Ever have those nights where you lay in bed for an hour, eyes closed, wrapped up in your blanket and instead of sleep you're thinking crazy thoughts? Thoughts about zombies, petticoats, hotel rooms, Road trips, candy, Cheesecake and more zombies?
This is why my brain is like. I lay down and my train of thought makes no sense. None. Not to me, not to anyone else.
"Hmm, I wonder if I'd be smited if I walked into a church, dropped trou and yelled 'Covet this, bitches!' it seems like something one would be smited for. is smited a word? it has to be, what would the past tense of smite be? I smite, he smites, she smited. Right? Of course I'm right, it's grammar. But then again the to's still confuse me. and apostrophes. I wonder how you say apostrophe in German. I wonder if it's as cool of a word as exclamation point is."
Oh, but this is just the beginning of the insanity that happens in my head. I made a list, of things to do in England. While trying to sleep. I will now share.
1.) Buy lots and lots of petticoats and wander around that area of really old buildings in the city pretending I'm in a historical romance novel. (Note to self: Try to swoon at least once.)
2.) Convince the English that is the THHHHHHAMES because TH makes a THHHHH sound.
3.) In regards to number one, get really drunk and go to a public place and slap a man while insisting he "compromised me" and then run away. Might be difficult in petticoats. Will have to practice.
There was more, but I can't remember it now. Because I'm insane. That's pretty much the basics of the list though, crazy shit that makes little to no sense. Love it. But the rambling of the brain, it needs to stop. I'll be having a lovely thought about cheesecake or some crazy meal I tried cooking and BAM APARTMENT ON FIRE.
WTF. I WAS BOILING WATER. HOW THE HELL ARE YOU ON FIRE, WATER?!
Seriously guys, the water was on fire. Talk about a mind fuck.
"Shit, shit, waters on fire. Water is on fire. OPEN.YOUR.EYES. WOMAN. Oh. Ok. I'm awake. I'm completely awake. In america, there is no water on fire. Right? Right. Wtf, cat, shut up. Oh thats not the cat, thats my stomach. Mmm stomach. Mmm stomach? Oh Ok, now we're digesting ourselves, thats cool. Thanks for the memo nervous system, could have warned me a bit earlier that I was hungry. Like before I laid down to sleep. Although I'm failing. You know what else I'll fail at? Probably cleaning out my car, but if my car was chitty chitty bang bang I could just fly that sucker above the dump, twist it sideways and let all the crap in it fall to the ground. Now that would be pretty fucking sweet. I wonder if an empty diet coke can could kill someone if dropped from high enough. I wonder where the city dump is in relation to this house. Hmm. "
Now I know this is all nerves. I'm stressed, I'm excited, I'm nervous. I can't wait, I'm thrilled, I'm terrified. etc etc. But seriously, do I have to be fucking exhausted to sleep at night? Because this whole "sleeping when I'm on the verge of death" thing isn't cutting it. I'm tired, I need sleep. But apparently my brain would rather have me mentally wander around a (No lie) department store in my mind yelling at the Make up counter lady because I can't return the makeup I bought because I lost my debit card.
Yeah, I'm pretty fucked up. Oh and then I laid there thinking about mac n' cheese for a while pondering the perfect bachemel sauce. And what kind of cheese would make the perfect grilled cheese. And then cheetos, and how the flamin' hot ones are disgusting. And then I laid there going over my nicknames and finally after I started thinking about smurfs and what would happen if a group of smurfs came upon a midget, I got up and declared myself a failure at sleep.
So I'm awake. At 6:30 am because I, yet again, can not shut my fucking brain up. And this, people, is why I drink until I'm too drunk to have a conscious thought. Because if I didn't, I'd never get any fucking sleep.
Ps. Kidding about the drinking thing.
pps. Where does one pick up petticoats?
ppps. ZOMBIES COVERED IN FLAMING WATER IS A HORRIFYING THOUGHT. K?
1/10/2010
12/31/2009
Letter
Dear Emily,
I can't do it. I know you want to forgive and forget, but sadly my heart isn't capable of this. I wish it was. But I leave in less than a month, and over the last two I can't help but sit here wondering every time you send me a text if it's going to last.
Yes, you were my best friend. And yes, I miss you. But you hurt me. Badly. Telling me to "Stay the fuck out of your life" was pretty much all I needed to close that Emily part of my heart up and pretend you don't exist. I don't go to Denny's or Ihop and I try to act like you don't exist.
The night the apartment burned down all I wanted was to call you to tell me It would be ok, but I deleted your number. For good reason. We had a great thing, and yea, I was critical of you. But only because I knew you could do so much more with your life.
Where I thought I was smart, you were a genius. Where I was insecure, you were outstanding. We were ying and yang and yet the same. And it worked. Laughter, tears, Rum and of course the dancy game. I know you still read and this is why I put this here.
