Fireworks in the Bathroom
I assumed that with no job, no school and no pulse, I would be able to find the time to write. Time is not the issue. I simply am not motivated. Whatever happened to that passion, that drive, that motivation, that muse? Maybe she died right along with me.
So, I’ll push my way through this writer’s block by writing a bunch of crap. In fact, it’s what I’ve been doing for the past three pages of this diary. Seriously, I went back to try to find some good pieces to transfer over to my other blog and it’s just all garbage. I suppose I’ll churn out some more…
My power cord for my Mac decided to fry itself and soon after the battery died so no more Mac until the new power cord comes in. I’m using my PC right now and it just feels…wrong. But I’m just grateful I have something to use so I can still check all of my social networking sites every five minutes! Instead of using an alternative computer, I should have used that time away from the Mac to do something constructive like write or read or do yoga. It’s all waiting for me and I just continue to ignore it all.
I’ve been walking regularly. Just about every day. I’m pretty proud of myself, if only I could get my eating under control. It always seems like I either diet really well and don’t exercise or exercise like crazy and then eat a bunch of crap. That does not equal success. I’ve gained a lot of weight again and again, none of my clothes fit. It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t seen anyone since coming back home.
Except for Ashley.
I dug through my closet until I found something that didn’t make my fat totally bulge out and then drove to her shoddy apartment. Ashley is an interesting girl. I met her in art class in high school. She was a grade above me and really awesome. Back then, she was kind of like an alternative/goth-lite chick. She wrote poetry and listened to Otep. I admired her for her individuality and nonconformity, especially considering the fact that I was a complete poser at the time. I respected that she wasn’t. I respected that she did her own thing and didn’t get so entangled in popularity like I did. In fact, I developed a small crush on her. She was refreshing. She was deep. She was what I needed to pull me out of my fakery. After she graduated, I only saw her a handful of times but always remembered her as being a BAMF.
Before this latest visit, I hadn’t seen her in about four years. I was sad that I hadn’t changed very much, both from a personality and physical stand point. I was still fat and uncommonly innocent and felt a little nervous about seeing her. Although we had agreed upon a time to meet the day before, when I called her at that time, she said she hadn’t even showered yet. She let me in anyway and I was immediately greeted by her rambunctious dog, Chunk. He couldn’t keep his paws off of me the whole visit. I couldn’t say the same for Ashley.
It was surreal seeing her again after all of these years but it was nice as well. The first thing I noticed about her was how country she now sounded. I don’t know if it was the fact that I wasn’t used to that kind of accent because of being at school or if the south seeped into her voice but she didn’t sound the same as I remembered. Through our conversation, I also realized how calm she seemed. She wasn’t that punk rock chick that sparked my interest in high school. She was now a working woman. She had responsibilities and bills. She was a reflection of the real world, an image I had to face. But she seemed to be doing well. She’s manager at her job and gets paid well enough to pay all her bills and still have a lot of money left to do whatever she wants.
It was a good conversation but something seemed missing. The visit seemed only a fraction of the fun it used to be. I suppose it didn’t help that we didn’t have much to talk about anymore. She was eager to hear about my college debauchery but I had none to report. I was interested in hearing what she had been up to but she’s just been working. I don’t want to say she is a boring adult now…but she kind of is. Not that I can really talk. I mean, I’m a boring college graduate. I guess I just figured we’d have more to chat about considering we hadn’t seen each other in so long. She had previously made plans to go hang out with a friend and her two young children so I left so she could finally get that shower and we made plans to go see a movie next week. Hopefully the dinner and movie will generate more material for us to talk and laugh over.
So, last month wasn’t a good month to be a celebrity, eh? I don’t wanna jump on this celebrity mourning bandwagon because, frankly, I wasn’t a huge fan of any of those that passed away but I’m pretty horrified at the way the dead have been talked about, especially Michael Jackson. The thing is, he has been incredibly influential in music and in people’s lives and that cannot be denied or undone. Sure, he was weird but who isn’t? Most people don’t have their eccentricities splashed across the headlines like he did. I’m sure we all have things about ourselves that would seem freaky and weird to other people. Plus, no one knows for sure if he did anything inappropriate with any children. In fact, if I understand correctly, one of those kids lied about being molested. And while Michael’s "molestation" provided good comedic fodder for the insensitive, when Billy Mays died, people were like, "Oh yeah, I’m crying into my tub of Oxy Clean" and "I heard he actually screamed out a fire." I’ll admit, while funny, what the heck did that guy do to you? People just don’t have respect for the dead, or the living, anymore. This is why I don’ t like humans. I’m just glad when I died, no one made a peep about it.
I wonder how musicians and writers overcome writer’s block. What do you do when your next album or book is due and yet nothing is happening in your head? How do you push through that? How do you muster up a masterpiece by that ever looming deadline? I’d really like to know their tricks so I can use them. I suppose them getting paid a hefty sum of money has a bit to do with that concussive burst of creativity.
Well, it’s Fourth of July and I had plans to get coffee with someone but she just texted me and canceled. I’m not upset like I’d usually be ’cause it was a legitimate reason so I guess I’m just gonna hang around and watch a zombie movie and order some pizza. Then I can watch the fireworks when I’m on the toilet a few hours later. Thank you, greasy food.
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