I'm So Sad

I worked at the Old Navy on State Street in Chicago for a year, and, though I hated the job, I met some of the most amazing people while working there. Tranesha Palms was one of them.

Yesterday, her ex and father of her two-year-old son, followed her into the basement break room and shot her to death. He then killed himself, I assume because he was a coward.

I wasn't the best of friend with Tranesha, but she touched my life, and for the better. She always encouraged me to be strong, to go for what I wanted, and to get up and enjoy life. The last few times I spoke to her, we were planning a girls' night that never happened. I moved back to Oklahoma; I never got to go out and have a night with a friend who was a bright, brilliant woman, just working to make a better life for her son. I know I can't ever go back and go have that night at the club with Tranesha, but it doesn't matter. How she effected me is still the same. I truly feel that, having known her, I am a better person.

I moved away, from Chicago, from Old Navy, with the plan that I was finally going to get my life started. I moved away planning on putting everything that wasn't concrete behind me and moving forward. I moved away, and all I want right this second is to be back in Chicago, to be back with the friends who are mourning this loss and who will have to return to that store were she had her last breath. I can't imagine what it is like for them, who were still working there, who were still close to her, who still had laughs to have and work to avoid with her. I miss those people terribly. All of a sudden I want to be back in that city, living the life I had, with those people. I want it to be last summer, when we were making plans to be better friends and the sun was shining and there was still life for Tranesha. I want to be with Chetara, who knew her better than I did, and with Nicole, who I wish I was still close to. I miss the way things were before I moved, because it seems to me that the world has just turned upside down these past few months, and right now I want it to stop.

I want to go to her funeral. I want to be there with my friends.

I don't have the money, I can't go. If I had the cash to drop on getting my car up there and back, I would. I know I would have a place to stay, I know I would have people to be with; I want to be with them. But I can't.

Tonight is my best friend's 21st birthday. What I can do is this: I can go and I can do the thing that Tranesha and I talked about. I can have a fun night at the club, be with my best friend, and cherish my life. It seems wrong, but she would have wanted me to go. In fact, I know she would have told me to go, if I had asked her.

What happened to her was the definition of unfair. She did not deserve this fate. Her son does not deserve to be an orphan. She will be terribly missed. My heart goes out to her family, to her mother, to her boy; to her close friends; to all the people at Old Navy. There will never be another like her. So many people have been affected by her love and friendship. Our lives are changed for having known her.

Tonight, I am toasting one to her, and celebrating her life along with three others: Allison's, Amanda's, and mine. Tonight isn't just about the birth of my best friend or the death of a good one. Tonight is about living.

Rest in Peace, Tranesha.

<3

Don't Tell Me I'm Pretty

You have to face your emotions if you ever want to overcome them.

Most of the time, I don't even know why I cry. The tears just star falling and I sit there thinking, why is this happening? I know for the most part, sometimes you just have to cry, but it feels like sometimes is always and crying is just too cliche anymore. I feel like the poster-girl for running mascara and self-indulgent sobbing. "Oh, I'm not pretty; oh, I'm not smart." Oh, I'm fucking fed up with it. But, it's still how I feel most of the time.

Not in college, uneducated, not clever enough to solve a problem any old idiot probably could. Probably has. Probably wrote a book about it that someone else is telling me I should read.

I have acne, I never bother with my hair, I wear glasses because I have been too poor for contacts, so even if I put make-up on, you can't see it. No boyfriend, no prospects. People telling my friends how gorgeous they are, people saying "wow". People don't say "wow" to me. Unless I'm being a bitch in an unwarranted situation.

No, I don't always feel like this, but I feel like this now, and I don't know what else to do. I can sit here and cry and go to bed or I can type this up and cry and go to bed. I chose the latter because it at least seemed productive.

Maybe I'm just tired, I certainly feel drained, I don't know. But I don't feel pretty, I don't feel smart, I don't feel anything but worthless and crap.

I knew I should have gone to the gym today, then at least I could lie to myself and say I'm making progress. This sure as fuck doesn't feel like progress. It just feels like shit.