I will never speak German and not think of you. I will never eat hashbrowns and not think of you. I will never contemplate tuna, chocolate and garlic and not wonder wtf is wrong with you. And when it comes to best friends and laughter, I hope that when I am 90 something and John is asking me to bump uglies I think of you and laugh.
because I'll be honest, I miss you. I wish it was worth returning the phone calls and being friends again. But we both know regardless of the love, the friendship and laughter it will never be the same. And yeah, maybe I throw hissy fits, and maybe I over react sometimes... but it doesn't change what you said. and it doesn't change how I feel or how you hurt me.
I want the best for you, and sadly I'm certain I am not that. I miss you, I love you, and I hope you get everything out of life you wish for, because you deserve it.
Love,
Me.
I can't do it. I know you want to forgive and forget, but sadly my heart isn't capable of this. I wish it was. But I leave in less than a month, and over the last two I can't help but sit here wondering every time you send me a text if it's going to last.
Yes, you were my best friend. And yes, I miss you. But you hurt me. Badly. Telling me to "Stay the fuck out of your life" was pretty much all I needed to close that Emily part of my heart up and pretend you don't exist. I don't go to Denny's or Ihop and I try to act like you don't exist.
The night the apartment burned down all I wanted was to call you to tell me It would be ok, but I deleted your number. For good reason. We had a great thing, and yea, I was critical of you. But only because I knew you could do so much more with your life.
Where I thought I was smart, you were a genius. Where I was insecure, you were outstanding. We were ying and yang and yet the same. And it worked. Laughter, tears, Rum and of course the dancy game. I know you still read and this is why I put this here.
I will never speak German and not think of you. I will never eat hashbrowns and not think of you. I will never contemplate tuna, chocolate and garlic and not wonder wtf is wrong with you. And when it comes to best friends and laughter, I hope that when I am 90 something and John is asking me to bump uglies I think of you and laugh.
because I'll be honest, I miss you. I wish it was worth returning the phone calls and being friends again. But we both know regardless of the love, the friendship and laughter it will never be the same. And yeah, maybe I throw hissy fits, and maybe I over react sometimes... but it doesn't change what you said. and it doesn't change how I feel or how you hurt me.
I want the best for you, and sadly I'm certain I am not that. I miss you, I love you, and I hope you get everything out of life you wish for, because you deserve it.
Love,
Me.
12/26/2009
The Novelty of being Fearless
When I was ten I would haul my sled on top of this old hut thing my dad made years ago, that held our fire wood. I'd climb up the fence, dragging this bright green sled up to the top and then I'd angle it just right so I'd miss the scattered logs, but land in the snow. It was a good 5 foot drop, not much a ride since the sled was longer than the actual roof. But I did it, because I was fearless.
When I was 12 I looked at a four foot ramp that was made by some neighborhood kids, got back a few driveways and skated off it. I remember the landing. Hard, rough. Sprained an ankle and my wrist, not to mention I was picking grass out of that skinned knee for days.
I used to climb any tree, as long I could reach the branch. I'd run across busy streets, sneak into the Discovery Zone pretending I was with a party. We'd scam the McDonalds people into giving us a gazillion kiddie cones and then go play on the play place, not in, but on top of; Where Kids weren't allowed.
We'd sled down the slides, jump off swings, make ramps out of wood we had stolen from construction sites and go off them on our roller blades, bikes and even a scooter if we could. The house across the street from my parent's has the steepest driveway in the neighborhood. And the house next to it has a perfectly leveled curb.
We'd zoom down the drive way, Cut the corner way to fast and launch ourselves into the air. If you landed or pulled a trick you were the god of the neighborhood. If you fell, or got hurt you had no option but to get back up, shake it off, and try again.
Dislocated my knee Jumping off that curb.
When we were kids there was no fear. We were indestructible, and any injury could be fixed with a band-aid. Bruises would fade, cuts and scrapes would heal. We lived for the moment, somehow knowing that once we reached a certain age it'd no longer be fun.
And it's like that. Gone are the days of sledding off anything with snow on it, the impromptu snowball fights, the back yard wrestling clubs where we'd beat the shit out of each other. Gone are the games of tag, the races around the block and the adventures on our bikes to discover super awesome Tree forts.
I miss it. I miss being a kid. I miss being fearless, living for the moment and not giving a shit about what could happen, just wanting to prove that I can do it. What point in our lives do we all realize that Yeah, maybe we can do it, but it's just best not to try?
How do you go back to being blissfully unaware of consequences after you grow up?
When I was 12 I looked at a four foot ramp that was made by some neighborhood kids, got back a few driveways and skated off it. I remember the landing. Hard, rough. Sprained an ankle and my wrist, not to mention I was picking grass out of that skinned knee for days.
I used to climb any tree, as long I could reach the branch. I'd run across busy streets, sneak into the Discovery Zone pretending I was with a party. We'd scam the McDonalds people into giving us a gazillion kiddie cones and then go play on the play place, not in, but on top of; Where Kids weren't allowed.
