Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Brain Dump Number 709. I stormed out of the house this morning after hearing, for probably the 50 bazillionth time, that I needed to get the license plates for my car. I told my grandmother to stop bossing me around today after she told me to get the flash light to get my cat out from under the couch. I was woken out of my sleep by a screaming man, complaining about how my other grandmother had taken her phone off the hook, he had shit coming back up into the sink, and somehow this was my problem. This was my problem at 7:30. An adult needed my permission to call a fucking plumber. My grandmother is losing her mind, this is my problem. My other grandmother is fucking a 78 year old, this is my problem. My dad has become a worthless prick, this is my problem. My mother is stuck in Kansas with a verbally abusive husband, this is my problem. I'm so fucking frustrated with everything right now, it's going to kill me if I don't calm down. Mostly, I'm pissed off at the world. I'm sick of the sickness of my family. I'm tired from building bridges for everyone else to burn down. Every day it's something else. Thoughts about the opportunities I didn't take exhaust me, because this is what I do when I feel worthless. I sit and think about all of the people I could have been, and all of the jobs I could have had, and all of the things I could have learned, instead of all of these lessons on how not to live. God forbid you should ever look up to me. This is not how anyone should live, in the back bedroom of your widowed grandmother. Without a job, or a home, or any knowable future, struggling with the same demons that keep me from remembering my dreams. I can't sell. Not now, not when I've got nothing going for me. Why should I even come to the table when all I have is a big pile of nothing, half finished paintings, and amazing knowledge of Kingdom Hearts? I'm paralyzed with fear and tied up with my lack of funds. I could do great things, if I knew what I could do. Where do you go when you've got no direction and some talent for making everything a brightly colored cartoon? Staring at piles of CD's I haven't listened to yet. I'm not in a place to take care of anyone any more. Maybe that's for the best. Having nothing but myself certainly strips me down to the core. I can match you at everything that really matters. We can share stories of hurt and stories of clarity. I can hold your hand just as well as you can hold mine. And, I can do nothing better than anyone. I know I can push you. I know I can move you, but to what extent? That may be too many miles, even for a big girl like myself. I have marks and problems, issues and scars, enough to last you a life time of getting to know me. You know as well as anyone, we went though our closets together already, just uncovering the biggest skeletons. You. My cat is the only thing that hasn't left me. The two times I let someone take care of him, he ran away. Do you understand what it's like to lose the one creature that loves you unconditionally? I can't explain to anyone why I won't leave him again. That's as close as I can get to telling you. Even if I found the words, it would take me hours to get them out. If I lost him again, I'd kill myself. As sick as it is, he is my child. I know it's not fair. Life has been incredibly unfair, to an amazing amount of people. I know what happens when I am the reason for a life change. I cannot be the reason for destruction ever again. I've watched it happen, and huge parts of me died and were reborn because of one man's decision to leave his life for me. It has taken me years to repair all of that. There are 56 CD's in stacks on my desk. An old roll of toilet paper used as kleenex, Lysine, Pamprin, and Advil. Lip balm, black cherry from The Body Shop, a calendar showing today as August 4, dental floss, mint waxed, my insurance bill $51.08, two concert ticket stubs Dave Matthews and Counting Crows, my cell phone, my glasses in a compact black case. An unopened can of coke, cold, an ash tray with 8 butts, a pink lighter on top of a pack of Marlboro reds with 5 cigarettes left. A necklace, a note, a box of 96 crayons, a post card from the Moulin Rouge, a very ugly reading lamp. A drinking glass with drawing pencils, a Mars eraser, a pencil sharpener, manual. There are now 4 cigarettes left in the pack, and one burning in the third depression closest to you. 2:19 p.m. - 2003-08-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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