The Chronicles

I have just now decided that I am officially fucked in the head. I've had many realizations like this recently, but now I think the full impact is hitting me. I was outside reading a book and I started shaking, my heart racing, and I felt that impending doom. I'm not happy.

This move has been the biggest adjustment I've ever had to make in my life. Even after the divorce, I still had friends that I got to hang out with, and a swimming pool in my backyard. Hell, you think a swimming pool can't cure your woes, you try swimming every night in the dark in 100 degree heat and tell me you don't feel peace. Here I have my family and one friend an hour away who really, truly know me. I've met a couple of new people that I'm getting to know, but nothing beats those who really know you. I love new adventures. I love change. However, this feels like too much for me.

This place is strange. Strange in good ways, but strange in many bad ways. Okay, not really strange, but it's just not me. I'm so damned emotional it's driving me nuts. Granted, I have severe PMS right now on top of a cold that is finally ending, but still! I went and got my hair cut tonight, and the woman does my sister's hair, so she knows some about my move and such. She was asking me how I was handling the change, and I started to tear up! In the middle of being hairsprayed to death, I'm tearing up. So, yeah, hairspray alone scares me, but this wasn't the hairspray this time.

Don't get me wrong, there are certain things I love here, but they are definitely few and far between. I don't want to feel like this, like giving up, but if I had the money and a nice-paying job waiting for me, I'd be running home right now. Amy and I were talking about this last week, and I told her I felt so stupid. Here I've left Seattle three times now, and I've returned twice. Shouldn't THAT have told me something? No, instead I take every little thing in life as a sign, and then go run with it. This time it has left me heartbroken. She told me to look at this as a time of self-reflection, and that at least I'm seeing a lot of things about my life and the decisions I've made. It's true, and with all this "self-reflection" time, I better be a fucking guru by the end of this upcoming year!

I run from things that hurt. Always have. I figure that a move, a new job, different colored hair will change the way I feel, but it doesn't. I know that whole saying, "No matter where you go, there you are," but for some reason I feel the depth of that saying so much right now. I can't run. I mean, if I move back home, am I running from my shit here? I don't know anymore. I think I'm just totally messed up. I desperately miss home; I am terrified at the prospect of breaking my dating/relationship sabbatical that has seriously gone awry; I love who I am on the inside, but despise who I am on the outside; and I am slowly morphing into a hermit/crazy cat lady. My fear of not letting people you love know it because you might never see them again, has gone from me always telling my friends and family that I love them, to me saying it to my cats when I leave! Tonight I was busted saying, "Bye kitties! Momma loves you!" by my new neighbor across from me, as well as his moving men. They looked at me like I was a freak! And the scary thing is, I think I am!

Ugh. I just want to feel normal and happy. I haven't felt truly happy for a while now. And when I do feel happy, I assume I can be happier elsewhere, an pack my car and go. My friend back home is playing a show tonight, and I was sad because I wanted to see him play, and hang out with the other friends going. My friends back home are all doing stuff for New Year's Eve, and I'm longing to be there like I was last year, laughing and trying not to bite it in heels on the steep hills to Pike Place Market where we were last year.

I love New Year's. The clean, fresh plate all ready to see what kind of treat is going to be placed upon it that year. However, this year I feel scared for it. I wonder how much more I really can handle before I snap and run back home? I wonder if something will change and I will start to love this strange place that smells of Burger King, and whose crickets are one of the few things that soothe me at night?

I can only hope that at the end of this new year, my plate will be full with lots of great memories, fun times, life lessons, and laughter. If not, there's always another road trip with the cats cross-country.

I am sick. I am soooo fucking sick. Santa gave me the equivalent to coal this year, and gave me a nasty cold that I woke up with at 3 AM on Christmas night. I luckily had the next day off, so I could use it productively and inhale massive amounts of vitamins and lay on the couch all day, waking up with drool all over my face. It was beautiful. Seriously, I can't imagine why I'm single when I'm waking up sideways with drool running down my face, leaving a small, wet spot on the couch cushion. It was pure art.

This morning I drug my snotty, coughing, sneezing ass into work and inhaled more vitamins. Then my mother brought me gold...cold medicine. I'm not sure what kind it was, but it had acetaminophen in it. I'm supposed to avoid this, but I was in hell and willing to take anything to make myself feel better. This is where the adventure begins... Read More

There are many of us who feel that we're here for a higher purpose. Whether to inspire, love, change lives, or simply just make people laugh. I came to a point some time ago where I felt that I was here for a reason. I wasn't sure what the reason was, but I felt like it was something good and had to do with either bringing about smiles or simply making people shake their head.

After today, I am convinced that goes beyond that. I believe that I am a mythical creature disguised as a human. There is simply no way that I can explain the things that happen to me with reason. I have wings like a fairy, though one of my shoulder blades is double-jointed and can grotesquely rotate without me moving it. And I have no horn jutting out of my forehead, though some could debate that from the god-awful nose I inherited.

The mysteries of the things that I experience are one that belongs in dirty fairy tales that you can only purchase online. Tales of poo-nicorn. So with that, I share my story. Read More

I'm having a major panty issue. About twice a week I go pee for like the second or third time in a day, and that's when I notice it...they're inside out. How does this happen? I dress myself in the light every morning and have been really double-checking my panties each morning to make sure I'm putting them on right, but somehow I think they flip around when I'm not looking. That's seriously the only logical explanation here.

