at work. i was ringing someone up, and looking for an envelope to put their new "Starbucks Card" in. we now have lots of Christmas envelopes that were delivered late. its all right though, they're pretty. but the customer had chosen one of our "hearts! stars! deer! cupids! red! pink! love! whee!" cards, and i actually managed to find a pack of our valentine's day envelopes. and i suddenly remembered.

i fucking hate valentine's day.

i totally have to start swilling my haterade. big time. because i only have a week and a half to fully express just how much i really dislike valentine's day.

and i would like a show of hands by those of you who are actually surprised that i hate this particular craptacular "holiday." hmm. no hands. good. i like when the audience starts getting a sense of who they're dealing with. you all get to live until tomorrow. have fun with that.

the groundhog saw his shadow, which means six more weeks of winter, or, that bill murray and andie macdowell will really hook up for good and break the curse.

my hair is growing out. i'm starting to clip the front strands to the side of my head so they don't explode out into the faces of those i talk to. the clip has gotten a wide range of reactions from co-workers. it also made me burst out laughing because i realized it would be really funny (to me...) to tell everyone, "you know, i've just been fooling you all up until now. i'm actually wearing the clip because i'm the world's ugliest twelve year old girl." its that kind of clip. and truly, if i were a twelve year old girl, offing me would be a mercy killing. twelve year old girls should never look like me; starting with the beard, passing by way of my full six feet and two inches to my size eleven and a half feet, with a quick stop-off at my junk.

junk.

so i've been talking to this guy who lives in houston. and its nice, because i really sort of don't care what he thinks of me. which is liberating. usually, i end up attracted to people who make me so desperate to win their approval that i stutter, fall all over myself, and end up looking exactly like the nervous wreck that i am. this guy, i just talk to. i say horrible things to him. they're all true, these things, but they're horrible. i tell him i like talking to him because he can actually take care of the whole conversation by himself, and i can just kick back and listen. i tell him his accent sort of bothers me. (texas, born and bred, this one) i make my complete ambivalence known.

and he's just fine with it all. and not in the creepy "i like the abuse" way, or the "i like you so much i'll put up with the abuse" way. he just doesn't care what i say, and thinks that i'm only a pretend mean person. that i only say the things i say to try and keep myself safe from people. which a) means he's more perceptive than i've given him credit for, and that leads to b) i might have to destroy him.

but really, the key sentence in the above paragraphs is "i make my complete ambivalence known."

its accurate.

i feel very, very, VERY ambivalent about the whole damn thing. i don't know what i think about him. i don't know how i feel about him. i don't care what he thinks of me, and i give him rough treatment and scathing honesty. as revenge for telling him some personal details about me (nothing dangerous or compromising, you pervs. and he asked, that's why i told him. he asked me to "tell [him] things about [me].") i acted especially callous and aloof the next time we talked, to try and force some distance between us. it didn't really work. he knows what i'm doing, and it amuses him. which is in truth, much much better than someone not seeing what i'm doing, being hurt by my actions, and asking me honestly what's going on and did they do something wrong. i hate those people. i hate them like i hate fat ugly racists.

so anyway, beyond the question of what to do about this houston gentleman (who expects no sex, nor does he actually expect us to meet in real life any time in the near future) lies the greater issue here exposed. i live in extreme, out and out bowel-clenching fear of intimacy. i look upon mutual affection the way most people look upon a hidden nest of cockroaches that they've just pulled the plaster away from and are staring clear in the face. i think feelings are warm and moist and squishy and squelchy, like oozy pond scum that you can't brush off; it just clings to your hand, and then its on your clothes, and soon, you're covered in it.

the threat of love leaves me cold.

i have fantasies of breaking people's hearts, just because its so easy to do, and because it seems like a smarter option than letting myself become entangled with another human being. in my brain, it all reduces to the mother of all power plays, and when i think about it in those terms, i don't want to come to a mutually satisfactory agreement. i want to fucking WIN. i want to navigate out of any such compromising position while giving up a minimum of myself and keeping as inviolable and invulnerable as possible. i'll hurt people to accomplish this. there are no fucking rules when this shit is at stake.

