Life is a series. Every segment tells a new story, and every story holds unique meaning in our hearts. Back to back features each molded to fit the wanting eye. One beginning where the last has ended. Streams flowing into one another, webbing through the earth, all sourced from the loins of a bottomless cauldron, and emptying into the mouth end where the pot is ever hungry. It soggies the soil we stand upon, while sweeping in planks for us to pave our paths to more water rich banks.
I hate drama. I yelled at my palm pilot again today. I'd like to think that it was my fault. My fault for trusting it. My fault for believing in it. I put my faith in it, and with that faith came responsibilities that it had never asked for. But it didn't have to ask, did it? It knew all along what I was doing, and what would become of it, and what would become of me. It needed to be wanted, and wanted to be used. The more I learned to rely upon it, the worse the nightmares became.
The nightmares began at Gilligan's island. How did he live with himself? How would I live with myself? The answer was that I couldn't. I hoped for he and I every weekday, but we were helpless. We were threads of the same fabric. My mistake was caring, while his mistakes were everything but.
I remember that sometimes he would cut away to commercial, and I would see this rabbit. Except it wasn't really a rabbit, it was a person. And there were these kids that taunted and humiliated him, saying that he wasn't human. They would laugh as he begged, wasting away at their feet while they bathed in delicious fruit shapes, and made light of a rabbit's silly absence of rights. Witnessing that tore what was left of me apart. I tried to think positive, but it just kept happening. I was told that endurance is what makes a hero, but the wounds were the real me, inside and out.
I secluded myself then. Canned in the laughter that kept me on point, and living as an actor in this thing we call life. Years passed before I let myself trust again. I was pulled from the abyss by a line up from above. I felt an overwhelming thankfulness that it was Friday. It was warm, and I can't explain how, but I knew that it meant me no harm. It was the first time I was ever truly happy.
That too was temporary. A taste of what could be. A sweet and fleeting prime bit of time whose memory still brings me comfort when I awake screaming in the night.
Everyone wants to be a special victim until it happens to them. Every heart throb is harboring darkness. Every climax spawns from conflict. I became a woman when I saw one on TV. No one should have to go through that. It still bleeds if I eat enough.
When the internet was invented, I had nowhere to hide. My shame was transformed into public knowledge. The struggle was made real. The next thing I knew, I was receiving emails about my weight, and the predators in my area. When I realized that there were other people with problems, I panicked. I tried to stop them, but they didn't understand.
On a bad day I type bigger. Bigger than you, and you are not me. I try to make jokes to soothe the raw sting of reality, but in my mind I'm still trapped on that island, condemning everyone I love.
Rick killed Shane because of me. I let him get too close. Sometimes I wonder if I did it on purpose. I'm a married woman, after all. Do vicarious lives matter?
Does my affair with comedy bang bang make me any less human? Can I have a little fun today? Will it be a changing day in my life? Females are strong as hell, but I fear I've already been broken. My wings barely have strength enough to save me from embarrassing leaks.
Is there another realm in my closet? Will I find change in the couch? Should I follow my nose?? Am I ready for spaghetti?? I can taste the rainbow!!
Everywhere I look, there's a hand to hold on to. When I see their happy faces smiling back at me, where do I go? The answer is home. Where I can sip on my slim fast, as the cold seasons pass.
Nothing lasts forever aside from the emotions we leave behind, and the scars in which we photograph. When a river runs dry, there's no less water in the world. All I can do is keep a dream journal handy, and ask that nobody reads it.
Maybe I haven't made my last mistake. Maybe I'll never sleep through the night again. I'm excited to see what's in store for me. I want every juicy detail. I want to be able to look back and say, "I saw that."
What will you do? How will you tell your story? How will you face the impossible odds stacked against you? How will you die??
I can't wait. The anticipation is killing me, but I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here for every step by step of the way. I'm staying for the long haul. I'm along for the ride.
I'm Princess Garbageface, and I'm tuning in live.
