And I Didn't Even Pack a Lunch

I pushed the snooze button for almost an hour this morning.  I laid in bed for another 40 minutes after that.  I was tired, my lungs kinda burned, it was a chilly October morning and my sheets were snuggly and bodywarm, and I kept thinking about my inevitably long, lonely walks down the hallways at school today.  Eventually I decided enough was enough, and I scrambled out of bed and set it back up, tetrising the pillows into an acceptable pattern and instructing Madeline to stand guard.  Since I didn't have any oatmeal or pancake mix, I settled for Cocoa Puffs -- the ones I bought just for the Kung Fu Panda toy inside.  I read the first chapter of Daughters In My Kingdom, rinsed my breakfast bowl, rinsed my dinner bowl from last night, took a shower, packed my backpack, put on some eyemakeup, and was out the door by 9:50.

I missed the bus.

Actually, saw the bus.

I try not to look over my shoulder when I'm running late because doing so inevitably summons the demon while I'm still a mile off, but I did.  I looked over my shoulder, turned my head ever so slightly at the sound of a passing Fed Ex van, then followed through on the impulse to see if the bus was coming.  There, on the not so distant horizon was the strip of aged white forehead sign and bug eye glass windshield, the symbol of my impending doom.

I picked up the pace, walked a little bit harder, half hoping I could make it.  I almost convinced myself when it stopped by the dollar store, and again by Down East.  But the bus approached the library just as I did.  It sat at a red light while I fought the urge to dash across State Street between the cars, behind the crosswalk.  Then it pulled up to the stop, and I watched from the other side of the intersection as it loaded the passengers and drove away.

I barely missed it.  If I had arrived less than a minute earlier, I would have caught the bus.  If one thing in my morning routine had been different, say if I had left my bed unmade or let my tuna bowl sit in the sink; if I had left off the makeup or not washed my hair, I would have been at that bus stop with enough time to complain about how the stupid thing is always late.

Instead, I stood lamely on the corner of missed opportunity and chatted idly with a stranger about student insurance and dental work.

~~~

Recorded 10/14/11

Sometimes A Girl Just Has To Eat Chocolate

Sometimes a girl just has to eat a lot of chocolate in a short space of time.  Specifically, I ate half a bag of peanut butter M&Ms on my way home from Smith's today (Smith's is 4 blocks from my house. Seriously).  I'm stressed.  It's bad.  I feel like I did las summer- like I'm careening toward a gaping, grasping, fiery chasm, trying desperately to cling to anything familiar in the hopes that it'll stop the madness.


I've been shaking lately.  The tiniest hint of a nervous situation makes me tremble like a bad case of the Parkinson's.  And today I couldn't sit still.  It took every ounce of my not inconsiderable self-control to stay in class.  All of them.  All of my classes.


The thing is, I don't even have a legitimate excuse.  I mean, I had a run-in with the UVU administrative process, but my pile of good things is definitely taller than my pile of bad things right now (did I mention I bought the paisley soup bowls? Did I mention I eat out of them every day?).


So why can't I breathe?


Rough start to the semester.  I hope I get a grip, and soon, or this is gonna be a long 14 weeks.

~~~

Recorded 9/12/11

Harumph

I am not in class right now. I should be. I should be in Movement for the Actor by John Grahm. I should be stretching and viewpointing and creating shapes and contributing to the energy of the class. But I'm not. I couldn't make myself go, even after John told me I'm not going to fail.

I have a paper due in Philosophy. I couldn't write it when I sat down to it last night. I probably won't go to that class today, either.

I thought I had come so far. I felt better about school this semester. I took easy classes, ones that are exciting and fun and about things that I love. I haven't had more than two panic attacks a month since January. So why is it too much all of the sudden?

I am not yet strong enough to do this on my own. And I feel so alone. I feel so overwhelmed and helpless and so very alone.

I don't know what to do.

Maybe a Little Apologetic

I shouldn't be so upset. This thing, this very minor thing, shouldn't rattle me the way it has. I should be gracious and forgiving and kind.

This too shall pass.

I'll stop being so hurt. That's what it is, I guess. I'm hurt. I'm hurt because I invested in this one. I'm hurt because I feel (and I know it isn't true) untalented. I'm hurt because I thought maybe this time, this time they'll see past what I look like and they'll see me.

But I did something wrong. I don't know what it was, but it was so wrong that they didn't give me a second glance. And I'm too big, or I'm too weird, or I'm too loud, or I'm just "not what we were looking for".

I'm never what they're looking for.

I'm never what anyone is looking for.

I guess I haven't come as far as I thought.

I guess all of this work, these five years of hard, hard work haven't amounted to anything, if they haven't amounted to getting into a semi-professional community production. It shouldn't be that hard, and I just can't do it.

Whatever.

I don't really feel like eating, but I guess I'm headed up to Idaho for some Thai food.

Grammy Pants at AllCapsO'Clock

I had a really long day today.

I left for school some time around 8:15 AM and I got home not twenty minutes ago (roughly 10:15 PM). So I was a little overwhelmed by the mess in my room. I wanted to pass out, but I would have had to wade through a pile of laundry and some suitcases and books and art supplies and things and I would much rather avoid the stress and chill on the computer until I can't sit up anymore, at which point I will stumble blindly into my room and fall into bed without changing my clothes.

It's not like I haven't cleaned my room in a really long time. Actually, I dejunked it earlier this week. The only reason I can't keep my room clean is my never ending stream of laundry. While I'm cleaning my room I invariably do at least one load of laundry, which never finishes in the dryer until I'm done with everything else. But by then I'm burnt out or otherwise engaged and can't be bothered with it, so it ends up in a pile on my bed, and eventually (invariably) in a pile on the floor.

