Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Lets do this one again.

I'm going to have to take things down a notch. Brace yourselves. I'm going to get serious and angsty and scream and kick and remove my contacts to clean them five times and drink a beer and pour the beer in the sink in exchange for chocolate milk.

The problem is that it's very hard to blog when there is little to say, when one's heart is full of bubbles and brain is full of burps. It's difficult to find the words when every day they seem farther away. I am losing my mind and need a break more than anything.

If I were to describe myself to a stranger I would use this image: A computer with 23982597485 windows open, a radio, and a cell phone all going at once and a kid in my lap.

How can I do it all? What if there are days I can't go outside. Days when I have a deadline and the kiddos need me and the house is a mess and the guinea pig stinks and there are friends in need and the phone keeps ringing and there are people to call back so my friends don't disappear, so I don't become obsolete again, sucked into life and responsibility and waiting for a paycheck instead of a dream.

Advice to friends. Advice to fellow graduates in the same boat. "How do you do it all?" Crack a joke. Make it seem easy. Make everything seem easy. Make life seem easy and working and relationships and writing, keeping the faith after over two and a half years of nursing school, reminding oneself that 6 years of college counted for a lot, counted for everything. Make the bed. Make it nice. Make the people laugh when you sit down to write and if you can't make them laugh make them cry. Make them want to hug you or hold you or punch you in the face. Make them want to kill you or fuck you or be your friend. Make them change. Make them happy. Make Dean smile. Make Ava laugh. Make them lunch. Make them want to change the world.

Hold the phone, someone is on the other line. She says its important. People are dying. Children. Friends. Press mute because there is nothing you can say. Press off because you're running out of minutes. Running out of time. Put down the book, the computer, the ideas. Remember who you are now. Wait. Remember who you were. Wait. Remember what's important. Make a list. Ten things, no twenty. Twenty thousand things you want to do before you die but what if tomorrow never comes? No one will remember. No one will know. No one will laugh or cry or make the bed. No one will finish the first draft of the book I swear I'm going to write about my life. No one will remember the thought you had last night, that great idea you forgot to write down.Who am I to feel overwhelmed when Atlas is out there, floating in space with the weight of the world on his shoulders? His legs crooked and veiny like branches, his feet sinking deeper into nothing. What am I doing with pencils in my ears and ideas in my head and pacifiers in my shoes? 

How can I be everything? How is it possible? Does anyone know? You? Do you?

I'm making lists. One by one I'm checking stuff off, but on no list is there a reminder to slow down. Calm down. Put the computer away and the red pen and the broom and the candy bar and the phone and get thee to a Nunnery or at the very least outside.Thus far the mighty mystery of my life is this: How is it that doing it all feels like nothing is ever getting done.I'm hoping the answers will come with time, or at least a little liquor. Or air. Or something.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Don't mess with me, I'm menstruating.

I am so fucking sick of people blaming their race on me hating them. Seriously. You know why I hate you? Because you are trash and if it was legal for me to blow your freaking head off, I would love to. That's why. I don't give a shit where you are from or what color your skin is. I hate you because you are wasting my time and are a useless human being.

Jen, Leslie, and I went to go see Hangover today and some guy and his wife were sitting behind us. They, of course, had to be those people that speak to each other in a normal voice during the movie. Then he decides to check his voicemail, on speakerphone. I turn around and say "can you please turn that off, it's very loud". He stares me down and I continue watching the movie. Then they start kicking my chair and talking some more. They do this for a LONG time. I finally turn around and say "Be quiet. I am not asking you again". To this he leans forward and says "Sorry I'm not white little bitch".

Did I rage in his face and tell him he is the reason Indians are considered lazy ass pieces of trash that live in filth and mooch off the system? Did I tell him to go back to the rez and fuck himself? Nope. I got up and went to the manager and told him. He follows me in and tells the guy to shut up basically. Mr. Piece of Shit then says "well she keeps pushing her chair back and hitting our legs and she's been on her cell phone this whole time".

Wow. Just wow. Way to be a shady little lying asshat.

Manager leaves and Mr. Piece of Shit continues to screw around. Movie is over and he stands up and decides it's cool to lean over Leslie like he's humping her head. I turn around and say "what???" and he stares at me.

We leave, and the manager won't comp me the movie because I only reported the guy ONCE during the movie. Apparently it needs to be twice for them to remove him.
You sir, are the reason why I hate people. Indians, Mexicans, Blacks, Whites, whatever. I hate all of you that pull shit like that. The "sorry I'm not White" card.

Fuck you. And fuck you Harkins.