It was beautifully sunny and warm today!
Not that I saw any of that.
I slept through my first class this morning,
and then my second,
and my third...
straight past 2pm and onto 4pm...
I slept all fucking day.
Not that this is anything different or new... but that doesn't keep me from feeling like a big failure when I don't hold up my end of the bargain in any category of my life.
My sleep schedule is the most unhealthy kind a human can have. I don't get to sleep at night, I don't get to sleep during the day... oh no- I get to switch every other day.
I get to work from 1am-7am, then get up at 12pm to attempt to keep my sleep schedule normalized to my school schedule, which is 9am to 4pm, 3 days a week.
Every other day it's overnights, every other day its school... with a night or two of evening shifts thrown in.
People have told me that working the overnights will drive me crazy... but I think its the constant yo-yoing of sleep. Two weeks straight getting in naps, 2-4 hours at a time... and then I crash... and I sleep for 18 hours- just like I did 2 days ago.
...or I sleep through 3 classes, a quiz, and a paper... like I did today.
I am so tired of waiting on people... and the thing is, my job isn't even hard. My job is really easy actually, and I work with great people, and for a great guy... and I get to write blogs at work. But I swear every time one of these overnight regulars come up and ask me for water-
I want to scream and ask them why the fuck they are here so late... "don't you have anything BETTER to do at 3am... why aren't you asleep?? I want to be sleeping!! YOU should WANT to be sleeping at 3am(!!!)"
I want to throw a glass at them, and watch them bleed to death in front of the counter...
But I smile...
And fill their water.
And give them cards.
And pens.
And Paper...
but rarely coffee.
And then there's my birthday... 11 days.
Which I hate, I've hated my birthday since I was 14.
Not to mention I decided when I was 21 that I was okay with staying 21... so I should stop aging... and also stop even thinking of my birthday as a fun, special day.
It's always been terrible... generally ending with me crying alone, in a closet, in Seattle.
In a fucking CLOSET!
...or maybe that was just last year.
So this year I put my foot down... I am going to make my birthday good all by myself!
I'm going to go to a Halloween Party, and have a sweet costume, and drink myself sick... and then the next day Im going to have a low key nice birthday...
But not so fast there little missy...
There is only one party going on this year...
and YOU can't go...
Supliez!
Not because I despise the person throwing it...
I don't... anymore.
Actually I don't think she's a raging beast of destruction and horribleness...anymore.
Unfortunately I kinda like her... (Damn.)
But it's a matter of respect, or principle... or not getting wasted and accidentally offending 1/2 the party goers... And then almost regretting it the day after...
which would be my birthday- and feeling almost guilty on your birthday is no good really.
So really self-preservation is the key here. Can't walk into the Lions Den and expect to not get clawed to shreds... am I right?
Maybe for my birthday I will go out and buy myself a Snuggie, curl up with an entire Cheese Cake, and use that day as one of my 18 hour days of sleep... only waking up to shovel cheese cake into my mouth... cry a little... and pass the fuck back out.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Chewed My Nails to Nubs.
A familiar face just approached me after shouting "Hey, you!" across the coffee shop.
I have managed to avoid her the entire time I've been back in town. What a peaceful 8 months its been.
Her tiny frame shakily lurched toward me. The face of a sixty year old woman peered at me through locks of what must have been a new weave, complete with fluffy bangs and two long braids. Her piercing voice explained to me that she had been hospitalized for the last few months for anorexia but she was "making it through." It reminded me of the time I was forced (out of guilt) to rush her to the hospital for some unknown ailment which probably never existed in the first place. Her overzealous use of what I can only assume to be crack or heroin for the first part of her life has left her broken, aged well beyond her years, and consistently hospitalized or institutionalized. Her life is a continuous reminder to me that drugs are not always a fun recreation.
The conversation was short lived and awkward. She explained quickly that she is still slowly fading away and wobbled toward an old man that was willing to pay for her drinks and listen to her prattle on. Really they just babble at each other- neither really paying attention to what the other one has to say. They are both just happy to have someone to talk at.
Soon after that fun filled interaction I was accosted by yet another familiar face, a man of small stature that has previously asked me to call him "Shorty". This experience was less hands on, more of a good mental fucking. This particular man, along with so many other unsavory characters, has taken a particular liking to me. He gets his kicks by staring at me directly in the eyes while I struggle to find the right balance in eye contact. Then it begins...
