I have really big feet

I have really big feet.
Some might even call them HUGE.

But that is kind of beside the point. For 18 years I have stared down at my feet, wondered about them, thinking them out of place besides everyone else's normal sized feet, but I think I am starting to like my feet. Both of them.

My Right likes to take the lead, but it would be dead in the water without My Left. When running, sometimes all I think about is how lucky I am to have been born with two working feet.

There is a little patch of hair on my big toe that I have to Nair away, (gross I know), but besides that, my toes are not nearly as ugly as I once pictured them to be.

I love my feet. I love them when they are smelly, when they are tired, when they are blistered. I love them when they get a massage, when my nails are long, and especially when I take time to cut and care for my toenails.

I love my big feet.

They are so big in fact, that I must buy men's running shoes! I love my feet for being fearless, for wearing men's clothing without discretion. I love the arch and the way they withstand going around naked any time they can.

I love putting lotion on them, I love letting them dangle into a pool of cool water. I love running across grass or snow in bare feet. I love letting them experience extreme weather. What other part of our body would we intentionally place on hot beach sand for hours at a time?

I love my awkwardly out of proportion feet, and there is nothing you can do to change my mind.

The Problem is Me

The relationship is perfect, I mean, straight up, what I want for the rest of my life, P-E-R-F-E-C-T, perfect with Matt.

That's the problem.

I don't like perfect.

I am going crazy right now. I am happy that we are apart, upset that we are apart, thrilled to talk to him, dread it, all at once. I am wrecking myself over it.

In addition, I keep on having dirty dreams about someone else. I feel awful.

I want out, I never want to let go, I'M GOING MAD!
I just want it all to be over.

Everything. I am tired of this struggle we call life.

Yet I suffer through it. I basically am throwing away my bestfriend because I am freaking out in that relationship as well.

I need to be on medication.

This is out of hand.

Dominic asked me why I was so gloomy today, how do I explain 18 years of insanity?

I want to scream, I want to be locked away, I want God to take this from me, yet I am thankful to not be one of the sane.

I've lost it.

Matthew

He called today, the first opportunity I had to talk with him in a few days, and it was completely awful. I was out with my Dad and if Matt had only called two minutes earlier or two minutes later I would have been able to talk, but life is not fair like that.

So Matt spits something out about how his camera is "Thoroughly Ucked" and gives me basically no explanation. It is as if he is mad at me for how his camera has been wrecked. I am not to blame, and I know that he is not trying to blame me, just frustrated. Anyway, after a short and, I must say, awkward conversation, I tell Matt that I must go but I ask if I can call me back. He says, "yeah, you can call me. . ." As in, "no, I am not going to pick up, I have better shit to do, but you can call if you want to, bitch." Now, that may be a slight over-reaction to his tone, but I haven't heard him that mad at me for no reason in a long time. It makes me want to cry.

Why did he even call if couldn't talk to me TWO minutes later?

I just don't understand. Something is terribly, terribly wrong with our relationship today, and I don't know how to fix it.

PET-not so-SMART

glob
glib-glibbity
globberstorp
-_-
My mind is filled with this ruccus you insist on sending to me
OVER
some stupid intercom
work becomes a joke
when you speak in gibberish.


"They need another cashier"
Hey you, I don't ring up your shit!

Grab a fish
flops out
no surprise
I hate algae eaters!

Chris, such a distraction
damn. . .

Why do my co-workers advise the use of Cycle?
What does this product even do?
In Jesse's word,
RIDICULOUS

Tired weary, seems like 1 am, yet is 1 pm.
Exhaustion.

I miss Matthew,
Back in the family
favorite child
am i?
No, but maybe someday. . .

All these things, race through my mind-
Fucking plant tank,
clean the Bettas,
Close the sickroom
DOES IT NEVER END?

How am I to contemplate life when you fill my world with-
"Do your carry sea monkeys?"
-Say what?

For Chris

I wrote a little piece, something you never did read,
though you tried hard,
you just didn't see,
that I am me,
And you are the. . .
only one, that could have saved,
Everything.

Falling,
Tragic,
This peice like magic,
off your tongue it rolls like
something sweet
you taste it
but then it falls,
hitting the ground
like that last drop of ice cream that you wanted
would have tasted the best of all
because it would have stuck to you
like glue
never gone
never alone
you would have been forever in that beautiful
sensation
moving all the time in it
you try to explain but the words fill your cheeks
a squirrel now
your words like gibberish come out your mouth
ugly vomit
you can't escape
you try
but it just can't come out
Awful rancid taste
fills,
your,
p-o-r-e-s.


