My point is that 150 years ago things were different then it may have meant that you were a strong and powerful fighter, but now 150 years later we as a people are not longer the savages you were refering to, it keeps prolonging the stereotype.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
My point is that 150 years ago things were different then it may have meant that you were a strong and powerful fighter, but now 150 years later we as a people are not longer the savages you were refering to, it keeps prolonging the stereotype.
Friday, December 12, 2008
I have been procrastinating the days and weeks away trying to get something written for this event, brilliant ideas and thought and words are popping through my head. Colorful prose, flowery words try to work there way into my head and my writing. Recently I have been working for 10 weeks to write my epic tale that I have been wanting to write for 4 years, which, much to my chagrin is a search for me, how hokey and self-indulgent is that. Who cares about me and my pathetic life? Frustration has now set in. My phone rings and distracts me from my current plight. A friendly voice encourages me to write about my frustration and hopefully the culmination of my agony. Firstly, my phone was stolen. A 750 Palm Treo, my link to the world when not logged into my computer. Some piece of shit walked into the locker room while we were on the ice during our hockey game, and stole several PDA phones. This is all they stole, as there were purses hanging on hooks, as well as a regular flip phone just sitting in the open and there they stayed in the locker room. I was frantic when I discovered it missing when I got home. I prayed that someone had picked it up and everything would be ok. I cringed when I discovered that others were burglarized as well. All my phone numbers, all my contacts were gone, how would I find anyone when I needed to? That information was some connection I had to these people. My fear is that people would not remember me. I am never remembered, I am the shadow in the room, the wall flower at the party, sure my contacts still have my number, but now how will they know I exist without me having there’s.
My latest frustration is that an email has just been sent from my account, moments before I returned home. The only way I found out was that I received 3 emails clearly from me. I looked at the email and opened the headers to see the names and where it went. From the email, I deduced that it went to my entire address book, but could not be sure until I opened my sent mail to see 4 emails there clearly FROM me. Then, I rushed to get an apology out to the first 1/4 of the emails, only to discover that some people didn't receive it, luckily they have good spam protection. My guilt set in to think that my email address which is 10 years old, has a decade worth of contacts, some recent some not and now they have ALL received an email from me telling them about this wonderful electronics store that I found and you must absolutely visit it. I feel guilt because I am a pack rat and never delete anything, so some people are wondering who the Fuck is this? and why are they telling me about this? So I've ruined my reputation in cyber world to people I knew long ago. I already know I'm a spammer because years ago an online group denied me as a member as my email address was on some "most wanted" list as a big spammer, and once you're on that list it's over for you (so they tell you in an attempt to scare you, but really it does nothing but scare the victim, because I highly doubt that someone already doing something illegal will be bothered by that idle threat. In between writing, I am answering email from friends who are wondering what the heck I am sending out. There are understanding and kind. So I tried to apologize to everyone because I feel like a douche bag, but I've realized people are not nice and it is reaffirming my dislike of people. I would say hatred, but that's such a strong word and I don't want to put that energy out there. I wonder why this is happening to me? I don't talk to a lot of people, and when I do, I try and be helpful, so now thousands, ok, I didn't have that many contacts, a few dozen people that I've contacted for some reason or another are getting an email that says buy this wonderful junk, and then an email apologizing for it. So what do you do? Should you do? Some of these hundreds of people may remember you. My first thought was to send an email explaining the situation and hoping they understand. So I do this, but then think of it. Some of these people are wondering who the freak is and have no patience or understanding. I know this would be my first thought, but I would reconsider the wording so I would seem like a selfish ass and attempt to understand the plight of this person. As much as I love technology, I truly do hate it right now, as well as the people who selfishly exploit it. I wonder how people can be that self-serving and have total disregard for their fellow human. I'm not saying that it has to be all rainbows and gumdrops, but what the fuck, since when have you and your life become more important than me and any one else’s.