but i'm lonely. so i pull people in, and then push them away. over, and over, and over again. sometimes the same person, sometimes i switch around. but the pattern is always the same. and it isn't, healthy.

there are a lot of things wrapped up in this. there are a lot of reasons why this is the way i am. but that doesn't make it any better. it doesn't excuse me.

i didn't see the movie, but i'm fascinated with the title "A Mighty Heart". i should see the movie. it was supposed to be great. but lets ponder for a second, the phrase "a mighty heart."

what does that phrase bring to your mind?

for me, it presents a vastly different imagining of the heart, and how its currency (love) functions. i go by the conservative, economic model. i'm terrified of giving myself, my love, away. i hoard it. i imagine it can be used up, and that if i spend too freely, one day i will wake up and my heart will be empty. there will be nothing left of me. my secrets will all reside in other people's brains, and other people's hearts. i'll be an empty room, with all the windows open. there will be nothing left of me. nothing left to give. and i will be alone, and loveless.

the phrase "a mighty heart" is a different model entirely. the mighty heart is not a receptacle to be filled and guarded; the mighty heart is a font of love, a producer of love. the mighty heart is not afraid of giving itself away too freely, or of being rebuffed, battered, and treated poorly. it scoffs at the idea of running out of love. for the mighty heart is ever producing more, all on its own. the mighty heart knows that love inevitably brings pain, and suffering. there will always be tears, and sleepless nights. but the mighty heart looks at the balance, the warmth and the light, and the promise of hope, against any resultant pains and betrayals. it looks at the balance, and over and over again, openly, gladly, it says "Yes. Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes!"

the mighty heart invites it all in. and when one experience is over, the mighty heart is full of that experience, every other experience its had, and its own mad, dizzy love that is fueled by its own pumping. the mighty heart understands that love is not best measured on a ledger sheet. love is an endless cycle, and each of us are producers, sellers, buyers, and consumers of love. you can't run out. if your heart is running properly, if it is truly mighty, you are always at least full of your own love, even if you lack that of others.

don't misunderstand. i'm not advocating any sort of brainless acceptance of any and all comers. but it all reminds me of my own final thoughts on my kiersey personality type. i'm more of a feeler than a thinker, but only by the barest of margins, and the two have traded places throughout my life. but my final assessment of this quirk in my makeup, is that i will forever reason and argue myself into positions where i can make a decision based on what will satisfy my logical, rational side, or what will satisfy my intuitive, irrational side. and more often than not, i will choose to satisfy my intuitive, irrational heart, and make my peace with any subsequent cognitive dissonance or hypocrisy.

its like the ladies man eventually says about how he knew his wife was "the one". "yeah, she was beautiful, soulful, intelligent, sophistimicated, and also, i felt it in my pants." all the desirables are there, sure, but with or without the looks, or smarts, or humor, you still have to feel it in your pants. i need to feel my choices in my pants/heart. the have to satisfy my emotional, intuitive, fierce and wild side, or they cannot be satisfying at all.

but this is where i am now; i am not making choices based on what is best for my emotional and spiritual growth. i am not making any decisions. i'm not letting myself be in situations where people and love and relationships present themselves. i've taken my bucket of love, and am burying it deeper and deeper within my heart; deeper with every disappointment and pain that i feel. i keep excavating, looking for the perfect, secure safe-house for my love. and meanwhile, my heart grows colder, and more shriveled and dry, like a comet hurtling through space.

all right. this is getting melodramatic.

suffice it to say, my heart doesn't feel mighty. my heart feels fragile. and it all probably links into my low self-esteem, my issues with loving myself, my parent issues, my previous relationships (if they really merit that title), being a victim of sexual assault, and a host of other things. i know what's going on. but i feel helpless to fix it. i don't know how to begin. i don't know where to start. i need help.

and i am greatly looking forward to the promise of therapy once the benefits from my job kick in.

but my meditation, i think, must be the mighty heart. i desire to have a mighty heart once again. and it will be a while, and it will take work, but it is my goal to once more have a mighty heart.

and i will not fail.

and valentine's day can suck it. it can suck it dry.