So I got a job the other day

So I got a job the other day...that make me think about the ole joke, So A Guy Walks Into A Bar - Don't know why but it does. Which THEN reminds me of when I was in NYC with Jay and saw a Nun with a suitcase actually walk into a bar....so you know I had to laugh and laugh and laugh...till a yellow taxi cab almost hit me....which reminds me of the time I was in Innsbruck and did Absinthe all night then had to walk to the train station to pick Ry up and nearly died by getting hit by a car...Really - one second I was walking and the next I was in the street touching a car's bumper and very confused how and when it got there...yummy. Argh.

So this week I am doing lots of things that I won't be able to when I start working regular normal people hours. I went to a day time movie alone, had lunch at Whole Foods, dentist, hair cut, wax, looked at new cell phones...and it's only Wednesday. Tomorrow I am going to do some shopping. I need some sensible shoes. I never thought I ever ever say that - let alone write it out for the world to see! My Shoes will miss me. And, oh, I will miss you, Shoes. Don't worry Shoes, I will visit you every 5 days or so.

I wrote a great poem today. I was driving up Magazine Street towards the city trying to get to my internship on time, and the people (people on the pavement...wow, I'm a nerd) really inspired me. It reminded me of the little city within the city: The French Quarter. I was driving on Magazine, and maybe, just maybe would have texted ideas for the poem or written it down while driving - but I've already been in a car accident on Magazine and Jena. I didn't need another...which is means I didnt't get the poem down. Society would have been moved.

I'm sorry I let you down.

Welcome!

Welcome Amy and Christine!

tortoise is dancing at satisfaction

2 a.m. - who loves you baby?

Once again it's 2 am and I am no closer to sleep. Sleep and I have always had an interesting relationship. I am told as a child I hardly ever slept - that I never wanted to miss anything. I would go and go until I would pass out....once in my mashed potatoes. I think I'm still like that. Actually I know I'm still like that. I'd never not do something in life just to sleep. Just yesterday my sis and I were at the grocery store and I saw that Price William is getting married. I told my sis, I told her we'd have to get up at like 4:30a.m. to watch it. She asked why. I said because it's in England - there's the time difference. She said, "won't it be relayed later? Can't I just watch it later?" I was like - ummm, no. That the thing - I want to experience it as it's happened. If I can't actually be in England - yes, I'm going to get my ass up and experience it at 4:30am. I'd never miss out on something just to catch it later on instant reply. Some people use the expression, "I'll sleep when I'm dead" - yea, that's about right. Not that I don't love by bed. I do love to crawl into clean sheets and sleep and sleep. But I don't really sleep when I am sleeping. No, I am a sleepwalker. A sleeptalker and a sleep-what-ever-else you can think of. I can remember times when I would wake up and be refreshed and feel good about the night's sleep. I don't think I've slept since August 25, 2005. The next day – our whole world changed and so did I. Nope, I can't recall having a single night's sleep that didn't involve some kinda ruckus. I've seen spiders, men walking about, and friends. I’ve had vivid dreams when I wake up with a start and I heard voices in my apartment. I’ve had dreams where I can see through my apartment to the outside yard….like I was a superhero with x-ray vision. I've woken up standing by the front door dressed fully in a suit ready for my day at work. One night I dreamed I saw a tiny camera in the corner of one of the pieces of art on my wall next to my bed. I woke up with it in my bed – which isn’t the weird part. The weird part is I remember doing it. I was aware of my actions but still unable to pull myself out of this other world. One morning I awoke to find I had taken all of the picture frames off of the wall and stacked them in neat little piles on the floor underneath where they should be on the walls. Mom says I've always been this way. When I was young and I would study particularly hard, and I assume stress about the situation, I would spend the night sitting up straight in my bed and regurgitate the Catholic prayers or French verbs I had just learned. Must have been pretty freaky for my mom for the nights I was spouting out French prayers. weird. My sister says she still can remember times when I would jump on top of her and scare the shit out of her. What? I was protecting her from the dinosaurs or whatever she needed to be protected from. Sounds like she needed to be protected from me! And maybe given her own room. I wish someone would protect me from myself. I have this whole other world that lives in my head. Not in a traditional crazy way – but an insanely imaginative way that never stops moving. An alternate reality of sorts. My brain never turns off. Not even when I’m pretending to sleep.

Lately I've been having to remind myself to breathe.

They say that people who are truly insane don’t think they are. So I've got that going for me, thanks Bill Murray.
There's so much to do and so much to say and so many dreams. I go back and forth on who to be…Hamlet or Fortibras. Be a man of thought or a man of action. Who am I? It’s a constant struggle. A struggle to keep putting myself out there and getting kicked in the mouth. I should be used to that scenario. Growing up with being called terrible names and told I would never amount to anything. Being told I should end it all because there’s nothing out there for me. Thanks to my own personal Hamlet.
Much of my problem is I've never been able to want anything. I think back and about myself and I realize that I've never really wanted anything and as Type A as I am, I really do go with the big picture proverbial flow. Being pushed this way and that way and this way and that - like a melodic nursery rhyme.
Allowing myself to want something leads to trying and trying leads to failing.
Just look at me now. Almost 20 years of education and it's very possible I will be asking friends and family, "Would you like fries with that?" Laugh if you will - but my life is not where it should be at 28. Say if you will, "what is should be?" I should be rungs up the ladder not fighting to stay afloat. I should be in a different place. My life is not at a should be point. My life seems to be standing still and I’m sinking inward from a pin hole at the top of my head.
I have no idea what I am doing. I am getting to know who I am. And that's one of the few perks.
There is a huge different between silence and being still. The old me? The old me hated silence. It was in the silence that i could hear the yelling. The screaming of truths. The frightening failures ringing while I sat in the bell jar. I still get uncomfortable with the silence. But I’m trying to make friends with it. I’m trying to make friends with myself.

I wake up in the night, soaked in sweat, muscles clenched - and have to tell myself to breathe. It's the only way to make it through.

A poop story. Somehow this has happened to me twice in one lifetime.

So I was at a store yesterday. I’ll spare you the name of the store – after this you might not want to shop there anymore - I was walking around and began to smell poop. I just thought that maybe the bathroom had backed up due to all the rain we have been having. Then I saw a head of me, well, I saw poop on the ground and in the same eye sweep, a man looking down at his son who was sitting a few feet from the poop. He was saying, “See what you just stepped in? See what happens when you don’t watch where you are going?” I don’t know what I was more appalled with – the poop on the ground or the fact that a man, presumably the boy’s father, was looking down at his son and yelling at him for not assuming he needed to watch out on the floor for poop. The poor kid was just looking sadly up at his dad. Poor kid. How was that his fault? So back to the poop...I was able to compose myself and went to another part of the store. I heard workers complaining and was able to learn that a woman apparently just pooped and let the poop out of her underwear. At different places in the store. Lots of customers had stepped in the poop and tracked it all over the place. At this point – I did have to leave. This reminded me of the time Mom, Magg and I were at Solo Serve and mom stepped on a turd. I must have been 10 years old. Magg says she remembers that day too. I mean, what type of person allows this behavior of themselves? I hardly ever show enough skin for a summer wardrobe and there are people (I think I can make this statement plural – being that statistically this must happen a lot because it’s happened twice just to me!) out there who while in public pull down their pants and let nature happen? I refuse to think that is natural. Is this a message to myself? Is life yelling, “See what you just stepped in? See what happens when you don’t watch where you are going?”

Microsoft WORD is telling me that turd is spelled incorrectly. Ha.

-Short Legs Magee