Tongue-tied

I wrote about two pages of drivel in Miss Fix-It and deleted a couple of versions of this post.  I can't write about anything right now; words escape me.

Just know that I am happy right now.  I might have missed my chance with a wonderful boy, but this time I'm not going to let it destroy me.  Every painful experience harbors great change in its wake.  The new semester is right around the corner, and, provided I convalesce from this recent bout of stupidity, I have fourteen spectacular weeks ahead of me.

Who knows what they will bring?

~~~

Unsuccessfully recorded and consequently disregarded 1/7/12

I Disuninwantinate You, Coconut M&Ms

I was too stressed out to put the groceries away, so here I sit with my twelfth fistful of M&Ms (I'm quickly learning to avoid the ones with the palm trees on them- they're coconut) attempting to assess the situation and address my problems before the ice cream melts all over the table.

This last semester turned out not at all the way I was expecting.  I thought that moving out and paying rent and taking 15 difficult credit hours would be overwhelming and that I would surely fail (oh, the optimism! ).  But I was fine.  I wasn't even worried about my work load at the end of the semester.  I made wonderful new friends, I made enough money to get me through, I lost a good ten pounds, and I gained a measure of self confidence.  

As impressive as these successes are, none of them were enough to prevent the pressure from slowly taking hold, settling comfortably back into place at the nape of my neck, down my shoulders, into my chest. Sometime around Thanksgiving, I succumbed to the stress.  Fingers through hair, hands on face, forever tugging at collars and hemlines, stretching joints, cracking jaw, sleeping on the couch for a change in scenery.  All the old habits creeping in, and with them that inescapable, tired melancholy.  I tried to drown it in music, starve it of sleep, crowd it out with conversation, extinguish it in silence.  Despite my best efforts it expanded and thickened.  I couldn't-- I can't-- disentangle myself from this shadowy thing that seems to govern my thoughts and actions.

I wish more than anything that I could get up and do something about it.  I try.  For the life of me, I try so hard to free myself.  I just can't shake it.  

So here's hoping that Christmas (the extraordinary warmth of home, the constancy of family, the time together, the glow of the season) will do the trick this time.  Here's hoping that a birthday party with dear friends will banish the loneliness.  Here's to the promise of a new semester, a new year, another chance to discover what I love about life.

Merry Christmas, all. 

P.S. In the search for the perfect word for "free", I found "disenthrall".  Isn't that a beautiful word? Disenthrall.  I hope to work that word into my casual vocabulary.

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

I Wrote This When I Was 11

Kidz!

Chaptr. 1

One day, while we, January, February, March, April, May, June, & July were working in our family resturaunt, our dad took off to the back-room, when all of a sudden, a strange old woman walked in. The 3 boys, February, March, and July, were too busy to notice how strange any one was, because they were the cooks. April was flirting with the CUTEST guy, and the other 2 were taking orders. So I, June, was the only one to realize that something strange was going on. I walked over to the table and said;

“Welcome to the Month Family Resturaunt. I am June, and I will be your waitress. Are you ready to order?” I asked trying not to say anything about the stenche of caves and bats. I knew she was a witch. “Heckety Peg” they call her. They say she was pushed into a river a long time ago. I know how to read. I’m not stupid! But I was once a kid, you know. That was just a fairy tale. This is now. Funny thing is, we lost our mom 5 years before. She just dissapeared. Then, we found her in a cave. Yes, Hellen Peggy is our mother!

Chapter 2

Of course, I was the only one who knew anyone existed, except myself. No one knew that I taught mom how to swim before she dissapeared. I thought for a while, then I finally woke up and was going to yell, “Get out! You left us once, and you’ll do it again, if you get the chance!” But I just jotted down her order, then went and handed in my note pad and picked up the other one. I went to the next table who’s inhabitince left, and took care of the dishes. Then Han came out and I told her to wipe off the table. Then the bell rand, and I took Heckety Peg her order. Then I said, “Anything else?”

“Yes.” She pulled out a brown paper sack and a “magic” wand ad said “All your money!”

I ran to the cash register, and I was smart enough to hide some fake money, incase something like this happened.

I stuffed the bag, and handed it to her, and yelled

“Every one! Get out! GUN!” Although there was not gun. Just a “magic” wand.

Everybody ran! Except April, because she was in the middle of a kiss. She didn’t seem to notice that anything was going on, because the guy she was flirting with was holding her.

“What was that for?” asked ‘Mom’.

“You. You were going to turn them all into food, huh?” I exclaimed,

“No! I stopped that a long time ago. Now I turn people into objects! Like a table, or a C.D. player!”

Yeah. Right. Sure. Uh Huh. I really believed her. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Why do you think I’m here? You game me the money. You should know!” she screamed. Now I remember why she left in the first place. We kicked her out. I was only 2, but I’m the oldest. Evry body else was 1, 8 months, or 6 months. Except April. She was barely born. She’s the youngest. She doesn’t remember ANYTHING that I do. She was always “Too Young”. My father’s words EXACTLY every time I try to do something fun. The only money I make is tips, so I wouldn’t of had enough money anyways.

Anyway, back to the story.

Just then, April came running in crying. Then the guy she was with came in.

“I couldn’t help it!” he pleaded. “She was CUTE!!!!!”

“Oh. So I’m not?” April managed to ball. “You said I was the ONLY one who was pretty enough for you!! It serves you right, for her to slap you! You should be ashamed of yourself, Edward Allen!”

“What’s this all about?” I butted in. “How dare you lay your hands on MY little sister! And to hurt her? You should be ashamed of yourself! Get out!!! NOW!” I screamed. He RAN!! I don’t know why I saved his butt. I should of let him get turned into something by the witch. I mean my UGLY mother. (Or ripped to pieces by April (That woman has NAILS!))

“I can’t believe it. People always said that a mother’s first child is more like her than the last. Now I know why. Like Mother like daughter.” Hellen Peggy said. “I always knew you were my little witch! Ever since your first word, “NO!” I will never forget that day.” she sighed. “You were my little angel. Unlike the triplets” (the boys) “you were always helping me with my ‘business’”.