I never thought my world would be so tied up with technology, but it is. For the longest time I avoided to be dependant on an electronic organizer, but I eventually relented and came into the twenty first century and now four years later I am regretting that decision. I am saddened by this dependency. My life revolves around my "friends" on myspace and facebook, anonymous arenas where you reconnect with old acquaintances and attempt to fall into your old life. With networking sites and virtual avatars you can become whatever you've always wanted to be. But at some point when reality bursts your bubble it throws your world into a whirlwind. It's one thing when the mean girls target you in high school, it's another when this cyber bully, who are cloaked in the anonymity of the world wide web, reached into your address book and sends a personal email out to all your online friends. In my case, 10 years worth of collected emails. Which is really sad and pathetic because my memory is long and I remember most of those email addresses, I just got lazy and haven't cleaned out my address book.
Which brings up another question, how do you do that? Because at the time you're emailing back and forth with email@example.com, so you save the address, but at what point do you deleted it? Because as life goes, things just fade and you stop connecting to people.
Ok, it's now 4pm, 3 hours 15 minutes after my world again was intruded. I have calmed down some, eaten some cheese, had some wine. There is nothing I can do. My feelings vacillate between despair and anger. It's such an awkward place to be. My husband is home and I can finally vocalize the anger I have been feeling since 12:45 this afternoon when my privacy was invaded. Every racial slur, every swear screams out of me. Things that were only in my head early now shake the walls. At some point I have decided to visit the website that I have been pimped out for. They have a contact us button, I can't resist, really what do I have to lose now, they've already used me as their cyber whore, I have nothing to lose, they've poked themselves into my life, I don't care whose life I threaten.
I started this class in search of a story, in search the tiny Indian girl inside me. I use this latter term because when I was in college my cousin was in love with rap music and that could not be farther from her reality, so she always joked that she had a little black woman inside of her wanted to break out. My search for identity has now extended to the reality I thought my online life was. Online I am the person I truly want to be. I am slick, I am cool, when I hit the jukebox with my fist music spews. I am still a nice person, and my philosophy of do onto others still exists, but the impersonalness of it makes life easy. I talk a big game, but still hide when someone "important" (whatever that means) emails me; I avoid it and don't open it, in fear that they can see me thru the computer. So I am still in search of my buckskin and feathers and will hopefully be able to understand who I am at the end of this endless feeling journey.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Daddy grew up in poverty and felt bad when he was poor and didn't want his family to grow up like.
he drank b/c he felt bad, he tried to fix everybody and he couldn't
what did i miss out on by not living on the rez? is living on the reservation make you more indian?
my reservation didn't have much culture while I was growing up, there was nothing to show me, except the bad things that I did see
they have to want it, to be better for themselves
feel bad for what i have, education, money, not living on the reservation, why do I feel bad if I have all this, I should be going back to the reservation and try to help just one kid
they had structure at one time, and the arrival of the white man was their
why do i want to be indian, b/c i want to show them that you can better yourself and
Thursday, December 4, 2008
When I walk into an "indian" event I see a rainbow of people who call themselves indian, from the whitest white to the darkest brown. We're not like other cultures or ethnic groups, we come from a variety of backgrounds, different tribes, heck my people's land is North America. To me indians are brown, I mean it's only fair right? Why should these snowflakes be allowed to call themselves indian? They can walk through the world un-noticed, un-bothered, people may wonder what their background is, but never have the nerve to vocalize it. I am darker, even though a friend told me I wasn't "that dark", I'd like to think I'm a nice latte colour, and because of the region I live in when there are other brown people around and they need help, they look to me and say something. I wish I could help them, really I do, but why do they assume I am like them? I'm not, just because you're brown, I'm brown doesn't mean we share anything
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
But I am cool. But something about me has changed, I'm getting closer at figuring out what it is, but unknowingly, I'm still cool, it just happens.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Being from a small town had its advantages, everyone knew everyone, or at least who they were. How could you not when there was 30 people in your class, and you've been together since you were 5. Joanne had always been a good kid, but she had recently gotten a boyfriend, one that her father didn't exactly approve of. But isn't that always the way it is. You know there must be some truth to movies, ok it's a little exaggerated for dramatic effect, but that's kinda what happens in the school yard. I once thought life imitated art, but with the direction of the world, I think art imitates life.
