Well with that out of the way, I have decided a couple things. My mother pointed out that when W first claimed that I had scabies and gave it to him, she asked, "Did you ever see his bite marks?" And I mean I may have seen one or two, but really nothing significant. It's like locking someone in a room and telling them there is a war, but all they can do is hear the war, but they never SEE it. You know something is going on, but you're not sure what to believe.
Doing my laundry always makes me aware of where I live. Appropriately titled, I live in Skid Row. My gentleman caller did his usual comparison when I told him this, "I remember when I used to live in the ghetto..."
Well GC you don't live in the ghetto anymore, you live on the East side is a trendy part of Manhattan now! Before that you lived in a beautiful part of Brooklyn I would give my left hand for and before that you lived in the West Village.
So really if you don't mind GC, I love you and all that, but kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP!
"Someone show me a way to get out of here, cause I constantly pray I'll get out of here. Please won't somebody say I'll get out of here. Somebody give me my shot or I'll rot here! Show me how and I will, I'll get out of here. I'll start climbing up hill and get out of here. Someone tell lady luck that I'm stuck here! Bid the gutter farewell and get out of here. I'd move heaven and hell to get out of here!"
Really that sums up my feelings about how I feel about living. When I was little watching The Little Shop of Horrors and wondering what Skid Row was, I never knew I'd actually be living it some day. Granted it's not that bad, not THAT dangerous, but honestly it's not paradise.
I got my tattoo and it hurt slightly. It's drying out much quicker, but I'm glad I got it. Oh and if you were wondering this is the image I chose of Judy to have on my body for the rest of my life...
So one of the most depressing things about my trip back home was a talk I had with my mother. Actually I had several great talks with my mother, but this one upset me and I think it made her nervous. It wasn't a long talk, but after telling her about the stresses and all that I've been through. She asked a simple question:"But you're happy?"
And I stopped and responded awkwardly, "Well...you see...No I'm not. How can I possibly be happy when everything has been so bad? I've had health issue after health issue, I've been kicked out of apartments repeatedly and it's not let up once." It hurt to tell her this. I could tell she didn't wish to hear it either.
I continued, "Am I surviving is a better question, and I can say yes I am. I'm trying to stay strong and I live life on hope. I know that this can't be it. I can't keep living life this way. I often think of a day when I'll have a better place to live and my health will be improved and I'll be comfortable with where I am."
I know it sounds so melodramatic, but really that's my life nowadays. As I said, it is tempting sometimes to want to return to upstate NY (not where I LIVE, but somewhere like Saratoga or something) and have smaller worries. I felt such envy when my mother was getting stressed out about which pizza to order from Pizza Hut and if the coupons we had would cover the meal. It's not that I resent my mother or my family or anyone.
Just a wonderment at the different levels of stress we can have. I can't say my problems are anymore stressful than others. But I sometimes wonder when I see someone stress out about something so small, I think, "What would happen if they had to go through some of the things I go through? Would they handle it well or would it consume them?" Who knows. And hardly to say that I've lived a trying life, honestly, half of you don't even know what I'm talking about. It's hard when I do keep so much inside and seal it up with a smile.
I want to slap myself sometimes for how I can smile and laugh after some of the things I just did.
A small note: I REALLY am not complaining right now, more stream of consciousness right now. I'm not actually in a bad mood or anything.
I'm convinced my bed is EVIL. Sort of like the mattress in Hellraiser I & II. It's FULL of evil. And I have come to this obvious conclusion...
I am going to get a new bed either soon or when I move officially. Until this happens I will be sleeping on the floor from now on. It's very uncomfortable but for my sanity I must do this.
I did my laundry and in my quest of making myself sterile from every insect, parasite and germ that will touch my body, I destroyed my wool coat by throwing it into the wash and it came out COVERED in lint. It's irreparable, but it's also old so I threw it out.
Out with the old...
Last night I searched for a friend to come see The Grindhouse with me. My search was highly unsuccessful and I went alone. Something I don't like doing at the movies, for theater it is fine, purely cause I go for the show and to observe. The movies is different for me. Plus it was scary so I didn't want to go alone.
The whole movie was amazing! Gross yes, but not that bad, minus the tearing off of the face with tire wheels and the loss of a leg at one scene. Everything else was I able to handle and laugh at. I loved how all these horror directors worked together to make this movie. It shows that there is a comradery in that genre and they all know they have specific styles and such. It was VERY good.
Plus Rose McGowan has been reborn to me in my eyes. I have LOVED her since she was first in Scream and got crushed in the garage door. I never forgave the killer for doing that. But to see her in this film, I feel like she has taken a potion and must soon disappear (via Death Becomes Her) because people are going to soon catch on that she looked immaculate at her age!
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