Dart Between the Eyes
The internet knows me almost as well as I know myself. Debt Issues? This e-mail plaintively asks me, and I know that it's a spamatic hoaxy trick that wants to make me stupidly enter my credit card number into some kind of 1-2-3 website that will ruin my credit rating but it's kind of comforting to think that even in an absent, malicious sense, someone out there is peering into my life.
It's odd, my situation in these months. I feel untethered again, but I'm really yearning to be tied down to a project, to a job, to a location. I want...I think...to be forced into something. I want to be made to reconcile, and stand up and run towards something full-force, lactic acid flowing as freely as the air in my hair but the pain being meaningless because I'd be going toward my goal or at least away from this ennui, this state I am in.
I have no job. I am going back to school with no prospect of a job.
My sister is at my job and lords her money and everything over me and her purchases and her life of ease.
I don't know what I'm going back to college to meet. A new roommate. The whole old situation is gone.
I have no car. My car and all the money I put into it has been annexed for the "greater good of the family" and because I don't "drive" I have no right to call it "my car." This is frustrating because I feel like you can't just say, okay, today, no more amaxophobia. Today, we just drive all on our own and it's like we never had that accident and I never flipped out and never had that spastic attack. And because that's impossible, I have to hope for an even less likely event: the intervention of my family in order to rehabilitate me. This is like expecting Don Quixote to come in your bathroom door and ask you to run off with him to Holland for a few practice rounds. It's not only not going to happen, walking around thinking such things is going to turn you eccentric and sallow-faced.
My mother has a little booklet by her bed that she must have gotten many years ago when she was sick that is titled "Acceptance" and while even now it somewhat creeps me out...I feel as though I could write that booklet and the following series of manuscripts on the subject.
I kneel abeyante as Phedre would, and I become the best dead horse on two legs and while I have these salty, flu-tears, I still feel so distant from any response that would make change possible that it's all so ridiculous.
And my mother ran off to visit her sister and she knew that I'd want to go and I didn't ask until the last minute and she acted so disappointed, so I don't even know the words...as if she still thought I was some little baby desperate to do whatever she did. And I know that in certain ways, that's clearly true. But...I feel so isolated.
My other sister, the maid of honor...off with her friend to look at dresses. I get all hopeful I can go, but of course, I shouldn't and it isn't a big deal, but why does it feel like when stuff like this happens, people get a big thrill out of metaphorically lifting their leg and urinating all over my little, fragilily-constructed world where things are okay. I can see them get a rise out of it, like they know they have freedom and they know I'm in my little self-induced glass cage and ha-ha-ha, they laugh.
Me being eccentric and sallow-faced. Me projecting my problems on other people.
I think, that if my sister died at this exact minute, I'd dance on her grave. And that's the second time today I've said that. I also said I'd like have every cuss word and scream come back like a blade at her throat and then put the rest of her in a blender.
That's not good.
This is all going to hell.
Be back later for more hate.
