Industrial Me

Not. quite. right.

Well, here we are. On the eve of my b-day. The ‘big’ one, as they say. I’ve got no b-day cake; trying to slim down, remember? I DO think I’ll head out today to a couple of bakers and see what nice little munchies they may have available. Keep it small. I don’t want to feel like I have to spend extra hours in the pool for ten minutes of sweet in my mouth. *sigh* I just want the sweet. So any one of those little pre-made fabo desserts here in NL will work; a small bit of cake, a mound of creme, some fruit, a bit of shaved chocolate. You know: something simple. 😉 I kid. The desserts here are anything but simple, which is why I can go out and buy something super tasty as a treat and not feel cheated on a birthday cake. My day of choice will go like this: up for my water aerobics class and swim, back home to change up and head to the IMAX to see the new Hunger Games film in 3D, then off to my favorite Indian Restaurant for fresh biryani and chai tea. Before heading home, I’ll pop across the street at Pluto Coffeeshop and pick some more smoke up. Splurge on a high THC joint. Along the way, I’ll enjoy things. Window shop. Go into shops if I really see something I like. Smile at people. Just try to have a day that’s not sucking shit from the tailpipe of the Shit-ola Express.

I’m ‘behind’ in my head again; haven’t done much with language or cleaning or writing or anything else that I talk about needing to do. Hate that.

Expecting another call from Addiction Central. Probably on Wednesday (must be the day they call; Wednesday is the day my bro always gets called, too) during class. Since returning calls does jack shit, I’ll have to keep my phone out and my head alert. Pick the fucker up next time and not assume it’s someone else’s phone ringing and ringing and why don’t they just answer it? Yeah. That was this last week. The damn thing must have rung 20 times and I just sat there thinking ‘man! answer your damn phone!’ while all the time it was mine. Really on top of things that day.

Today I’m out hunting for George. It’s supposed to be our one clear day with no rain for another 10 days. I really hope it was him in that other canal. I really hope I’ll head over there and get my bread out and all the ducks will come in around me and I’ll say ‘George?’ and then there he’ll be, jumping up at me to grab bread out of my hand with that twinkle in his eye. If it isn’t George…and that thought alone makes me feel bummed out…well, there’s a lot of canals around. Maybe he did fly south; it’s hard to tell with so many geese and ducks and water birds everywhere. Maybe I’ll make a video: Searching for George the Duck. Just me at canals with bread, calling George’s name. Maybe a few close ups for good effect. Or maybe I’ll write a song for him. My cat, Sable, whom I lost before we moved here, is immortalized in three songs I wrote. George deserves at least one lyric.

Friday is open mic night. Been thinking about it with a bit of dread. As stated yesterday, chances are high that Ben will be there. I’m a bit worried he’ll try to cause a public spectacle, that he’ll feel the need to confront me or something while there since I haven’t responded to his last baiting statement. My head is in half and half mode: half of me wants to handle that possibility with maturity and calmly state exactly why I reacted the way I did. The other half of me wants to shout it out, loud enough to attract everyone’s attention. After all, if he’s gonna pull anything on me, I kind of feel like I SHOULD just state (very loudly):

After that date, I had nightmares about being raped. Being held down and choking. Bad fucking memories, and THAT’S what you brought out in me. So back the fuck off, motherfucker, or I’ll have you fucking arrested.

Embarrass the FUCK out of him. Make sure a few guys nearby come to stand a bit closer because they hear the word ‘rape’ and get into that protective mode. It’s not a mature way to handle things, but I’m not sure I’m so ready to be mature about this. I have a hard time saying ‘no’. I always feel pressured. Always. So maybe I need to blast him. Maybe I need to shout it out. I’d prefer to do it in a safe environment, in counseling. If I HAVE to do it in public because I’m feeling pressured, I will. But it won’t be pretty.

Then again, none of this is pretty. None of the shit in my head is nice to look at or smell or taste or feel….I’m getting as antsy as anyone else to get INTO counseling so I can start to get some of this OUT of me. Even tho it’s gonna be tough. I’d like to stop being a slave to my emotions. Stop being a bitch and throwing shit at the world when I get upset. Stop crying ceaselessly when I’m down. Stop my delusions of grandeur and just live on an even keel. I’ve done a bit already, but there’s still a long way to go.

I feel like an IKEA piece of furniture that came with no instructions. And a missing bolt or two. I did the best I could, all things considered. But my life isn’t quite balanced. It wobbles too much and spills everything. My quick fixes have worn thin; even that doubled up drinks coaster under the leg isn’t working so well anymore. Time to go back to shop class and build a new me. Industrial me.