We'd sled down the slides, jump off swings, make ramps out of wood we had stolen from construction sites and go off them on our roller blades, bikes and even a scooter if we could. The house across the street from my parent's has the steepest driveway in the neighborhood. And the house next to it has a perfectly leveled curb.
We'd zoom down the drive way, Cut the corner way to fast and launch ourselves into the air. If you landed or pulled a trick you were the god of the neighborhood. If you fell, or got hurt you had no option but to get back up, shake it off, and try again.
Dislocated my knee Jumping off that curb.
When we were kids there was no fear. We were indestructible, and any injury could be fixed with a band-aid. Bruises would fade, cuts and scrapes would heal. We lived for the moment, somehow knowing that once we reached a certain age it'd no longer be fun.
And it's like that. Gone are the days of sledding off anything with snow on it, the impromptu snowball fights, the back yard wrestling clubs where we'd beat the shit out of each other. Gone are the games of tag, the races around the block and the adventures on our bikes to discover super awesome Tree forts.
I miss it. I miss being a kid. I miss being fearless, living for the moment and not giving a shit about what could happen, just wanting to prove that I can do it. What point in our lives do we all realize that Yeah, maybe we can do it, but it's just best not to try?
How do you go back to being blissfully unaware of consequences after you grow up?
12/22/2009
Merry Fucking Christmas
As some of you may know, I have family who has never bothered to contact me in 23 years despite knowing where I am. This is all because, *GASP*, my brother is black.
Well I was invited to christmas Eve dinner, and only agreed to go to spend time with my dad. I tried to get my brother an invite, and it didn't happen. So my dad and I arranged a Dinner tomorrow night for the Boyds.
I'm not going to Rockford to see my family. I don't want to go, I don't want to meet even more people who never gave a shit about us. I don't want to sit there talking to them when I know the moment I move I wont hear from them again. I can't and I wont.
I know my brother is Black, I'm aware we're only related by our mother. But does that make him any less of a family member? No. Is it fair that they neglected to invite him? No.
So I'm standing up for us, it's either both or neither. I'm not going to be divided by race yet again, and I'm not going to let you people live out your damn racist views. He's my brother, and my Father's son. Either fucking except it or do what you did for the last 23 years, forget I exist.
Well I was invited to christmas Eve dinner, and only agreed to go to spend time with my dad. I tried to get my brother an invite, and it didn't happen. So my dad and I arranged a Dinner tomorrow night for the Boyds.
I'm not going to Rockford to see my family. I don't want to go, I don't want to meet even more people who never gave a shit about us. I don't want to sit there talking to them when I know the moment I move I wont hear from them again. I can't and I wont.
I know my brother is Black, I'm aware we're only related by our mother. But does that make him any less of a family member? No. Is it fair that they neglected to invite him? No.
So I'm standing up for us, it's either both or neither. I'm not going to be divided by race yet again, and I'm not going to let you people live out your damn racist views. He's my brother, and my Father's son. Either fucking except it or do what you did for the last 23 years, forget I exist.
12/16/2009
You know you haven't lived here in a year when...
1.) you used to be able to navigate the house and its obsticles with no problem, even if you were so drunk you couldn't remember to wear pants. Now you've moved back and you're fumbling with a light switch, stone sober, cursing your parents for moving it on you.
2.) Forgetting to take that extra step out of the doorway and tripping over the Gatorade that you know is there, and still trip over.
3.) Walking into the wall instead of where you think the bathroom door is.
4.) Stepping on the cat. The gold cat.
5.) You throw your cigarette butts wherever, and hope for the best.
6.) Your body is not used to smoking outside.
On the bright side I do still know my father's footfalls and where he's going as he walks. First he feeds the cats, this is accompanied by the ting ting of their dishes. Then he goes and turns off the Christmas lights before making sure the basement door is closed, Garage door locked and then he'll close the blinds before heading upstairs to bed.
Five minutes after this I am safe to roam about the house like a ninja. Well used to be ninja. Now I'm more like a one legged hobo in a fucking obstacle course.
2.) Forgetting to take that extra step out of the doorway and tripping over the Gatorade that you know is there, and still trip over.
3.) Walking into the wall instead of where you think the bathroom door is.
4.) Stepping on the cat. The gold cat.
5.) You throw your cigarette butts wherever, and hope for the best.
6.) Your body is not used to smoking outside.
On the bright side I do still know my father's footfalls and where he's going as he walks. First he feeds the cats, this is accompanied by the ting ting of their dishes. Then he goes and turns off the Christmas lights before making sure the basement door is closed, Garage door locked and then he'll close the blinds before heading upstairs to bed.
Five minutes after this I am safe to roam about the house like a ninja. Well used to be ninja. Now I'm more like a one legged hobo in a fucking obstacle course.
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