The love of her life this week was Franklin. Franklin a few years older than her, but still in the same grade as her. He missed way too many classes because he was left home to his own devises. He was from the reservation. He lived in a run down house with his 2 brothers, he was the middle child. Joanne had a thing for tall, dark and brooding, though she did like someone she could hold a conversation. During their whole time dating and all the times she had been to his house, she had never met his parents. They were never there. Money was tight, so they worked on the road somewhere, though she didn't never did find out.
Joanne would sneak out to visit him. Not old enough to drive yet, she would take a cab to go and visit him. She would then have to get to the store so the cab could pick her up, since there was no phone at Franklin's. Not many of the surrounding houses had a phone, so as much as she didn't want to leave some nights, she had to, or she had no way of getting home. She always had a sense that she needed to take care of him. He didn't have a job, and neither did any of his brothers, but they always seemed to have stuff to party with. Sometimes when his parents had forgotten to send money, the house would get cold.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Well my love, here we are at last, I never thought it would come to this. After all this time together, everything is lost, everything has changed. When we met I never thought of how we would spend our lifetime together, I just knew when you proposed that it would be. Sure there would be bad days, but we would endure. How do you spend a lifetime together? You laugh, you enjoy your time together, you talk. Ooops, missed one.
I am writing you a letter so you will actually know what is wrong. I find this a disturbing option and quite a sad state of us. I wish we could talk about things that really matter as opposed to the ridiculousness of day to day affairs. I used to care, but now not so much. Sure it hurts my feelings when you don't listen and you get lost in something else other than me, but I don't care anymore. We have been together all this time and you don't know the simplest things about me, or at least it seems that way to me. I don't really think I know you either. How sad is that? I mind as well just sit in the other room, maybe you can text me and tell me about it, it would be a start. What hurts the most, after the Big Mac incident was this weekend when you told me about the other project you were no longer working on. That's when I realized the absurdity of all this. I feel I have become what I was sure I would not, a stranger in my own home.
I have become what I have worried about becoming, a cliche. Now lets think of that for a moment, a "cliche is a phrase, expression, or idea that has been overused to the point of losing its intended force or novelty, especially when at some time it was considered distinctively forceful or novel. The term is most likely to be used in a negative context. It is frequently used in modern culture to reference an action or idea that is expected or predictable based on a prior event." But when is it no longer cliche if it occurs all the time, is not then the norm, what is to be expected?
My life is now what inevitably what becomes of others, be it said or not. So that is why it is still cliche? I am worn down, I don't care, I don't want to try anymore, it's too much work. Maybe that's why I have no ambition to carry on with anything anymore. To find a new career, take a class, help a cause. When I was little, although the perfect child that I was having a content life, I always wanted to run away, life on the road seemed romantic when portrayed in the movies. The runaway was always rescued by sad people in the end who missed them terribly and they end up living happily ever after. Thoughts of running away escalated later in life, to become a want to just not go on, to let the earth just take me away, to just float off into the sunset. I always thought of that as a selfish option, but really is it? Selfish because the person wanting to end it is only thinking of themselves and not thinking of the mess they are leaving behind. Check me out, still caring what others think of me in death. That is messed up, I am messed up. I just want to run away from it all, hide under a rock, just be alone, it's safer. No one to please, just me.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
I remember the first time I met him and he told me I was pretty. Why would you lie to someone like that? I know the truth about you, you tell every girl with low self esteem how pretty they are. I'm glad I didn't believe you when you told me. I'm on to you and your new age hippy crap. Why do you have to care so much, it makes me cry. But then to figure out why you tell people crap.
I just want to be who I used to be. I wasn't the one who sat back in the corner, I was brave, fearless and didn't care what people thought. Ok, I may have cared but I didn't let it bother me. During that same time though I was also the side kick. You know the archetype, you've seen the movie. Pretty girl and either a)plump girl, 2)homely girl, 3)girl with no style...the list goes on in every high school around the country, whichever it was I was the other girl. I was sporty, people who knew I was, but it was never overt, I got to go to all the parties. How do I figure out how to be that person again. She was strong, she knew what she wanted, nothing would stand in her way. Sometimes I feel like I have multiple personalities, b/c those people are yammering in my head.