Tomorrow I want to be happy. I have so much to do, people paying me to do so much, and I can't say "no". I don't want to say no, believe me, I'm happy for something to do, but tonight I don't want to do any more.

Yeah, so this whole post was self-indulgent, pitiful, emo-fied goop. But at least I said how I really felt.

What I really want to say is this: fuck them. Fuck everyone. Everyone who says they are my friend and turns their back, everyone who flirts with me just to ignore me tomorrow, everyone who claims they miss me but don't bother to call. Everyone who thinks I am all of these things I am feeling, because they're just bastards. They have to just be bastards. They have to be absolute fuck-all bastards.

So, then, why am I still crying?

Why I am still feeling so absolutely crap?

Whatever.

Just fucking forget it. 

I'm going to bed.

Isn't It Just Like That?

Our Cracking Bones Make Noise

Amanda was in a car accident.

This isn't new news. This happened two weeks ago today. I didn't write about it when it happened...I tried, but the words came out too stoic and I just couldn't find anything else to say.

Curiously, the week after it happened was one of the best weeks I've had in a long time. It isn't really logical, she was in the hospital and pretty badly injured, looking at a six-month recovery in another state. I shouldn't have had a good week. I shouldn't have been happy and riding high, but I was. I spent nearly everyday in the hospital room, just hanging out with a friend I was afraid I had lost, and every one was grateful and focused on the injured. It was nice. I felt good. I was there and I was wanted, and I could focus my energy on making Amanda comfortable and helping the family out in anyway I could. I could listen to people when they worried or needed to vent, I could be a shoulder to cry on, I could be a voice of reason. It was incredibly reassuring for me; I felt useful and good, and I liked it.

It didn't start out that way.

The car accident happened on a day in which I felt everything was finally getting back to normal. A few weeks earlier I had written a note to the other baristas at Seattle's Best, essentially berating them for not doing their jobs. To be fair, they weren't, and the note was fairly merited, if not a little irrational at the time it was written. I probably could have cooled down some. Waiting a while, busied myself with another task, before I wrote the letter. Although, I don't know that I would have cooled down all that much. I was so angry I was shaking, so angry I thought I would cry. I felt personally attacked by everyone around me, and though it wasn't true, it didn't help my composure. So, the letter came out a bit out of favor of the person it wasn't actually meant for. That person was Amanda. She was furious with me; uninvited me to her birthday, pretty much told me to go fuck myself. I explained to her why it was written the way it was and that I wasn't thinking of her or of Kirstie at the time it was written, but she was still angry. She was still angry that I was so angry, she was hurt by the sum of all my hurt, wrapped up in a mean little package.

But, she got over it. We talked, I explained; she talked, she expressed. She was open with me about her anger and we moved on. I was back on for her birthday, although she did tell me she didn't think I would be invited to the road trip pending Kirstie's anger (at a note that she wasn't even around to be targeted in). It bothered me that I was put on the side in favor of Kirstie, but I was working on getting over that too.

On the Friday before the accident, Amanda came in early and we got on just fine. She wanted to buy a dress and was in and out of the store looking for some feedback and someone to shop with her. Kirstie came in, fresh from her trip to New York, and she hugged me and behaved like there was nothing sour between us, so I was on the rise. She disappeared a little later, to the displeasure of Amanda who couldn't get a hold of her, but everything seemed fairly back on track. We were all planning to go on the trip to Springfield together for Amanda's birthday, we were all smiling and in pleasant moods, everything seemed right in the world, like pieces of a puzzle were back in place after a bigger, meaner kid had come by and tossed them about. And then on Saturday, at two-thirty in the morning, Amanda fell asleep at the wheel and rolled her car.

Of course, at two-in-the-morning, I was asleep.

I woke up on Saturday in a good mood, plans for the week nearly set, a good night's rest behind me, with every reason to smile. Until I opened Facebook and saw Kirstie's status: "Amanda rolled her car... Waiting by the phone isn't good enough for me. To the hospital I go."