This has been happening for about five years, ever since my ex-husband and I divorced. Maybe him or the marriage held the key to stable panty putting on. At least they're only inside out. There was one day that I was at work a few years ago and my underwear was killing me, I'm talking weggie in my coo. It was painful and I would dig them out, but within seconds they were attempting their impersonation of the jaws-of-life again. I finally couldn't take it anymore and I ran to the bathroom to remove them. That's when I made the discovery. I was wearing a thong and had not put them on inside-out, but sideways. Yes, my friends I had the crotch on my hip and the thin, hip strap was living out the term "South of the Border". I had my own Great Wall of China-town.

Now, in all of this sideways, inside-out pantiedom I have to appreciate that at least my mistakes were hidden. However that has not always been the case. Today in discovering my panties were once again inside-out, it reminded me of a very dark night. A night that is rarely spoken of......
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Oh the South. It's funny to me that growing up there were things that romanticized the South so much. Look at Gone with the Wind. I mean, even through the Civil War, Atlanta burning, disease, loss and slavery, Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler still made it all seem so romantic.

There were books I read that made me long to live somewhere with history, heat and lightening bugs. In recent years I fell in love with the three Ya-Ya Sisterhood books. Now those all took place in Louisiana, but its still got the makings of any Southern state...the sultry, humid nights; evenings sitting on a porch swing; dips in a swimming hole....it all seemed dreamy and seemed to draw me in. I thought of those things amongst the many reasons to move out to North Carolina.

Now, there are some things that as many of you know, I love here. I love being close to my mom, sister and niece. I love the weather and the inexpensiveness to live here. I love that for the most part, people are quite friendly here, and it's not so damned "LOOK AT ME!" when you go out like back home. I love being near my friend and her son in Charlotte, and I love that though I'm not quite there yet, I know there are many adventures waiting for me here.

Saying all of that, I still think about that romantic notion of the South. Instead, now that the leaves have fallen, I sit here with a view of a shitload of garbage in the ravine next to me. I hear people cussing each other out, throwing things, and today I enjoyed the lovely chants of children yelling "Crackhead! Crackhead!" to another little boy. Daily I endure drivers who apparently think their turn signal lever must surely be their rocket boost lever, and since they're wary of a speeding too fast, they fail to ever take the risk of using it. There are rarely any sidewalks in this city, and just as few crosswalks. I had to run across four lanes of traffic in slippers when my car failed to start this morning. I experienced being called a Yankee on Friday night, even though my sister said I'm not a Yankee, but a Westerner. It wasn't derogatory, but instead turned into a mission of one drunk man to make me yell, "Yeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaah!" every time he yelled, "Pacific Northwest represent!"

Then there is the drunk, white guy in the ravine. He's become my new favorite thing about High Point. I encountered this fine man a few weeks ago while I sat out on my balcony with a glass of wine and a book. I have seen plenty of people cut through the ravine, but none have been noticeably trashed like this man. The dragging of his feet on the pavement is what made me lift my head initially. There I saw drunk, sweater man, beer in hand, stumbling to the edge of my parking lot. He swayed back and forth as he made his way down the slight hill to the ravine. He tried to enter at one point, but I think a large pile of garbage was blocking his way. He shuffled to the left, took one step and ate shit. Sprawled on the ground on his belly, he impressed me that he still managed to be holding his bottle of beer.

He pushed himself up, took a drink of his beer, then stumbled around in the ravine. It's a pretty narrow ravine, but I swore he was going to get lost. He would stumble to the left for a while, look around in the dark, then stumble to his right. He finally made it across and entered the parking lot of some building on the other side. Thinking that was the end of it, I went back to my book. But no. This was not the end of it. I notice a lighter being flicked on in the parking lot, then "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeep!" a firecracker was set off and shot into the sky.

"What the fuck?" I whispered.

I see his shadow make it's way back to the ravine and hear him crunching around a bit before he resurfaces and leaves the ravine. What the hell? I mean, was he sitting in his apartment with his buddies playing Truth or Dare and he was dared to set off a firecracker? In his hours of drinking, did he start to feel nostalgic for the Fourth of July? Or was it a flare of sorts, to notify his planet to come pick him up? I was laughing at all this and called my mom to relay the latest white trash story.

A few nights ago he returned. This time, he looked pissed and had no beer bottle in hand. His fists were clenched and he barely moved his arms as he stomped towards the woods. He stormed straight through the parking lot, and into the ravine he so loves. I waited for another firework to go off, but instead I saw him walk over to the dumpster and start punching it. The echoes of his beating were loud, as was his cursing. Who beats a dumpster? A METAL dumpster? He beat it for a while and I continued to watch, shocked yet intrigued. Then it got much worse.

I saw the dumpster assaulter do something that looked like he was reaching in his pockets, but it wasn't his pockets. His legs spread apart and he growled loudly and then he peed on the dumpster.

I covered my mouth as I squealed.

Why is this man first beating on a dumpster, then peeing on it? And why did he growl when he peed? Was he trying to pass a kidney stone and didn't want to do so at home? Was his mother run over by a runaway dumpster and he wanted to avenge her death? Did he accidentally burn his couch with one of his fireworks, have to throw it away and then got angry about it and blamed the dumpster?

I have no clue what is wrong with this man, but I have to say, it's cheaper than a movie.