Friday, October 24, 2008
I sit and open up the email from Patty. LA Skins Festival, cool. I know my movie is playing there, when, I wonder, the producers haven't contacted me yet to tell me when. I check the schedule, look there we are. I scroll thru the list of movies. Check out all these Indians out there making movies. WTF, this is BFE Canada and they're making movies, I fuckin' live in L.A. and I don't make movies. Oh, check that scenario out, how can a film about a father being deported be included in this festival? DEPORTED, are you kidding me. You are American Indian, you can't be deported, so how do you have the audacity to submit your film to this festival, you are not American Indian. I don't get it. OK, here I am again defending something I so want to be a part of, yet am not. I kinda feel like the geeky girl in school who would stand by the cool kids and pick up their scraps (metaphorically of course). I want so much to be Indian and am, but I don't feel like it.
Growing up, I was the overly tanned kid in all the class photos, the dark kid with the round face and eyes dark as coal, with crater deep dimples. Looking back on my class photos now I notice who I stand out, but then, I was just another kid, these were my friends and no one thought anything of it. Some may think that growing up in a small town limits you, like you are going to be singled out because of your differences, but that was never the case. It wasn't until I moved away from home, that I realized how different I was, and what the world would dish out. I am fortunate enough to meet people who know about their culture and heritage, I know nothing, safe a few choice "swears" in Ojibwa. I feel left out. I want to learn more, but how, isn't it too late? and why is it that I think these people are less Indian than I am? Well it's because they're out there doing stuff and I am not. I have this need for perfection and don't want to get anything wrong, what if I misrepresented something, and feel this backlash then they'd kick me out of the club for sure and then tear up my treaty card for sure.
Fear stops me at every turn. Just go and do, who cares. I just wish someone would help me. So I could share my failure when it happens. Note the when not if. I really am trying to be positive, but it scares the fuck out of me.
I don't want someone to be more Indian than me, I want to be the biggest and best Indian out there. I have to be the best, that's all there is to it and if I'm not I will die alone, friendless, with the priest letting the stragglers who just happen to be in the church while my funeral is going on, what a major flop I made and what a failure I was.
Ooooh poor me, poor me, no one loves me, I'm a loser, I suck, I will never amount to anything, I don't have any friends, I will never amount to anything, I will never accomplish anything great, I will just move through existence merely being, not accomplishing anything. No one will remember me, no one will want to, they will all thought that I died years earlier than I did. I will be alone with my turtle, because cats are for the pathetic and I am better than that, who will outlive me and I will have no one to will him too, so when I die alone in my apartment, G2 (my turtle) will wander our apartment until the smell is finally noticed by the neighbors, or the landlord comes and pounds on the door because I haven't paid my rent. My epitaph will read - she died alone, unloved and was nothing.
Well time is now 6:12 and I have to go, so later days....
Monday, October 20, 2008
Her parents had dropped her off that morning and now here she was dreading the rest of the summer. Two full months with the crazies, isn't that what her grand mother called them. But what was she supposed to do, she couldn't very well stay in the city by herself while everyone else was working and traveling. She was only 13 after all. Not quite old enough to spend the summer in a high rise with no adult supervision. Now here she was in cow country. The wind that blew through the tree and kicked up dust around her. This trip was supposed to be a learning experience for her, that's what her mother called it. After her father had died, so did any connection to the reservation and her heritage. She had lived her whole life in the city. Taking the subway to the Lycee north in the morning, leaving her lakeside view, into the grunginess of the city.
Sarah Morningstar, was the apple of her grandfather's eye, which caused some friction with the rest of her cousins. Such a strange family she thought, shouldn't we all love each other equally. No wonder her mother hated visited her inlaws. Being a only child gave Sarah the advantage over her cousins because she was constantly surrounded by adults, she was a bit more mature than the others. She was well mannered an never expected anything from anyone but to be loved.
"Hey there dreamer, what's up?" Megan asked. "Not much Auntie, just sucks that mom had to go away for the summer and you get stuck with me" she answered. "Oh, it's not stuck, I have a big adventure planned for you. Your mom thought you should learn a bit about your culture this summer, so we're going to dance, and I have the greatest costume for you"
Sunday, October 19, 2008
what's a moment of my story
what's one memory
consider the above when you write each day, you may not be able to be objective about what is or isn't working/part of the story.