I called Kirstie, no answer. I called Amanda, no answer. I text messaged both and received no response. My fear bled into anger, annoyance, and frustration--as it tends to. If Amanda were seriously injured, surely someone would have called? Unless, of course, no one wanted me around an injure or be-coma'd Amanda. That was the thought that stuck with me.

Why didn't I get a call? Why did I find out through Facebook?

Surely I am not the only one who would find learning a good friend was in a car accident over Facebook a bit disheartening. What kind of friendship did I have with these girls if I was left in the dark when they needed friendship and love most? Needless to say, I was hurt.

From psychology I know that many of the thoughts passing through my head at the time were irrational. Don't give me the shit that "it isn't about me," because the rational person inside of me wasn't worried about me; it was fully aware of the skewed perception of my overlaying thoughts. I was worried about Amanda; but also about my friendships, and about the fabric of everything I had in Oklahoma being ripped apart but the sudden realization that none of it was true. People can blame me for being selfish in that time, but sitting in the dark, alone in my room, staring at a Facebook status message that could literally be life-altering...well, I can only imagine what anyone else in my shoes would have been thinking, about themselves or otherwise.

I was terrified, of so many things, and terror tends to breed anger when mixed with misunderstanding and lack of communication.

So, I went to the gym....I went to the gym and used my anger and frustration as fuel. It worked for the duration of my workout, but when I got home my attitude was once again diminishing into a sulking, slouched beast weighed down by hurt. That's when Raye called.

He told me about the accident, about her parents' wishes that she have few visitors in the first day out of surgery, about calling Kirstie because Kirstie had called Amanda when she'd flipped her car. I just listened quietly, let it sink in what had happened to my friend. I told Raye to let me know when I could come by, but ultimately decided to keep my distance.

I called Kirstie and left a message, simply stating that I had heard and was there if she needed to talk. Then I sat and stared at the wall for a while until the urge to feel something else overwhelmed me and I turned on an episode of Monty Python and tried to laugh it out. It's my mantra, I might as well've put it to use.

Kirstie called and spoke to me for less than two minutes. Essentially, she'd called Sam instead of me, probably because Sam is a closer friend of her's than I am, but the excuse was that he was a closer friend of Amanda's, and I wasn't really buying it. She hung up to call Sam, and I finally just asked, via text, why I didn't get called.

"It's not about you."

You're right. But, I don't think she would have been feeling the same if it had been the other way, if I had let her know from my Facebook status message. I know I would have never done that, no matter how malicious I was feeling toward her. I would have called her the moment I heard. I know that about myself, so maybe I can't understand it when that isn't the way other people work. Needless to say, I was feeling dejected. Someone I considered a very good friend was in a severe accident, and all of our friends where essentially telling me to stay away. I just don't know how I was supposed to feel. I wanted to be scared for Amanda, but I didn't have nearly enough information to know how bad it was. I went uninformed and unfocused. I felt like I wasn't a friend; I felt like I was nobody; I felt like I wasn't worthy of concern for someone I loved. I felt bad.

Sunday morning I caught Raye on Facebook and said I'd be by on Monday, because I had to work and I had to go to the gym and I just didn't think I'd have time. I felt deeply guilty and selfish. I knew it was a little bitchy of me, but I was feeling dejected and expecting several people to be there; I didn't want to be in the way, or feel like I was in the way, which I think is worse. So, I was going to stay away. I'm so glad I didn't.

I skipped the gym and hopped in the car. I grabbed caffeine for Raye and myself and brought Amanda a cup even though I thought she may not really need coffee. Coffee is a comfort, coffee makes us feel normal and successful and together...so I take coffee to people whom I don't know what to say. Coffee speaks volumes, and having brought something always makes us feel like we're doing something right, something to help, even if really all we're doing is caffeinating the severely injured.