I was going to scream if I heard any more of this. “It’s a lie! You’re lying, mother. I would never, EVER help anything like you. You filthy dirty...” I cut off. I hadn’t realized how loud my voice had been. If Father caught me... Oh well, I thought. I would already be in trouble for what I already said. Oh well, I thought again. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I was saving the whole village from being turned into ‘stuff’. “Why did you come back? Why? Why now? Why not when we could have used a mother? All these years dad has had to play “mr. mom”!! He’s had to have 2 jobs at a time to take care of us untill we were old enough to work for ourselves! We needed you, but you never came back! Why did you come back now, when we don’t need you anymore? Why not when you could have taught us to do things your way? But no. You had to wait, and now it’s too late. Someone would have called the police by now, and you will be charged for armed robbery!! I’ll make sure of that!!” Wow! I thought to myself after my speech. That felt good. To get that off my chest, and to just let it all flow out like that felt really unique. I had never felt anything quite like it. It was like dropping a back-pack full of tons and tons of bricks that you have been carrying for years and years. I loved it. I really, really loved it. I wated to to it all over again, but I guess I had nothing else to say, because I kept my mouth shut. Tight. All I did was glare. Glare and wait to be shouted at. But I didn’t get shouted at. In fact, my mother started trying to calm me down! Oh the nerve!

“Shhhh. Shhh. I know, baby. I know.”

Baby? She called me BABY? HOW DARE she! I’m 19 yrs. old! I’m not a baby! I wanted to scream, but my voice was stuck. All I could manage to do was open my mouth and make a sort of squeaking noise. I was trembling with rage. I couldn’t believe my ears. What she said next didn’t help my feelings towards her at ALL!

“My mother did the same thing. I know exactly how you feel, angel.”

Oh my gosh! HOW DARE SHE? HOW DARE SHE ! No one EVER called me angel except my dad! That was my special pet-name that NO ONE used if they wanted to live to see the next day! NO one. My dad only calls me Angel when I’m scared or sick or something. I was going to explode. I needed to say something, but again all that came out was a small squeaking noise. What happened next surprised me as much as it surprised anyone else in the room.

April SCREAMED !! She never screams! She often squeals with excitement, but she hasn’t screamed since she was about two!

Then, I remembered. April can’t handle watching her family fight. She thinks she might loose some-one else.

You see, when April was a young girl, not older than eight, her friend was hit by a train (there were tracks near one of our houses (we traveled a lot because of dad.)) April’s friend, Emma, died almost instantly.

See, Emma was ‘running away’ because her parents were fighting. She got scared and ran for it. Emma was on her way to our house (where she allways comes when something happens to any one she knows) and she tripped over her shoe lace right onto the tracks. Her arm got stuck between two of the rails, and a train came. April went into a coma for a week directly after. (she had been waiting for Emma, like she always did when she said she was comming over, on the other side of the track.). April blamed herself for it (of course).

Well, anyway, after that, April just can’t stand it when people fight.

Suddenly, I horribly realized how much Emma had meant to April. She had always been there when April needed something. She always had the courage to tell April anything, even if she didn’t really believe it herself. That is why April never really liked trains any more. Or Alberta, Canada. * She was always pretending trains were too noisy, but if you knew April, or anyone in her family, you know the truth.

*(where we lived during this inscident)

ANYWAY. My ‘mother’ gaped, open-mouthed at April. I realized my mouth was hanging open, too, and I quickly shut it.

We both just stared at April. She had tears in her big green eyes. She looked so helpless that I suddenly found my vision was blury, and I started blinking, furiously, to keep the tears back. I couldn’t cry, I just couldn’t. Not in front of my mother, or my kid-sister. They would think I was a big baby.

April was silently crying. Tears were streaming down her face as if someone had put tiny full buckets of water at the base of April’s eyes, and they suddenly spilled over.

My face was hot and sticky with tears. I found that april and I weren’t the only ones crying. Hellen Peg Month was also bawling her eyes out. Oh, yeah. Mom was still with us when April’s friend died. (We moved away about a week afterwards (mom’s idea, of course!) because April screamed and started crying whenever she heard a train. She still does!) She knew, too.

Anyway, just then, dad came out from the back room (Finally! Took you long enough I thought.) carrying a bunch of really heavy boxes, (probably full of ingredients) and dropped them when he saw Her.

My face must have been reder than I thought, because one look at me (standing side-by-side with April, one arm over her shoulder) told him what was going on. His eyes welled up too.

Before I knew it, he had us both out side and had locked the door behind us. We could hear muffled shouts coming from inside.

Then, I heard it. A deafening ‘BOOM’ from the inside of the resteraunt.

Oh, no! Not Dad! Please, not dad!” I pleaded with myself.

“Too late. It’s too late. We should be in there. It should be us, not Dad!” It was April’s turn to plead. She was face-down in the ground, sobbing.

There was another deafening “BOOM’ and the door flew open.

I was horrified. Our father was laying, crumpled and lifeless, in a heap along with almost all of the contents of the resteraunt. He groaned and roled over. Dad’s eyes flickered and opened. He had a misty look in his eyes. I was scared. I hated watching people in pain. It was too painful for me.

By now, the only people left outside were my siblings. Everyone else had gone just after they all went outside (I hadn’t noticed this until now).

April’s stiffled cries had now subsided. She slowly lifted herself to her feet. Everyone followed Her lead she walked, slowly, in through the open door. We all did the same.

“This feels weird” I thought. It was sort of aqward. It was like playing ‘Follow the Leader’ to your doom, and knew it. “This is creepy,” I thought aloud.

Hellen was nowhere to be seen! We were all freaking out because of it. We didn’t want to end up like dad.

Speaking of dad, where was he? Suddenly there wasn’t anything on the floor in front of us! At least not a body!

Now, I was scared. When I looked back to the door way, his body was gone.

