Ridiculous, Retarded, Embarrassing Mush

Hey everyone.  I know you all were waiting with hungry eyes and bated breath (whatever that means, I'm usually against any kind of breath, except freshly brushed) for the next installment of Megan's life.  No really, I know.  You have me subscribed to on your readers and like to share interesting tidbits of my life on your secret twitter accounts.  I'm joking.  No one reads this.

Honestly, I have been sleeping.  ALOT.  I made two words into one word to express how much of a thing it is.  I was trying to be a normal person with normal hours, when one day I just gave up.  It was a gradual descent into madness, shaving off of edges.  And then came the drop.

The positive thing, the only positive thing is that I keep having these awesome/outrageous dreams.    An amusement park for autistic kids, where there were a whole slew of awesome rides for them, like a tunnel of keys that they can touch and feel and sense things, and a station where they get custom made animal pajamas/costume just for them.

However, I had just failed at two very different interviews, Starbucks, where I was supposed to be some innocent and ended up a being a retard at whom old dogs in cages outside bark and a photo studio where I was supposed to be/do something I just don't get yet.

The holidays were coming.  I am avoiding the one friend I have because I have this weird church-world double standard for myself and everyone else that causes frustration and stumbles me daily.
This double standards means I'm on the fence ALOT.  The point is, is that I think my friend is a bad influence, because once she yelled at me and is very brusque.  All this hedging is really to hide the real reason I can't be her friend or anyone's friend:  I've lost my ability to relate to and communicate with people.  Add that to I have this dream of being a regular church goer (and I'm pretty sure she's not into that) and things get B-A-N-A-N-A-S.  So it's not my friend, it's me.

 Most people don't even think about their ability to relate to and communicate people.  I am dead certain that I can't communicate with anyone to save my life. I know this is stupid, but my life was supposed to start after I graduated college and went to this Bible school and married my grade school sweet heart.  That dream was thwarted and my life turned into my family's fantasy of me becoming my crazy aunt Peggy, who lived at home with my grandmother until she died.  They watched TV.  Every day. (I had a brief visit with them.)  Martha Stewart and Dr. Phil.

When that Aunt Peggy bit is pulled on my by one of my family members, I feel as helpless as a baby in bathwater.  My limbs sag, my soul crunches and my bones embitter.  I can't fight it.  My hair is turning white.  I am 32 years old.  I am unmarried, childless, unsuccessful, and without hope or love.
I am sad.  sleeping all day to escape my life.  The horrible thing is this.  I keep saying I just want to get up in the morning.  I got up, ate some oatmeal.  The house is kept very cold.  My brain was only big enough to scream get back in that warm bed.  So I ran back to my room and tucked myself under my covers.  I felt all the side of people that were cheering me to get up and who wanted me to get up in the morning and I tried to get out from under the side of going back to sleep, but my head didn't exist.  My body could lie to me still and she wanted to lie on the bed under the covers and go back to sleep.  Aunt Peggy took a nap in her room every day in the afternoon and my grandmother is dead.  I see so many parallels.

There was a while that I thought I could escape this Family Curse.  I was focused on others, walked the dog every evening, and built up a sort of camaraderie with the neighbors.  I had problems, a lot of problems, but at least I was still loving people through all my fear and madness. My mom took me places, I loved her and the city streets.  Now, I don't love people.  I am alone.  I sleep. They are wearied of me.  They hate me.  

My family supports me on the one hand, but hates behind their own backs.  Since I hear everything from them, it is frustrating to understand how well developed their hate is and how full of pitfalls.  They don't know me anymore.  My only family is my dog, whom I know hates to be kissed on the face, but I always do it.  One day it will no longer be cute, and fade into a stain of unconscious hate.  My joy is to annoy, but what anger builds from such destroy.

I can't communicate, I can't organize, I can't rally against such an ephemeral foe as "I don't have a head."  I don't know how to live a secret life, obeying a secret code.  No one observes my life, but I don't have any privacy.

Maybe by writing to you, to tell you this I may make things worse.  I don't know.  Maybe I should just list some things for which I am grateful.  I am grateful that I didn't drink that third cup of coffee

It's a bet I made with one of my friends that he would quit drinking and I would quit coffee.  I had already made a bet with another one of my friends that I would quit coffee and he would quit weed, but I with my descent came the sweet taste of freedom that only the guilt of hurting myself could churn out.  I didn't win either bet.  I keep trying to stop, but I am addicted, not to the notoriously creamy and sweet coffee, but to the bitter dregs of giving something special to myself.  It may be hell, but it's a hell of which I'm in control.