Raye was the only person there when I walked in and Amanda was truly glad to see me. I started to get over it right that second, my attention settled on my friend, my desire to overcome bad feelings stronger than my anger. I just wanted to be there for my friend. To see what had happened, to understand what was happening, to assist in any way I can with whatever knowledge I have. So I sat next to her, and Raye left us alone, and Amanda and I chatted as she received morphine and fought off infection. Kirstie wasn't there. I don't know where she was. I was expecting her to be there, I was expecting to feel all kinds of unwanted, hurt feelings, I was expecting to realize this wasn't truly part of my story, just an anecdote, a name drop somewhere in my memoirs and a motivation to move on. I was expecting this situation to hardly include me and for it to mean nothing more for me than "I didn't come here to make friends...." I shouldn't have expected anything other than to see my friend, and my attitude changed right-fucking-there.

Hospitals have this effect on me; they make me want to work harder and do better and they motivated me to do something with my life. I love to be in hospitals, love to look at X-Rays and talk to patients and understand situations and diagnoses. I love the science and the humanity and even the florescent lighting and small spaces. I knew going to the hospital in itself was going to heal me just a little, if only until I walked into the room where Amanda lay. What I didn't expect was for the situation, for the broken bones and the smell of sanitizer and the gravity of reality, to heal me. I didn't expect that a girl with a cracked fibula and busted ankle, lying in a hospital bed, the farthest thing from helpless anyone can be, would heal me. I probably should have seen that coming. But we never see it coming.

I stayed as late as I could and went everyday after that (excluding Tuesday, because she had her second surgery, and she wasn't out by the time I had to work). I brought coffee and food, Eddie Izzard DVDs and even a stuffed bear that sings a Beatles song. But, what I really did was sit next to her, talk when she wanted to talk, watch TV and just be there for the hard parts and the silly ones. I watched her be strong when most of us would be depressed wrecks. I listened to her determination. I felt her gratitude at my presence and my own love for my friend growing with each passing hour of nurses stopping by, VACs sucking at her wounds, medication dripping into veins, and ortho techs in and out with machines meant for exercising otherwise stagnant muscles. Just to be next to her made me better, filled me with hope at her survival of this situation, of her growing physical and emotional strength. It made me better, knowing that I could be there, and it wasn't unnoticed. Raye, myself, her mother and father, we spent the most time in that room; knowing we were there helped her, gave her patience and reassurance, made her feel loved and so she returned it. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to have loved and be loved in return." I guess that's why it felt so good. I guess that's why it was so healing. I can't really explain it any better than that. I can't really put it into words. I knew I was loved, I knew my being there, my rationality and my humor, my desire to just chill, I knew that was appreciated. And I appreciated the opportunity. It made me better.

I know now, after all of it, that my relationship with Amanda is strong. I love her very much, I love who she is and the fun we have, I love what she thinks and how rational she is. I love just knowing she's my friend. No, I didn't come to Oklahoma to make friends for life. I didn't come to do anything but do what needed to be done so I could leave again. But, if I get Amanda's friendship out of it, it's a happy coincidence in my book. A very happy coincidence.

As far as Kirstie goes...that's another just as long story.

Kirstie hadn't been to the hospital much, and I could tell it was bothering both Amanda and Raye. It was bothering me too, since she basically declared herself Amanda's Borders Bestie, and then she just wasn't there. We felt like she was different since returning from New York, and I personally wasn't to impressed by her new behavior. Mostly, I was still a bit hurt by her actions toward me. I told myself it was silly to think she was purposefully cutting me out of the whole situation, but I didn't think I was wrong either. You see, she and Amanda had given us these nicknames a few months earlier, and frankly I wasn't too interested in being given a nickname, I was just interested in being me for once. But, I smiled and went along with it, even though I felt it was more a thing between the two of them than me. It was like an invite into a club I wasn't actually welcome into...that's sort of how it felt, being given a nickname essentially because they wanted something more out of their group than maybe I could give. But, the inclusion was nice, so I just let them play.