So with this in mind, let's revisit a previous writing, the leaf and concrete from a last week.
I can feel the last of my filaments holding onto my woody birthplace, it just releasing me into the world. No teary goodbye, no warm embrace just letting go. What an amazing feeling that must be, to be able to just let the memories be what they are a moment in the past. Living with the regret, the what-ifs, the could haves, the should haves, the would have beens is exhausting, but it keeps me busy, alive. I know I've lived, I've done something in my life, but, and there always is, but it could have been more. But because that moment was cut short, my story isn't finished, that moment will live on in my mind because I wasn't allowed to finish what it should have been. A silly statement in itself, the story was finished, just not by me. I float, carried by my new love, on to bigger an better adventures. I hope the wind picks up to carry me far away from this home, to be able to forget why I want to let go, why I am running. Perhaps I've read too many teen novels and expect my love to chase after me. Well of course he should, I am the sun, you worshipped me, and now you have the audacity to think you can survive without my warmth. The beginning of the school year brought a tension, a sadness that wasn't there before. It was me, my once ebullient self, lost in her own self pity. Why the sadness, why can't you understand, why can't you deal with me. The good the bad and the depressed. I should've known. I give and give and when the fun stops, so do people. Do i desperately seek out the broken, so I can fix them, am I a magnet for the do-it-yourselfers and why can't I find my carpenter?
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
This was the beginner class. For advance procrastinating, tune in tomorrow, because I have a full list of things I should be doing.
Ok, that took 5 mins, only 5 more to go. What else.....what else....I can't, I can't, I can't. Why do I say things in threes, weird. My fingers are just sitting on the keys, waiting for brilliance to spew from them. They have a mind of their own, right now I'm not even thinking, my fingers are just moving. My mind is filled with junk, distractions. OMG, I just looked up to the tv screen and the guy from 90210 is wearing socks in the pool? WTH? Ok, I'm done, shoulders are hunched over, I can't anymore, I'm just typing to type, to get 10 mins out. what to write, what to think. It all seems the same. The same sadness and lack of imagination. The same phrases pulled together just in a different story. See the story, see the characters, see the end. It would help to see the end, I always have a great start, but I never know the arc I'm going on. Why does it have to suck so much. I'm trying right? I've written a bit everyday. But can these bits be a part of my masterpiece. Hmmmmm, I wonder.....
Monday, October 13, 2008
Wait, that is me, well almost. I wasn't blond. The guy wasn't always the quarterback, but for some odd reason I still wonder about, they fell madly and deeply for teenage me. I never really tried to impress I was just me. Crazy 'ol me. But somewhere along the way I've lost this person. She was fearless, she was fun, she was a goofball and didn't give a rats ass about anyone or anything. No was not an option. Where did she go? Why did she conform? Why did she give up?
I have become a cliche, which I have avoided and attempted to elude. I'm a grown up and I have no idea what I want to be. I just want to be fabulous, to be remembered, to be immortalized for my lifelong accomplishments. I want people to think of me now, what they did when I was younger. No one ever doubted I was destined for greatness, heck I didn't even doubt it. I knew I was fucking awesome and nothing could touch me and now I am trying to live up to my own dreams for myself, which by the way I actually have no idea what it is. I want people from my small town America to bask in my greatness and regret the way the passed me over.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
"Just keep living is free enough that you can't really ever make the wrong choice. And it's not an ownership idea…Sometimes it's as basic as waking up and saying, 'Thanks for another d-a-y,' you know? It wasn't guaranteed. Other times, when you got other things going for you, it's 'What do I do with all the gifts I've been given?' Sometimes it's, 'Let's really bear down and get to work.' Other times it's, 'Nope, it's time to just sit here and relax and have a little listen to some music.' Whatever that is, it's something personal to everybody, it's not just me. It's helped me navigate."
Read the full article by Jennifer Cady.* Article has been removed
When she did have a "real" job she would never have let this happen. But with the real job, she was also coming home crying everyday and was always angry. Now that her unemployment has run out, she may actually have to make a decision and decide who she is. Wow, that's the quite a statement. Was she truly thinking that to herself, or was that outloud? Fuck! Really?