~~~

Really, though, I wrote this when I was eleven (in the sixth and seventh grades). I just found it tucked away in my bucket of memories and thought it was hysterically dramatic enough to share. I'm not sure how it was to end, but I did find a brainstorm web thing that says "soloution: blow up house with T.N.T. sticks in a barrell". Make of it what you will.

:)

NOTE: I kept the original spelling and grammar intact for your viewing pleasure.

Blurb

She always sat that way -- perched on the edge of her chair, arms pressed in at her sides, toes pointed downward, leaning forward into the unknown, ready to launch herself up, out. Even when her heart was broken, she leaned forward and held her breath, a yet unvoiced laugh tugging at her lips, sparkling in her eyes.

That's one of the things he would have loved about her.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

I have... weird dreams. I don't know why my brain twists things into such intricate and terrifying stories while I'm asleep, but boy does it ever. I have always written down the really crazy ones, and last semester my creative writing teacher encouraged me to write down all of my dreams because it's a whole other life that I've led.

Last night I had a dream that was entertainingly convoluted (Extreme Master Chef/monter dance concert/trying to protect the castle/HUGE house/Randilee ate all of my snacks/new phone complete with DVD drive) and involved a lot of people I know, so I thought I'd post it on ye olde bloge. Please excuse the confused tenses and poor writing. This is brainword vomit from 9 this morning while I was still half asleep.

There was this huge brick room with high walls, long moonfilled windows, and doors all around. In the center of a room was a round platform on which sat The Judges of the Extreme Master Chef competition. A chef stood before the judges and inspected a pound of butter held out on a platter by a man in a butler uniform. The chef had been given a moose-deer thing to butcher, and the pound of butter was the only other ingredient he was allowed to use in his dish. He was really excited about it, but I was not. He was tossed into a little corral on the far side of the platform with his moose and another chef who seems to think he's going to get eaten. He said we should all run away and never come back. We didn't.