Well...apparently the inclusion was temporary, because the nickname I was assigned was reassigned shortly there after. The thing that is upsetting isn't the reassignment of the name. It wasn't a name a particularly wanted in the first place. I truly was just happy being Rachel. For the first time, I felt like I was being accepted for being Rachel...I didn't want to be somebody else. What hurt is that it was hidden from me. Maybe because Kirstie thought it would hurt my feelings to know I was no-longer than person in her eyes--a person who isn't actually me to begin with--or maybe she really was just trying to cut me out. I don't know. What I know is this: she covered it up. I figured it out anyway; I mean, it wasn't like she was terribly secretive about it. She just was never open about it. Add to it the fact that after the letter I wrote, she was angry with me, the feeling of love I once thought I felt from her was strained if not disjointed. I think she was detaching from me. And, that's okay. What isn't okay is just cutting somebody out when you've told them you'll be there, no matter the shit they give or how much they push away. What isn't okay is closing off. What isn't okay is not communicating. Sam can have the nickname. Sam can be the bestie. I never had delusions that Kirstie was my best friend. All I wanted were people around me that could be supportive and fun. The kind of people whom, with their spontaneity and joy towards life, could help me capture my will to live and help me move forward from this precipice I've been walking for years now. Instead, I got hurt when I probably shouldn't have gotten hurt. I've been abandoned--many, many times. It hurts like hell and it's my worst fear, but I can cope with it...I can grow from it--I must grow from it. I must overcome it and realize that people don't abandon you because of you; most of the time, people abandon because of people. I think I am starting to get that.

So, no, I didn't move back to Oklahoma to make friends for life. To make besties who would stick it out with me to the bitter end. If it happens, than I will take it and the feeling I get when I go away--as I know I will--with a grain of salt. If it doesn't, that isn't the worst thing that could happen. I will make friends everywhere I go. Not all of them--no, certainly, most of the--are going to be lifers. But they come when they are needed, they heal as they are meant to, and I go off better; hopefully they do too.

I have learned this: that I don't want to love unless they want to love, that I don't want to work on friendship unless they want to work on friendship. I know that there are some things about me that aren't perfect, I know that I get too hurt too easily. But, I also know that if I don't start finding people who want to be my friends, who want to be friends with Rachel, as she is, than I will never find the right people I need in my life. Let alone the kind of people I want to love and to know. So, if you don't want to be my friend, I don't want to be yours. Just say it, and I will move on. Yeah, it might hurt me a little, but everything hurts me a little, it's just part of who I am. I get over it, I move on, and I find someone else who wants everything I want. I find someone like Amanda, or like Raye. I impress people by being the true friend, the loyalist I am. I can be that for you, but only if you're willing to do the same. Only if you're willing to be open. Only if you want me too.

So as far as it goes, Kirstie, friendship, life...I'm done looking out for the life-changers, the things that will make me, the friends of a lifetime. Things will come when they come. Changes will happen because that is the nature of change. I am open to anything. Any body. Any idea.

I am focusing on the people I know love me, am allowing myself to be open and kind to the people around me, and am worrying only about those things that only I can change. I will get my weight off, I will do everything I said I would, and I will move on...it's already happening...I can feel it.

I want to be good, I want to be kind, I want to be smart, I want to be better.

I'm getting to be everything I ever wanted to be. I'm actually going to get there.

We're Breakable--But, I'm Not Breaking Anymore

Always Late with the News

I've been an absolutely terrible memoir writer. I think the point of this blog thing was so I would write at least a few times a week. Look at me not doing that. Not doing that at all....

So much has happened. If March was a month of movement, than April is a month of battling the urge to stand still. So many things, strange and far too real, have happened already, and I know I should be writing it all down as it happens, but I just can't focus my brain.

This means I am going to have to start back tracking, going to have to start telling a story. Suck, right? And here I am, a writer, not too happy about telling a story. Um...I think that was the point, dear.

It's good, though. So many monumental things have happened, things that have both shown me my strength and will work to show me my stamina. If I can make it through these next few months, if I can battle and come out victorious, then I truly have accomplished something--I have become that person I am so ready to be.

A few things I am going to start writing about, probably essay-ish style, trying to link things and create circular thoughts, make sense of what has happened recently with what was holding me back in the past. Really make a life like mine coherent and...well, memoir-like. That is my goal as far as writing goes, to get better at the analyzing part and get on paper all those things that have happened in a beautiful, creative, intelligent way. I think I can, and I also see it as a huge fucking prospect that is really, really scary.