He asks me how I'm doing and what I'm doing. My answers are never as in depth as he wants them to be, he asks me questions about my answers and then... then comes the advice, the life advice thats strangers always feel the need to give me. I keep the conversation as short as possible, but he still manages to linger for just too long. When he leaves its always awkward, always like I did something wrong, like I have offended him, or blown him off... like he's my childhood friend that I am neglecting. My approach lately has been to ignore him by all means necessary, which is precisely what happened today. I saw him walk in and immediately fixed my eyes on the computer screen in front of me. Beyond the screen there he was, staring intensely at my face, waiting like a hyper active puppy for any sign of attention. He was waiting to spring- practically shaking in anticipation, a minute went by and he was still staring. I was a stone, and finally he got his coffee and slithered out the door.
I quickly realized that my surroundings weren't a preferable place to think, I decided to leave the coffee shop. "I should go walk the dog now" I thought and almost got up to leave. But then I realized that I wasn't staying at that house anymore. "I could go to Hillards" I thought. But I don't know who's there, and there is nothing to do there anyway, just some cats and a couch. I am still homeless. I feel like I've been home forever. I feel like I never left, but I still don't have a house of my own. My belongings are strewn out between 4 different houses. Somehow I have accumulated at least four times the stuff that I can to Kalamazoo with, my clothes are in the most obtrusive of piles in my friends bedroom. Only 3 more weeks and I will be home free.
I have managed to avoid her the entire time I've been back in town. What a peaceful 8 months its been.
Her tiny frame shakily lurched toward me. The face of a sixty year old woman peered at me through locks of what must have been a new weave, complete with fluffy bangs and two long braids. Her piercing voice explained to me that she had been hospitalized for the last few months for anorexia but she was "making it through." It reminded me of the time I was forced (out of guilt) to rush her to the hospital for some unknown ailment which probably never existed in the first place. Her overzealous use of what I can only assume to be crack or heroin for the first part of her life has left her broken, aged well beyond her years, and consistently hospitalized or institutionalized. Her life is a continuous reminder to me that drugs are not always a fun recreation.
The conversation was short lived and awkward. She explained quickly that she is still slowly fading away and wobbled toward an old man that was willing to pay for her drinks and listen to her prattle on. Really they just babble at each other- neither really paying attention to what the other one has to say. They are both just happy to have someone to talk at.
Soon after that fun filled interaction I was accosted by yet another familiar face, a man of small stature that has previously asked me to call him "Shorty". This experience was less hands on, more of a good mental fucking. This particular man, along with so many other unsavory characters, has taken a particular liking to me. He gets his kicks by staring at me directly in the eyes while I struggle to find the right balance in eye contact. Then it begins...
He asks me how I'm doing and what I'm doing. My answers are never as in depth as he wants them to be, he asks me questions about my answers and then... then comes the advice, the life advice thats strangers always feel the need to give me. I keep the conversation as short as possible, but he still manages to linger for just too long. When he leaves its always awkward, always like I did something wrong, like I have offended him, or blown him off... like he's my childhood friend that I am neglecting. My approach lately has been to ignore him by all means necessary, which is precisely what happened today. I saw him walk in and immediately fixed my eyes on the computer screen in front of me. Beyond the screen there he was, staring intensely at my face, waiting like a hyper active puppy for any sign of attention. He was waiting to spring- practically shaking in anticipation, a minute went by and he was still staring. I was a stone, and finally he got his coffee and slithered out the door.
I quickly realized that my surroundings weren't a preferable place to think, I decided to leave the coffee shop. "I should go walk the dog now" I thought and almost got up to leave. But then I realized that I wasn't staying at that house anymore. "I could go to Hillards" I thought. But I don't know who's there, and there is nothing to do there anyway, just some cats and a couch. I am still homeless. I feel like I've been home forever. I feel like I never left, but I still don't have a house of my own. My belongings are strewn out between 4 different houses. Somehow I have accumulated at least four times the stuff that I can to Kalamazoo with, my clothes are in the most obtrusive of piles in my friends bedroom. Only 3 more weeks and I will be home free.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