When all of the chefs had their ingredients, the judges opened the door that led to the sound stage. There were studio audience seats lining one wall and kitchen stations lining the other. After the battle the chefs were sent back to the first room, and that's when things got crazy. The sous chefs started complaining about the show because they did most of the work but received none of the glory. The producers found out and had the sous chefs hunted down. We (I don't know why I was there. I wasn't a sous chef. I think I entered the dream as me just after the Master Chef thing) ran into the next sound stage, which was separated only by a curtain. We tried to hide behind a platform that bat-ish monster creature human things were dancing on. They were enacting a story about a man who was eaten and they were really mad at us for screwing it up. They all little evil red eyes and they wanted to eat us for our impertinence.

Somehow we all ended up at a crumbling stone castle in something akin to the Fellowship of the Ring. We were running toward the heart of the castle, trying to protect it from a band of swarthy miscreants (for some reason, this included Levi Brown in his Mexican wrestling mask). We hefted falling stones in their way and they hefted them right back out. We were losing the battle.

Eventually the castle was actually a huge house, and all of the people there were family members and friends dressed in Sunday best. We were hanging out in the playground in the back yard when I found a crazy phone with several arms for different functions- a Swiss army phone. I didn't know whose it was, but my family and friends convinced me to pick it up. I thought that it must be my phone, but I didn't want it. I had a really bad feeling about it. As urged by my friends, I called the last number on the recent calls list. Ryan and Kelsey answered and told me that that was my phone and that I was to bring it with me when I reported to the Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas mission. I was very disappointed because I did not want to go.

Then somebody told me to come quickly and to brace myself for a terrible, terrible sight. Inside one of the rooms in the house, Randilee had eaten ALL of my snacks. I was so mad! She had devoured an entire bag of veggie chips and a bunch of other delicious things that I had planned on eating! I was also still upset about having to go on a mission, so I cleaned up the room rather angrily. Then I think the dancer vampire bat monster things showed up.

So there you have it. If I didn't mention you by name, you were still in there somewhere. It's an amalgamation of everything I've done this week and everyone I've seen with the classic screwed-up-brain twist that keeps me on my toes.

Be amazed.

And feel free to interpret.

~~~

Dreamt 6/26-6/27

Recorded 6/27

A Genuinely Good Day

Okay, so I've been lectured on the dangers of owning a bathroom scale and of thinking about weight as opposed to health, but for me it is very much the same thing. I have spent the last decade of my life becoming, being, or recovering from being obese, so to me weight matters. I don't obsess over it, though, and I don't weigh myself on a regular basis. Usually, if I feel like I've had a good couple of weeks I'll step on the scale just to see how I'm doing.

This morning, for instance, I felt pretty good about life, and it seemed like it would be okay. So I checked to make sure my grandmother was occupied, then I sneaked in to her bathroom and dragged the scale away from the wall. It's avocado green with beige shag carpet on the foot pads and the numbers only go up to 250. I was struck by the realization that there was once a time this scale would have not been able to measure me. I took a deep breath, stepped up onto the shag carpet, counted to five, and looked down.




195



195. This might seem like a really high number to you, but to me it is a small victory. I haven't been below 200 pounds in probably 6 years. My battle is far from over, but little by little I'm gaining my life back. This is a step. I don't know how big or how small, but it's definitely a step forward. It feels monumental. I could erect a statue of this moment: a little scale with the giant numbers 195 and me off to the side, grinning from ear to ear.


Through all of this, these 10 years of disappointment and frustration and huge pant sizes, I've learned a few things. I've mentioned some of them before, but I think they're important to remember.

If you want to lose weight, go for it. Just make sure you do it right. Don't pump your body full of needless chemicals. Don't starve yourself. Don't think that you're broken or that you are unworthy of love or affection because you aren't a size 2 (this one is still hard for me). These things take time, patience, and a crap load of effort. Weight loss should be about changing your perception of yourself and developing a healthy relationship with your body and with food.


Think about who you are now as a person. Sarah-lucy once told me that maybe I was fat all of those years because I needed to be. I don't know if I believe her, but I know I would be totally different if I had been skinny. So while I don't relish the fact that I pretty much wasted my teenage years, I know that it led me to where I am today and I take it to be a jumping off point:

This is where I stand, that is where I want to be, this is what I'm going to do about it.


Realize that your body knows what it needs and will generally lead you in the right direction.

Discover the kind of exercise that you adore and do it often. Mine is dancing-- in musicals, via Just Dance 2, in the parking lot with Shelli -- and the eliptical/stairstepper machine at the gym.

Make friends with other people who are struggling through similar things.

Get yourself a really great therapist.

Find religion.

Remember that all of this is a part of getting to where you want to be.

Do it for yourself.

Do it because it's something different.

Do it because it's good, really, truly, powerfully good for you.



It's been hard. It's been involuntary at times. But this change has affected more than my appearance. I feel great. I haven't felt great in a long time. I mean, I've got my issues, but I'm taking great strides toward not hating myself. And that's huge. That's bigger than any number.