So, here are those few things:

Friendship--how they come back into our lives, how we track them down, how we hold on to them, my history with friendship, and the friends I have. I think each will really need their own little post because each is a story in itself. I don't know how this is going to work, but I think I'd better just stick to chronological.

Money--my debt, how I feel about my debt, finances, getting control only to lose control than release that maybe I'm in more control than I thought...it's a bit of a mess, I know.

My Job--Starbucks, Borders, my career choice, the navy.

Family--siblings, each their own little bit I think, and my mother.  My father is his own thing I have yet to confront.

Outside Sources--therapy, celebrities, television and literature...you know, those things.

It's kind of a vague checklist, but I suppose I have to get into detail in the essays/posts, so I might as well be vague now. Keep the surprise, yes?

I don't know how I am going to do it anymore. But, I have been told not to worry how, but to think on the completed outcome, and see it for what it is. The how will work itself out. So I've been told.

I start tomorrow. Tonight I am going to bed. Tonight I am exhausted from this week.  I think I will talk about it tomorrow....

I had a good week last week. It was nice, I felt great. Suddenly on Monday I came crashing down. Don't know how this happened, but it did. I should probably write about that to begin with.

This is going to suck. It is going to be a lot of work. But, I think it's something I need to do, something I need to work on, something I need to face and fess up to...I need to analyze my life. Wasn't that the point of this all? I need to move forward.

My Life is a Work in Progress

Drinking Coffee, Eating Cookie, Thinking About Fish

Even though I am not really in the mood, it's this or I read more of my self-help book.  Today, I chose this.

I just want to say, really fast, that the new season of Doctor Who, and the new Doctor--Mr. Matt Smith--are going to be great.  Great writing, great monsters/bad guys/aliens, great new TARDIS.  I don't like the new theme, but, what can you do?  Hum it the way it used to be while the new credits roll?  You'd better believe I will.  I'll miss David, Ten being my Doctor through and through, but Matt Smith is going to be fantastic.  Steven Moffatt is going to be fantastic.  This season is going to be good.  I can feel it.

In other news, today I heard from Gap that they wanted to sue me, so I agreed to give them $200 a month.  I am honestly more annoyed that they are bothering with my $600 debt, an amount they make from one card-holder's interest.  I will pay off the debt, thank you for making me, truthfully, but really?  Is this what they are wasting their time and money on?  Me?  I am sure someone owes more than me somewhere in this world.  It's GE Money, they probably have people who owe them tens of thousands.  And here I am with my little $600.  Oy, I say, to all of these stupid people in the credit world.  You'll get your goddamn $600, I'll pay you, I'll have to; but know this: you're a big lad, but you've got no brain, so shut your fucking face.

I was a bit sick to my stomach when they wanted me to pay them $230 every two weeks.  I told them they were crazy, and they knocked it down.  I have gotten a job that will cover my ass and help me save, so it's time I pay off somebody, but at first it made me a little scared to think about giving away $200 a month.  I shortly came to my senses.  I had been doing my thing where I write down the money I make and all of my expenses and what I could have if I did this or that, over and over again.  I tore out the page, crumbled it up, and told my brain (and my stomach) to shut it.  I can handle the money, I can be shrewd, and I don't need to lecture myself and preach day after day on how to do it.  It just needs to happen.  I need to be happy about this, because guess what?  I'll have them paid off in three months.  I could re-open an account with them and use it when I have the money for clothes to rebuild my score.  This is not a bad thing.  This is a progressive thing, a step forward thing, a see-how-it-can-work-out-and-you-can-learn thing.  A grow-up thing.

A grow-up thing.

Speaking of growing-up, or sizing down, I'm at 204 and ready to make it 195.  I took a lot of time off from the gym because of a wicked sunburn to my face, upper arms, and chest, and after having worked out with a sunburn yesterday and today, I am glad I did.  Turns out, when you have a layer of burnt, dead skin still on top of the layer of new, raw skin, and you sweat, you get weird little bubbles all over.  Full of sweat.  And then you have to scrub in the shower, which removes the burnt, dead skin before the new, raw skin is quite ready to see the world, leaving your shoulders and chest feeling like owie.  All night last night, but better today.

