Stuck

The weight is crushing me. I'm laying down, and 40, 50 lb. dumbbells are on top of my chest, slowing pushing all of the happiness and joy out of me like a slowly deflating balloon. The storm clouds are dark as midnight, swirling around me and pouring down on top of my head, only my head. I've forgotten my umbrella. Or did I have one in the first place? I don't even know.

My entire body feels leaden. Like it's hard to move. Everything around me is kind of hazy and thick, like suddenly life is taking place underwater. That's what this feels like, though...as though I'm laying on the bottom of the ocean looking up, up, up and the tiniest pinprick of light above is the daylight. So far away it seems like a dream. I don't have the energy to swim towards it. All I can do is lay there and wonder how on earth I got to the bottom of the damn ocean.

I feel as though there is a thin plexiglass wall separating me from everyone else. I'm glad for it. I don't want my bubble burst; I don't want anyone to touch me and realize that I'm actually as cold as ice when they thought I was alive and well. Sometimes I wish I were deaf so I could go through life without having to interrupt the elaborate fantasies that take place in my head. Fantasy is much better than the real world.

When will this end? I'm so exhausted. I'm so drained. My body is like a limp noodle. Crusted to the stove and forgotten about. I'm so done with feeling this way. Over and done.

Trick or Treat?

 Sometimes I think it would be cool to have the ability to levitate things with my mind. It would be super useful, in addition to being super awesome. I'd never have to worry about changing a tire, vacuuming would be easy, and I'd never have to strain my muscles to lift heavy things.

 If only we could make things possible by wishing them into existence.

Sometimes I wonder if I made it all up in my head. I wonder if the casual touches, the conversation that flows easily as water, the gazes...was that all never there? I can't be that insane. Sometimes I just want to run up to him like a crazy person and smell his wonderful smell and hug him tightly. But that would be no bueno. Also, I'm sure his GIRLFRIEND wouldn't appreciate it.

I always fall for the unavailable. The unattainable, the tied-down, the not-interested. But this time it's different.

What if someone knew the biggest secret of your life? I feel drawn to him because he does know. He comforted me in my time of need; that means a lot to me. I can't really describe it, because when I do, I feel like an idiot. A stupid, stupid little girl who has a crush, like I'm going to go pick him a bouquet of dandelions off of the playground, then ask him to push me on the swings. Which kind of sounds like fun, now that I mention it.

I don't know, I usually just go for things in life. I just generally grab guys by the balls and demand what I want. But this time is different, I think. This one is special. Maybe I'll just take my time and see where it leads me.

-----

But I don't know, what to do? I'm so impatient in matters of the heart. Maybe it's the fact that EVERYONE around me is engaged, shacked up or otherwise tied down. Maybe I'm such a husk of a human being that I can't stay interested in anyone long enough for them to garner an interest back in me. And believe me, it's depressing as fuck that he's already spoken for. Guys like him just don't up and dump perfectly good relationships, especially not for girls like me. He isn't Matthew McConaughey and life isn't a romantic comedy. It's not the Wedding Planner. Hey, at least my name is Jennifer!

I'm going to bed now. The real world is much more blah than the fantasies that play out in my head. Wake me up when it's Sunday, and I get to pretend, just for a few hours, that he could actually be mine.

Red Wine Stain

It's 1:25 in the morning, and I really want some Taco Bell.

I'm an obsessive-compulsive, type-A control freak with ADD, so I'll make a mental list of reasons why I should/shouldn't go to Taco Bell at 1:25 AM on a school night. (Even though I'm in college, my school-teacher mother's vocabulary has rubbed off on me, thus, Sundays will forever be known as "school nights") Even if I have 20,000 more reasons NOT to go to Taco Bell, my inner fat girl will win, as it always does. As soon as I get to the car, I'll instantly be regretting my decision. I'll regret it even more the second the first taco supreme hits my lips. I'm such a weirdo, I know.

I'm anxious, hyper. I've spent half the night pacing around my living room like a caged ferret. I'm drinking Kool-Aid and eating pretzels dipped in cream cheese, the official snack of sorority girls. I need to get up, get out, do something. Be in control of something. I haven't driven my car in almost a week, and I'm getting itchy and antsy.


One of my best friend blew the only guy I've ever loved. I'm not as mad about it as I should be, and that scares me more than anything that happened involving his dick and her mouth.

I've run out of Kool-Aid, but I'm still eating my pretzels. I'm too lazy to get up and get more, which pretty much sums up my entire existence.

I've been let down so often, hurt so many times in so many ways that I think I'm numb to it all. My entire life has a giant callous on it. I can't feel anything anymore, because I've been roughed around the edges so much. Maybe I'm whining. Maybe it's all, "life's tough, get a helmet". I think about the people of Japan, how the nuclear workers know they're going to die soon from being exposed to so much radiation. I think about the people of New Orleans. I think about the little girl who got shot in the Arizona shootings, and suddenly I feel like a horrible human being. Like a selfish, inconsiderate worm. Putting your sufferings in perspective is really a great way to make you simultaneously feel a little bit better and a little bit like a jerk.

I feel like a slightly deflated football. Still fun to play with and be around, but doesn't quite have the old magic it used to. Something is missing. Alright, moving on. I sound like a bad depression medication commercial. But damnit, that depressed little blob is just so cute. I'll invest in psychopharmacology if that blob is happy again.


Something needs to change. I need to get better. I don't even know where to start. I can't remember where it started, and I can't fathom an end. I can't keep pushing it down, and ignoring it and pretending like it doesn't hurt or doesn't exist.

I'm watching American Idol (on DVR of course) and it's Casey Abram's turn. "You know what was wrong with that performance??" Jimmy Iovine shouts. "EVERYTHING!!!" Jimmy Iovine is like one of those sadistic high school football coaches who makes their players run until they vomit and pass out from heat stroke while he laughs and polishes his sectional championship trophies in his office. I look up to see his "transformation". He went from looking like the ginger love child of Seth Rogen and Zack Galifinakis to the ginger love child of Seth Rogen and Zach Galifinakis with a trimmed beard and haircut. It's a start. But the point is, Jimmy is right. What's wrong with me? EVERYTHING. This is a sickness, an illness that is invading and creeping into every aspect of my life. It's like spilling red wine on a white tablecloth. You could spill seven drops and the stain would still be massive as fuck. You look at it and wonder how in the fucking hell that the stain got that big. That's how I fell about my life. Sometimes I look at my mess of problems and wonder how the hell it got this out of control and how they somehow crept into every aspect of absolutely everything.


It's now 2:33 AM. Maybe I'll just get McDonald's.