Where or when she did she loose her "cajones"? Who did this to her? Ok, now she was really loosing her mind and being this person. Holy fuck? Oh no, she's having a her "Pooh moment"...think...think...think.
From the time she was 10 she knew what she wanted out of life. Or at least her father did. Every time he introduced her it was "this is my daughter Ashley, she's going to be a lawyer someday" and she smiled in agreement. She never wanted to be a teacher or a nurse, lawyer sounded good to her. She did go through a brief phase of wanting to be an astronaut, she had looked into Space Camp and knew everything an 11 could about the cosmos. But that was beyond her shabby means. She also had the forever dream to be a model or actor, but again how could she ever to the big city to make this dream happen? So, she turned to her back
"The courage to follow your gut"
Friday, October 10, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
But here I am alive and well, placed in this hospital, because she was worried about me. She stands on the other side of the glass talking to doctors choosing my fate. I am still sprawled on the floor. From the corner of my eye, I see someone taking notes. Great! I wish I were double jointed at this moment so I could do something to freak them out. Maybe not, because then they would restrain me, and that would not be fun. They would place me safely in a bed, arms pinned to my side, cover me with a blanket and tend to my every need.
No, just lay here, don't move. Pretend you are a majestic maple leaf in all it's fall glory that has just lazily fallen from its perch high up in the sky. Shh! Can you hear it? The nothing. What a beautiful sound. My leafy self would gaze longingly up to my former home, next to all my branch mates, friends, who have yet to succumb to their fate. I could feel the tug of the wind coaxing me away, come with me, it would whisper in my ear. Do leaves have ears? My home would gently hold me, not quite wanting to give me away. My stem would try reluctantly to hold on, you can't let go of your home, where will you live next?, I would think. But the wind would whisper to me that there is a world out there to see, and he could take me wherever I wanted to go. I feel the last bits of tree letting go of my stem. I billow in the wind as my branch mates call to me, I'm not sure what they are saying, it's just shrieking. The wind carries me for a while, I lay in his open arms floating through my existence. Slowly, I float to the ground and let out a sigh. I haven't really travelled that far from my home. I see it above me. What treachery is this I think? The wind promised me the world and I am but a mere block from my home, unable to return. A gentle hand picks me up and waves me about. I see a small face look deeply into me. Her cheeks are rosy against her ivory skin. She is bundled with hat and mittens as sprinkles of rain begin. We run, she yells to someone in the distance. Small puffs of white escape her lips as she explains the beautiful leaf she has found. We travel further, to her home I suspect, she dries the rain from me and places me in a large book. What madness is this I think? I can feel the energy draining from me, I am brittle, dry, is this death? The cherub reaches for my dried perfectness. She preserves me in wax paper. I will be on display now, for all to gawk at. I am dry and withered, merely covered in shiny wax. It is a facade.
I hear someone calling my name, it echoes in this concrete peace. They're sending me home, for now. Goodbye white room, goodbye cold concrete. Why must I go and feel the warmth and colors of the world? Cold concrete is nice.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
I have to get writing. After my last vomit of self indulgence I am at a loss of what to write. I re-read the post from the other day, not believing that came out of my head. Thinking it would help me, I try and move forward. Nope, the road block is still up, I can't function properly. I am so in my head I can't let it go. Why can't I just let it go. Just be better and not worry what else is out there. What to write, what to write.....My head is empty, I need to write something productive, this has to be part of my show, why else would I waste this precious time for something that is just going to sit out there in the universe and not be of any use to anyone. As Winnie the Pooh says...think...think....think....Right now I just wish I could make myself cry, I have a play opening in 3 days and I have no emotion for it. Stop thinking of the words, just be there in the moment. How freakin' hokey is that. I used to be able to think of something and cry, but I can't. Get out of my head, out, out, out. Just cry, be sad. Wait, you can't, then what will make me cry next time. I can't let all my pain go. What will keep me warm at night? That's what the pain is for, or is it? Happiness makes you warmer, I think. Instead of just sitting there, not moving, wallowing in your own pain. You jump, you move, you shake. Your heart races, pumping blood, making you flush. Just like when you find that cutie who makes your heart skip and makes you want to be happy. But then it all ends, when the honeymoon is over, and angry, moody person sets in. What a vicious circle? Why are we here, what's the point? Life it seems would be better off it just weren't there.