Sleeping with the burn has been a pain in my ass, but I am doing okay otherwise.  My face is tanned unevenly, but what can you do?

Anyway...I don't know what to talk about anymore.  So, there's that.

I Have Nothing Cute to Say

I Wasn't Expecting the Spanish Inquisition

I'm all hopped up on caffeine and anxiety.  The update I have to post is extremely long, but I am going to make myself post it, I may just do it over a couple of entries the next few days. I am making myself, no matter what. I am making myself.

Right now, I don't know what to say. I just saw the psychologist and I am not sure how I am feeling. I honestly want to curl into a ball and sob, but then I feel this lightness underneath, this little glimmer of hope, something I haven't felt before, and it's nice. It's hard to feel it, though, for all it's worth when I am shaking and aching with anxiety over the whole thing. I thought therapy was supposed to make you feel better, but I suppose the whole admittance of the problem doesn't necessarily make one warm and fuzzy. I don't know how I am supposed to be feeling, if I am supposed to be joyful or sad. I know that I am going to go back. I know that I am going to make an honest effort. I know that I am tired and worn and sick of myself the way that I am. But I don't know how I feel right now. I feel like crying.

All and all, March was a pivotal month. Several things happened, good and bad, and all of them need to go here and into the book. It certainly will be a chapter of it's own, but this second as I sit down to think about it, I can't think of anything to write. Isn't that scary?

I don't know about my friends, if I've still got them or not. I haven't really spoken to any of them in a while.  I don't know about my family, if our relationships are developing or we just don't care anymore.  I don't know about myself.  I do know that I am suddenly, for no other reason than because, on the right track.  Isn't that scary, too?

Whatever these past few months have been, whatever this year will be, I know that this is certainly important, that this is a moment to be noted and advantage to be taken.  I can feel it, just around the corner, a newer, better me. A happier me if just because I am in control and am capable and believe it for the first time. It is there, but it isn't going to come to me, I still have to reach for it, and reaching is still sometimes hard. But I am upping my game, I am set on pushing myself, I am determined to out-do what's been done. I am tired of being fat, of being scared, of being stupid. I am getting stronger, getting smarter, and getting better. I am tired of caring when it isn't necessary, and tired of wishing I couldn't care. Mostly, I am tired of being sad about nothing and hurt by nobody. I am tired of feeling trapped in my shell, fat and uncomfortable and lazy, and am ready to be everything I could be if I tried. I'm ready to try.

I don't know what else to talk about right now, because there is a lot to discuss. The fantastic thing is, things have actually happened that allow me to discuss certain aspects of my life and my childhood, I just have to do some analyzing.  I think, though, I'll save analyzing for tomorrow, and just enjoy the high I am starting to feel at realizing I am finally on the right track.  

I want to be unforgettable, and I feel like I am moving toward making an impression. I don't want to analyze right now. Right now, I want to reach out to the people who still remember me from long ago, and I want to feel like I am alive.  Does that sound really, truly strange? It does to me, but guess what, it's what I want to do.  Old friends, memories of times when I felt happy, even if I didn't know whether or not I actually was. People who remember me when I was good, and who remember me when I was bad, and who want to see the change and the growth.  I want to hear from those people, chat about life, feel forgiven and forgive.  That is the feeling that I have, other than wanting to cry--which happens a lot anyway. I want to be surrounded by people who didn't forget me when I forgot myself.

What a weird post.  I bit erratic.  Too much Python?

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!

I am a Loony in a Loony Bin

I have so much to fucking write about, it's sick.

I did want to post a teeny update with some things for the booky book.

First of all, I already have four chapters planned.

"Chapter One" the first month, ish, is going to be called "Fuck my Life, Eddie" for many reasons.

"Chapter Two" is going to be called "When Mitt Romney Became John Cleese" and is curiously not about that at all, but it is about reinvention, in a way.

One chapter is currently out of my head and I can't put a finger on what I was going to call it.