All because of this
little
insignificant work that you decided you were
just
2 good 4


WOW
if only you could see
how simply it truly
not be
but is,
correct grammar
always true
but not
cuz poetry ain't about
the rules:
1. That language is real, full, and lovely.
2. Communication is vital to life.
Yet we ignore this, trying to escape
make up rules
4 on the AP,
yet I know not,
what Huchmala was preaching,
some pot perhaps
stuck in her wig
kept her high
away from my tragedy-

This work,
That you never did read.

Jealous, the tale of an ex-best-friend

Ian and Nicki are always hanging out now. In addition, they are on the phone. And when they are not, Ian is at work, or I am at work, so I am just out of the picture.

It would not be so bad, but Ian has morphed into former-Ian/ Mutant of a friend. Everything is different, all that seems to happen is he gets on my nerves by just accepting his ancient role of distant friend. I mean, I have seen the boy naked for crying out loud, but I guess maybe that is the problem.

I not sure if I should just let the friendship slide, or keep hoping he'll come to his senses. Nicki isn't the problem, he is.

I am pissed.

I guess I am jealous to an extent. I took the relationship that Ian and I had for granted, because I thought it was some sort of amazingly honest friendship, but in truth, if he's not after me for a girlfriend, he's not there at all.

At least he is happy. I just can't believe I was so easily deceived.

Hey Alfred, I was best-friends with Two Face, so I guess you can just call me the Joker!

You wanna hear the ironic part? I tried to break off the friendship w/ Ian at the end of the school year, but we stuck together, best buds till the end, and he left me at the first available convenience. Well, screw that.

In addition, all during Christmas and anytime Ian needed anything I dropped everything to help him out. I ignored Kellen, Matt, Dominic, Ben, you name it, they got the shaft, because he needed help more than anyone else.

He left as soon as he was all right, he used me again! I can't believe I fell for this! I let him drag me back into depression and he pulls this on me. Go on, leave, I will not do this again. By the way, this is EXACTLY how I feel, yet again:

http://nataliespx.blogspot.com/2005/05/weeping-white-lilies.html

I don't even want to road trip anymore.

I guess I will go to bed now, nothing better to do.

Wary of Life

I feel it creeping up again. It's like standing on the edge of a pool, dripping wet. It's cold up here, because I am still soaked from my swim.

I feel that Ian sometimes is trying to pull me back in to my death. He, as everyone else does, knows I can't swim. Peer Pressure. I don't want to die. But to breath like they do. Steam rising up from the warm waters, ushering me in.

All I know is, Ian and I must be a lot more careful then we were at Christmas-time. I have an idea folks, let's try not to fuck up each others lives

too much.


Happy Fourth of July.

The Ring

I think I may have been tripping on anti-depressants when I wrote this on January 11th 2005 at 11:14 pm. I have NO idea where this was going. . .

I am Smeagol, no Gollum. I have become the crazed monkey like animal lusting after something beyond my grasp. Those that hold it I would kill for what I desired. Tricksy hobbits.

On my desk tonight, just next to a candle and sitting next to my car keys lays, my ring. No, THE ring. It once wrapped around a homecoming invitation from 2003. I went with Matt.

Irony

December 27th, 2004 at 11:53 pm this was written. Publishing my old drafts tonight. I have no idea why I didn't publish it originally.

I am listening into your CD and I have many times wanted to tell you something.

Track 11 is you.
(Everything You Want-Vertical Horizon)
every time I hear it, I only think of you.

God I wish sometimes things were more in my control, but they are not. Please believe me Ian. You are my everything, my best-friend, the best guy I'll ever know, and yet. . .

ah life. It's ironic cruelty. I am so sorry.

Mother

This was written on February 1st, 2005 at 9: 42 pm, but I never published it. So here it is.

Study session at Nathan's house last night, my mind is everywhere but on the road. I am driving safely and very aware of those around me, but I am not focused on them. The drive began with another car almost taking out the front part of Mr. Penn's station wagon, but I am back near my own neighborhood and feeling pretty safe. I pull up to a light and I am in the outer left turn lane.