Friday, October 3, 2008
While attempting to write this epic story, I have found myself stalled on several occasions. I know what I want to write, what I need to say, but it doesn't seem to come out, it stays stuck in some neuro-pathway unable to escape the hell I am putting it through. Once complete, will people come to see it? Will they want to hear what I have to say? Will they still like me after I've said it? By writing what I need to write, I will be exposing people to the inner working of my head. Which, I must say, is a scary place to be.
I have closed myself off from people in attempt to save my self the heart ache of people. How they fuck you over in the end. A teacher once told me that the best friends I would make would not be in elementary school. Wow, was she wrong. Sure some of them screwed me over, but at then end of the day we were still friends and played jump rope. We weren't sneaky and selfish like people are when they grow up. They didn't intentionally do it, but now girls do, and that's jacked up.
I try to pinpoint the exact moment I lost faith in my fellow girlfriend and I think I found it. Her name was Renee and she was a piece of work. It ended with her slowly moving my belongings from the living room into my bedroom in the apartment we shared and then eventually she stopped talking to me, and when she did, she would physically turn her back to me. Now let me tell you, I am a very easy going person, I go with the flow. I had just moved to the big city and we had lived together for 6 months or so and all I wanted to do was have fun. I had made friends at work and always invited her out with us. So what did I do wrong? I dated, but still invited her out. I knew it had all ended when I was in the hospital for a day-patient procedure and the hospital I was at was just down the street from her office. She was scheduled to pick me up at 4:30. Well I got done a little earlier and the nurse called her, and she told the nurse that she could not leave. WTF? First off, the health care system in the U.S. is jacked up, dude I just finished getting small thingies removed my body and have been unconscious all day and have been in recovery for a mere half hour and now you want to kick my drugged ass out?
She worked in a doctors office, they would've understood! I realize I sound like the selfish one now, but I beg to differ, because when the nurse asked if I had someone else to call, I gave them the number of a guy I had been only seeing a couple of weeks (and who by the way, did not know I was in the hospital) AND HE LEFT WORK TO COME AND GET ME. Now you're probably thinking, of course he did, he wanted "something" in return. But I disagree. Had the tables been turned, I would've left work early to pick up her selfish ass, so no I am not selfish.
So after this rant, she is where my distrust with people started. Next came the two secretaries that I worked with at my first grown-up job. The first, went and told the owners of the company that I had slept with one of the partners at the office (who was married to one of the other partners). TOTALLY NOT TRUE. She also had the impression that I was trying to steal away her high school boyfriend, whom I had met only once, while very intoxicated and was SO NOT MY TYPE. I'm not really into big reservation guys. Tall yes, girthy no (which he was). I also think she was disappointed in me for not being the Indian princess she was. Her mother was some tribal big wig and she lived and breathed being Indian (even though she didn't even speak her language the hypocrite) at least I am aware of what I don't know.
Next was her pal, who again was damaged goods. She was my first exposure to people living beyond their means and not giving a damn about it. That should have been my first clue, but I am or at least I was, just like a little puppy, I just wanted someone to pet me? I thought she was a friend and treated her as such, sharing things with her and in the end she got laid off/fired from the company and never called me again.
It has now been 10 years, phewph that's a long time, yet I still harbor this resentment and I have grown accustomed to not sharing with anyone, not even my partner. Why should I? it's like talking to a wall. I used to get upset by the non-response, but again I have resigned myself to them not listening, so I've just stopped sharing.
Thus is the reason I have all this bottled up angst that is stopped in my throat like a cork. I am a shaken bottle of Prosecco with the wires of the cork straining to hold the bubbles in. Fear takes me over to think of what would happen if the wires failed. All my bubbly goodness would be shared with the world and I would be nothing but an empty bottle to be placed in the recycling bin.
I guess, to be reincarnated as something else, but what?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Haha, sorry I made myself laugh.