And then one about friendship and redeeming qualities is going to be about my search for a very old, very distant friend and how I have changed and how friends have truly shaped me to be who I am, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's that for today, because there are four miles waiting for me to walk them and a high speed and an incline.

PS, I am at 207 pounds.

The Loony Bin is My Life

I Lick the Gun when I'm Done

I'm in Dallas.  With my sister.  What a shocker...seriously.

I very much need to make an update and write many things down. I think that I will do that, but after this trip. Trouble is, I felt that I needed this trip quite a lot, but it has now drained my pocketbook.  So, I am going to spend next week at home saving on gas.

I think it will be another good thing, though, because I can get things in order.

I did take some steps I can mention without a whole long, literate post.

I got myself health insurance.  It is for part-time employees, so it may not be the most comprehensive, but it is fucking better than nothing. AND, it included part-time dental/vision.  Thing is, I can't find any literature on what that entails. Probably one visit a year, which is fine. A dental check-up for them to tell me I have shit for teeth and a vision check-up for them to tell me my eyes have gotten a bit worse--gasp--here's a new scrip for contacts--yay!  And then a trip to the doctor who will give me a new inhaler, just in case, a new scrip for my favorite allergy medication, and possibly something for my acne.  Because I am nearly twenty-two and I still have acne.

I got a bank account.  It's there.  It's soon to be empty thanks to Dallas and having to pay for an extra tank of gas to get back and froth from Stillwater.  But, I have one, and I am not going to regret getting it either.

I filed my taxes, but I didn't.  Because I need my annual income whatever from last year, and I lost the flash drive all that info was on. So, I have to wait until I can pay twenty bucks to see last years W-2 from Old Navy--which I have to get to file last years state taxes--and I can add it up and e-file. That will be next Friday. Stupid.

Otherwise, I am in Dallas, and I am not going to regret it. Went to see dead people yesterday--the best part, sickeningly, were the fetuses.  Fetal bone growth displays, where they highlighted the bones of the little babies and made their skin transparent so we could see said highlighted bone, was the absolute coolest. If you get a chance, go see Bodies, whenever it is in your city/the city you are in.  It is very cool, and informative, and mostly very cool.  Made me want to get back into school, too, so that I might one day get to touch the bones instead of just go see them in an exhibit.

Today, the aquarium, which better not be expensive, and then something else she no doubt will want to do that will cost money that I won't have.

Ah well, it's nice to be in a city and to not have to worry about work or anything but walking around and enjoying the absolutely lovely weather.

The transit system here, P.S., is way fucking cool.  I am such a rapid transit nerd.

Also, thanks to Chetara, for putting the song the title and following lines are from into my brain.

'Cause I Know the Revenge is Sweet

Week of Ups and Downs

My best friend lost her V-card, my sister asked me to go on a fun trip to Dallas, I made an appointment with a psychologist, and I just had a fantastic work-out at the gym without a single sign of asthma.  I clearly have a lot to talk about, and a big post is coming up; but, right this second, I need a shower like a dirty dog and maybe a sandwich just as badly.

So, keep eyes and...well, eyes peeled for an update coming to a blogger near you. 

Definitive, to Say the Least

And the World Spins Madly On

I am about to call all of the companies to whom I owe money.  The last people I ever want to talk to are bill collectors, but I have to change my address and get my statements so that I can start the process of paying them off.  My biggest, most paralyzing fear in this world is my debt, and how terrified I am that I have fucked it up forever, fucked myself over beyond repair.  I'm twenty-one years old, and that is honestly my fear.

I have to keep telling  myself that they can't hurt me.  They really can't do anything to me, not for debt.  I don't even owe that much.  It's the fear of failure, of disappointment, of people looking at me like I am incapable and a loser.  And it is the fear that I will never, under any circumstances, truly overcome.  But, they can't hurt me, not more than I have already hurt myself.

So, I am going to get myself together and stop irrationally crying over this.  I am going to soothe myself, so that my heart will stop palpitating like it does every time I think of money.  I am going to chill out, stop shaking, and speak confidently.  They can't hurt me, not more than I've already hurt myself.  It isn't hurting me to trying and help myself.