It's very humid out today. My hand stuck to the doorknob as I came in this evening. And that's how life is today: just kind of slimy and clingy...
I've been working well over two weeks straight with no day off. 56 hours last week and 43 or so this week... So forgive me if my updates haven't been very frequent. I know it. I suck.
I'm eating bacon. And drinking Coke. About the healthiest meal I've eaten in gahd knows how long. The bacon sort of tastes like mucus. It's kind of weighing down my esophagus, pressing down on me like heat, like dirty, wet heat. Have you ever had the distinct impression that your esophagus was sweating? Yeah.
I came onto my manager today. It was a complete and total accident, I swear to gahd, and I managed to slip, "don't take it the wrong way," into the sentence, and who knows how personally he took it, but I feel as though I mailed him a cassette tape of that Amber song, "Sexual," with a card attached reading: "Uh, please fuck me; Love, Helena." Oh well. It's probably not as bad as it seems. I mean, I was just making fun of his history of dating chicks he's worked with... Dammit.
The other day, I found a dead baby bird lying in the middle of a parking lot. It was raining, and the bird was sort of in a puddle. That night, I watched a rerun of X-files: one of the more upsetting ones. Usually, I can just brush it all off, but lately, I haven't had TIME to brush anything off. And so things cling to me like plastic wrap clings to warm sausages.
Like the letter in my bookbag. I wrote it, finished it, signed it, and have been carrying it around in my bag, too chickenshit to even read it back to myself, much less give it to its intended audience. Actually, I almost debated crossing out Peter's name at the beginning of the letter and addressing it to Nathan. I tell Nathan everything. For several months, I've been writing down all the things I can't say in this journal and addressing it to Nathan. I haven't shown any of it to him, and maybe I never will, but I feel safe somehow, telling him the secrets I don't tell anybdy else. But this letter, this letter in my bookbag -- that's different... This is one of those clings-to-you-like-plastic-wrap-on-sausage secrets; it just doesn't relent... Soon... somehow, soon, I will put it to rest.
I bought the latest Limp Bizkit CD. Forgive me, intellectualism, for I have sinned. I like it anyway. But right now, it's making the air feel heavier. I think I need a change of atmosphere; maybe something kind of wimpy from the 'seventies, like Supertramp or something. Or maybe I'll just sit in silence for a little while. I don't really remember the last time I just sat in silence for awhile.
Peter and I have been talking. Sort of. It's easier now that we're not living together; we can get away with not really talking about much of anything. You can cram five or six days' worth of small talk into a few hours, and you don't have to worry about, "so, where were you last night?" or "are you pissed off at me?" or "what'd I fucking do NOW?" I love Peter, but sometimes dealing with him is very difficult. There was a Peter-bashing party in my store today, and I mostly just refused involvement of any sort. I mean, if he's lied to me recently, I guess I don't really care, because he hasn't SAID anything to me recently, except, "Yeah, Dogma is a really good movie," and "I'm tired and hungry." Peter and I have a one-dimensional relationship right now, I think, and I kind of like it that way. It's not as intense as it used to be, but then again, I never really liked the intensity of us yelling at each other. So, to all the Peter-bashers in the world, if you've got a problem, oh well and I'm sorry, but I'd rather not add drama and rumors and speculation back into my life. Oh yeah, especially not at work.
I feel heavy. Not unhappy, not exhausted, not in pain, but just heavy. Draggy. Weary. As if my whole life suddenly became a humidifier pointing inwards, and the humidity is surpassing 100%.
All I want in the whole world:
* A nice sunny day to go to the park and lay in the sun.
* Pantene shampoo.
* Orange juice.
* My bills to be paid and groceries to be in my refrigerator and my landlord not to keep calling and asking for me. Oh, and the fucking garbage to be taken out.
Did I mention Pantene and a nice sunny day to sleep in grass?
And for the words "lighten up" to just magically happen to me...
~Helena*