I just [foolishly, frivolously] turned down an opportunity to go see a state I have never seen complete with synthpop festival, and go to Reno because I am a frightened slacker. I guess Utah will have to wait.
I have a bad feeling, and I don't know where it's coming from. Earlier I was being crazy and thought it was because I needed a tiger's eye to wear around my neck or something, and because my onyx seems irreparably scratched... but now I am not sure anymore. Where the hell am I even going to get tiger's eye? Who lives like this? It seems like my whole life is on the fly. It was once described as 'harrowing' but now I fear it is just a chore and a bore, nothing more.
I find, horrifyingly enough, that I miss high school, if only for the fact that I miss my teachers' criticism of my writing. I got in trouble for technical things like run-on sentences and fragments, but other than that they had nothing bad to say about it. They said they liked it and that I had 'style'. They made me feel as though I was ahead of my time. Perhaps I was, or perhaps they were just coddling me because I never showed up and because they saw my haggard condition. Either way, they made me feel and believe every bit of it. I put in my big plastic hoops this morning that used to hurt when I wore them, and now strangely enough, they are light, and even when I pull on them, there is no discomfort.
I've also found that I have a crazy difficulty sleeping for longer than six hours at a stretch. Last night I went to bed around 3 am and I woke up at 9.16 on the dot. What the hell is that?
I think memory has always been an issue for me. Confusing it with dreams-- askew, is it real, or am I filling in the holes with creations of my own design without realising it? I think this is why I fear getting old the most of all-- forgetting things. Becoming like my mom and saying things a million times while thinking that it is the first time you have said it. It takes a lot of patience to love someone that does that, and old people generally have no one anyway. I want the most amusing stories to tell so that when my one curious granddaughter comes to visit me in the home, I can tell her the same amusing stories over and over and she won't get angry with me. She will just listen because she likes the stories.
Also frustrating: when I tell my mother something for months in advance, and then it finally comes up a few days before it will happen, she yells at me and says I never told her. I constantly tease her about having dementia but I think I should stop because maybe she really does. If she hadn't been the one to take me to the airport, she could have easily called me while I was in Jersey, asked me where I was and then flipped out, demanding I tell her how I got there and when I would return. I hate being back there.
She wanders around the house talking to herself, and she says she can talk to my cat and that he asks about me. It's hard for me not to get irritated with her when all I want to do is relax, and all she wants to do is talk to herself really loudly and tell me things a hundred times over. I always end up leaving with a sore jaw that I have trouble getting unclenched and she wonders why I avoid that house like the plague. She always asks me why I am so mean to her, but it's a hollow question that she doesn't want to know the answers to. She says 'mean' and I know that she is trying to ask why I snap at her.
"Katie, look at this necklace we bought in South Carolina! Isn't it cute?"
Yeah, mom, you showed that to me last week. I told you it was cute.
"Oh. But isn't it cute?"
*insert about ten minutes of me trying to zone out, watch a movie, sleep, and ignore her while she talks to the cats*
"I don't know. Do you like my necklace?"
I already told you I did.
"It's so cute."
MOM! I thought you hated talking! You always want to get off the phone if I have talked longer than ten minutes, and now that I am here, you want to talk? I'm watching a movie! I don't want to go home because [insert whatever conflict is going on at the time], but you are making it really hard for me to stay here.
"Do you want some food?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Isn't my necklace cute?!"
-- Around that point, I leave, too frustrated to live. Then, the next day I get a phone-call from them about how they hate it when I peel out, and that I should mind myself because it's not really 'my' car and they can take it away any time.
I so cherish the day if only for the fact I can turn my music up to ear-bleeding levels, and actually feel it without feeling bad for my neighbours or my roommate. I can constantly hear their music because the placement of the speakers and the acoustics of the house, but I don't want them to have to know mine. I can get extremely monotonous. One cool thing, however, was that before Brian had completely moved out, he wanted to hear what I had been working on. They have high-speed downstairs so I downloaded "Guiding Light" for them. Later on in the night, I heard them playing it. That was exciting. He actually wanted to show people. I walked downstairs curious, but unable to suppress a smile.
Only when things are going really well do you notice that you have been skimming icebergs all along and that your hull is damaged. The rest of the time it seems the turbulence is expected, but when things are right, the turbulence causes you to wake in a cold sweat.
We only come out at night.
All I'm really trying to say here is that I want some celery and tomato juice, ok?!