Looking over my left shoulder into the inner left turn lane has a woman driving and a child in the passenger seat. It is late, almost ten, and the little girl is leaned up against the door and has her head against the glass. She is completely asleep. Studying her position of rest I think back to my own girlhood.

It seems like I wear my age as a badge or a weight. For most 18 is a gift, to me it is simply another label. I am old, but not old enough, so I keep growing. The girl lies there completely asleep. As a kid, I could never fall asleep in the car unless I was completely exhausted. Perhaps that girl is. I wonder how old she will be when she loses her innocence. I wonder how old I was when I lost mine.

I am thirty, in the body of a teenager, all I want is to escape. Freedom from my age. I want the world to know how old I truly am.

My Mother at work

It is strange that after so long, I can still be injured by the things that happened in my oh so regrettable past. At 18, I am in love, I know what I want to do for a career, even where I want to live. Hell, I even have names picked out for my children. My life is coming together. Yet, it is still falling down.

Just when I thought I was free, she found me out. For life has taught me only one thing: it is when we least expect the unreal, that it comes home.

One year, five months, and three days after her death, my Mom came to visit me on the job.

A dazed drug addicted woman stumbled to me, and asked me to catch some fish for her. Immediately I knew I was going to regret having been proactive in my customer service that day. However, I grabbed my favorite net and a plastic bucket, then I tried to oblige her request. Ten minutes later, after her stumbling over her words and thinking it was the seventh of July when it was the mere thirtieth of June, hit me like a bullet. The wound I had healed over, the very one I had been covering the scar of from the world, reopened and now is infected. It was the same muttering voice, the same swaying motion of my zoned out mother, the same strewn makeup. It was the woman who I had cleaned after she wet herself, it was the woman I checked vitals on when she fell asleep during a movie, it was the woman I hated, despised, was born to raise, and inevitably killed.

I cried, in the back room, holding my sides, asking God to take the sight from out my eyes.

The woman described her daughter, a mere sophomore, and I knew it was me, the same me of my own sophomore year. I wanted to save her, to take her from there, before she became me today. God, however, in all his infinite wisdom, refused my pleading. He left his 'child' to suffer, just like I have. Why would he do this?

Because he is dead. God gave up and suffered a death like the rest of us. Not to redeem us, but simply be rid of the incredible always that he survived. If you have not recognized it by now, I quite simply hate our creator for all the sadistic things he has done to us, like curse us with free will.

Now, I write. As I write one of my closest friends is no further than 15 feet from me right now, passed out from pot and drink. I have had perhaps one cup of a weak margarita. I am sober, obsessed with my memories, and am successfully tearing myself down. What a world it is in when I can sit in my kitchen trying to escape this house, these curses that drench my soul. I am wrecked.

What makes it worse is that the people that care deeply about me can no longer understand any of the things I experience on my journey because they no longer travel with me. I tried to keep Matthew with me, hoping he would know. Now, I know that he never will. This burden I bear, to finish what my Mother started, will always be with me.

I sit here, typing my soul to no one. The remains of a broken down hookah lie on the counter next to me; a beer with a chunk of lime lies next to an empty candy wrapper. The margarita mix sits amongst salad dressing bottles and old Wendy's cups. Bagged up cat food, and Lays potato chips next to an abandoned baseball cap seem to be the brightest thing in the room. The music of my radio fills the crisp air conditioned air, and I sit barefoot amongst it all. I try to remember something beautiful, but I cannot forget the obvious. This house is wrecked. My Father will be home in less than twenty-four hours, and all I have left to do is clean up the entire house.

One thing is for sure, that after all this time, me trying to run from my ghost has only served to draw me closer to things I hate. It has brought me to her. But all the explanation behind that will take time, and that is something that I lack. Someday I will tell the world what I have seen, what I know, and they will hang me for it. With all my secrets, I am Pandora's box.

Fuck you for opening this. You could not contain your interest, and I will burn you for it. Do not misunderstand, I will LOVE seeing you cry. I will dwell in your suffering and rain blood upon your family! I will master your happiness and wreck it.

I hate you for your lives of ignorance.

Bliss. Enjoy it fuckers.

Until then, enjoy the genius of Ben Folds:
"Everbody knows, it sucks to grow up, and everybody does, it's so weird to be back here. Let me tell you what, the years go on and on and we're still fighting it. You'll try and try, and one day you'll fly, away from me."