All this is to say I never ate dinner, and now it's too late to eat anything because I want to go to bed very soon, and I don't believe in sleeping on a full stomach. And it's almost AllCapsO'Clock, the point at which I can only converse IN ALL CAPS because everything I have to say seems very important. Hey- count yourself lucky that THIS WHOLE POST WASN'T CAPITALIZED.

So I'm going to deny a couple of Facebook friend requests in an attempt to quash my needless anxiety, excavate a path to my bed, and fall asleep to Treasure Planet for the second night in a row.

In case you were wondering about the cleanliness of my room and whether I freak out when somebody I don't know or like wants to be my friend on the Facebook.

Case closed.

P.S.
Happy birthday, Munch! I'm glad you've been alive for one whole year. Here's to many more!

I Didn't Want to be Left Out of the Blog Party

It seems like every single blog I follow has put something up in the last six hours, which means that I should do so, too.

So.



Yeah.



Yup.


This is what I'm doing instead of securing my college degree:
http://www.addictinggames.com/homeruninberzerkland.html .


You'll see why.

"Walking the Last Bridge Alone"

I mentioned earlier that I felt better.


That was before.


Actually, I'm worse now than I was last semester.
...


Yeah.
...

So.
...

...

Meg asked me tonight, "What's your problem?" And I sobbed and said, "I don't know."


I don't know what my problem is. I don't know why it's getting worse. I'm sure I would if I thought about it, but I don't want to think about it. I don't want to start poking around only to discover that it's far worse than I thought and I'll never be cured and I'll live my life NOT as a lobsterman's wife, but as some poor, crazy sap at a loony bin who never finds love and then escapes to collect grocery bags into a stolen cart and scream at people when they get too close to her corner.


There is something seriously wrong with my mind.

Harvey Is My Dear Departed Car, By the Way

I dug this up out of the debris in the top drawer of my dresser. I don't know whether it's worth anything, but I feel like I should share it.

Flawless blue melts seamlessly to sun's favorite yellow, green feels completely neglected.

We agreed that normalcy, oddly enough, exists near that shack in the PG cemetery.

Bodies so imperfect cannot contain pure contentment for more than a few dusk lit moments.

As night crept onward, we went back to Harvey and hammered out the details of our relationship.

We didn't stick around long enough to see the troubled moon. Absence forges biased thoughts, and two long years and two odd weeks have kept us wandering.

Chained only by my empty sighs and pent up ambition.

I know I won't feel the same way in the morning, so Harvey and I stare down the troubled moon, watching it slip through jigsaw clouds.




I still haven't made up my mind, and the sprinklers came on to chase me inside.

And I will add, enigmatically enough, that people change and circumstances change and things have changed and I have moved on. Nevertheless, this week I was drawn to (and perhaps I connected with) the idea of barely missed opportunity.

A Financial Update

August 25: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."
"Free Application for Federal Student Aid Waiting for correction."

I did check back, and you told me just to wait it out.

August 30: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."

And I thought, 'Well, at least the FAFSA has finished processing.'

August 31: "A correction was sent to CPS on your behalf. Check back."
"Free Application for Federal Student Aid Waiting for correction 04."


Eff my liiiiiiife.

We've un-progressed. We've regressed.

I might never get my money.

They're going to give it away to some awful person whose parents cut them off because they've been going to school for twelve years now and have accomplished nothing.

They're going to run out of money and the $2,750 I was expecting is going to be $65.38.

I'm going to end up living in a cardboard box on the road behind the GT.

I'm going to eat worms and bird eggs and flies. I'm going to make my clothes out of leaves and grass and pine needles. I'll make friends with rabbits and bears so they can cuddle with me and keep me warm at night. I'll sell my soul to the Theatre department to pay for tuition. I'll sneak up behind people who are studying in the library, render them unconscious with the forest ninja skills I'll learn from the bears and the rabbits, use their book for my home work, and then put it back so when they wake up it'll be like some awesome yet terrible dream that may or may never have happened. They'll write articles about me in the UVU newspaper. Three years from now, I'll be a Lifetime Original Movie. Tourists will flock to the road behind to GT to get a glimpse of me, to take their picture with BearRabbitSoullessTheatreGirl (which will be the title of the film). And after all of that, I'll still be paisley soup bowl-free. Because my loan money will never come.

I am destined to die, feeble and despondent, in the arms of my best bear friend, having never found true love because people will be repulsed by my stench.







These might all be legitimate concerns.




Homeless at Library Square - Salt Lake City, originally uploaded by inneri.

Watch for me.

Unfulfilling Sunday Nights

I was going to write something interesting and insightful and it was going to reveal all kinds of things about my soul and the kind of day that I had.

But there's a cantaloupe quarter waiting for me, and the 10 o'clock news is about to come on.

That should give me time to sort out how I feel, shouldn't it.

A Little Open-Minded Self Therapy

I just had a conversation with a friend, and it was miraculously coherent; I'm pretty sure God was keeping me awake and putting eloquent phrases into my mouth because I've been half asleep since about 4 PM. Anyway, while I was talking to my dear friend, she mentioned her fear of imminent failure and how that was holding her back. It got me to thinking, and about two seconds ago my brain said, "failure is a stepping stone- failure is enlightenment." Because when it all comes down to it, we can't pick ourselves up unless we've fallen, right? So failure is a vehicle, nothing but an effective and vivid teaching medium. At the end of it all, at least I'll know how things turned out.

So.
As disaster precedes illumination and I can always pick myself back up, I vow henceforth never to fear failure, but to embrace it, learn from it, and move on.