I don't know what to do about me sleeping ALOT, I was really discouraged because a sister(woman of the church) said she would call me to wake me up.  She called me intermittently, for a week.  I mean is it too hard to expect a phone call every single day?  This is why I think the saints(church people) are shoddy.  They don't keep their word.  This one was my mom's friend in church before she was married and sounds strangely like my Aunt Peggy.  She is living in San Antonio.

I've stopped forgiving people who don't repent.  It's a waste of time and it hurts you more than it hurts them.  Maybe I'm stuck in the old testament. I'm not sure.  All I know is that when you forgive people who don't repent, they go back and hurt you again.  If they repent, then do it again then repent and do it again and then repent and do it again, I would forgive them each time.  But the Bible doesn't specify that we need to forgive people who don't repent.  It helps if you read it.  So I know she probably has a plan to teach me to use my spirit, which she doesn't know that I am adamantly against. When people are real and reliable and love God, all the soulish tricks of communication can't stand against them.  So I'm saying she could have loved me more by just being there.  Every morning.  Even if it didn't work out, instead of being super spiritual.  Maybe I'm too old to be loved this way.  I don't blame her though.  I didn't make it to any meetings this semester except one Bible study that I  was practically forced into and I don't visit my neighbors and I don't go to school.  I wasn't there for anyone, real, and reliably and loving God and now they don't love me.

I didn't stop drinking coffee.  I wasn't there for them.  Maybe I should get rid of the coffee maker.  I swear, I'm just addicted to the ambiance.  The romantic notion that I'm a better person and a better writer when I drink it.  I'm addicted to the ambiance of coffee and not to helping my friends.

You are my friends, too remember, please encourage me.  Remember, I'm writing to you.  Don't forget that.  If there's anything you want to say to me, say it.  Don't be afraid of the comments, they are your friends.  I'm very grateful for comments.

As for my writing, I don't have a head, but I think this non-being is good for my writing.  I'm more open to possibilities beyond my usual train of thought and my ever glowing spinal cord is an anchor to keep me from floating off after silly ideas, like  "I wish my family read this blog."

Family is always complicated.  I hate them, I love them, I want them to stop using me, I want them to succeed.  Respecting them helps a lot.  Giving them their space.  That works for all people.  There's more than one way to skin that cat.  Ew.  Gruesome saying.

And every time I feel old, I've been thinking.  There's a poem, "When I am Old," by Jenny Joseph which goes "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple/With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,"  And I feel like if for me the process of being old is sped up, then all the more reason to be be ridiculous.  And I get my little laugh.  Kind of dumb when people are building skyscrapers and having "tons" of sex, but I'm just a little, old woman with a laugh.  

The more I compare myself to the hopeful past and look at a bleak, uncompromising future, the more discouraged I become.  I suppose it would help to be in the moment, but the moment is usually me hibernating or hating life because I can't seem to make any appointments except my doctors'.  (and the two interviews).  But taking a step back and reexamining the past, shows me that I have come from some dark places, and here and now is a better place than I could be, on either side of the fence.

It would be "OK" to be an embarrassing mush of embarrassing emotional experiences that seem to spill like diarrhea out of my mouth at interviewers, if I didn't see how condescending and disgusted they were with me.  If I had never known that I could control my mouth and my emotions, it wouldn't be so disappointing when I can't.  I seem to have gained and then lost the ability.  The ability crops up on a occasion, but is seemingly overshadowed by all the stupid things I have to say.

There's no real reason to avoid my friend, except how embarrassed I am at not being normal in my sleep.  Two or three times, I cancelled things with my friend because I was asleep.  I'm embarrassed to make more plans because I sleep so much.  She wants me to get a job at Dominos with her and I convinced myself to fill out the application, but calling in to talk to them would be the worst.  I can just hear everything in their voice and the ridiculous, embarrassing, retarded mush spilling out of mine.

I'd rather be dreamless and have a life. I would give up dreaming for life to have a husband, two kids, a house, a regular church life.  Which is frustrating because I need a job.  I'm not going to have our kids go without things because I can't get a job.  Maybe Arlington's just a shitty place to live and doesn't have very many jobs available.  (Forgive the bad word, I'm getting to the wonder wall of interesting words.)

This means that I've failed (sleeping too much) and people have failed me (saints being two faced).  Who do you turn to when people and yourself has failed?  God?  I was reading the Bible regularly, reading the ministry (Bible books) and still chugging coffee like there was no tomorrow and sleeping irregular hours.  God helps those who help themselves.

You people think of a way out of my situation, you comment, ok?  Don't be like me, holding all my goodness towards myself.  Pay it back.  Unless there's absolutely nothing you could say to me.  I know I don't exist, but maybe you do.  Pull me like a tugboat!  I'm in the harbor, my engines are absolutely useless here.  Wait, I'm joking, nobody reads this.