Sometimes.

Sometimes, I feel so fucking happy I could burst. Seriously sometimes the happiness swells inside of me so huge I just feel like I can’t take it. I want to run and explore the world and love and laugh and make memories.

Sometimes, I feel so fucking depressed I hurt like no tomorrow. The day drags on and I feel alone and abandoned. I walk around in a bubble, wondering when it will burst and I won’t be so depressed.

Sometimes, I feel so fucking inspired I think I am an artist. Inspiration is drawn from people, through people and with people. Inspiration is in music, literature and porcupines. Trials and tribulations create beauty. I am inspired by imperfection.

Sometimes, I wonder if I am crazy, so crazy that I need to be locked away in a high tower. Then, I realize that I am the epitome of youth and rebellion. We all are. Don’t ever feel crazy, you aren’t. You are perfect, we are the inspiration for the future.

All the time, I am ready to live.

 

Motions

 My head nods willingly,

my body goes through the motions

  my mouth smiles, but my eyes remain dull.

My heart beats with no specific call, my mind

understands I am ticking time bomb.

I am ready to break free.

Let me be me.

Corporate American, or Corporate Rebellion?

Office Title: Secretary(Scan Slave)
Duties: Scan, Scan, answer an occasional call
Why I work here: Funding my aspiring writing career

 

Working as a part time secretary is basically babysitting the phone system. Now, it is not to say that some secretaries aren’t exceptionally smart and capable of handling more than the phones and the precious scanner BUT I am not one of the chosen, nor do I choose to be. The phones are always fun because you can judge the tone of the call by the persons voice. “I demand to speak to…!”, “It’s an emergency..” “Would you mind connecting me to…”. So based on their tone, I set mine accordingly. It’s like being in a weird Godot like play with a million characters and one outcome. I feel like I have the keys to the city, the choice is mine! To put the call through or not, that is the question. Clearly, I sound like I have lost it, but I merely am making the mundane, less mundane. Now the scanner, oh boy. The scanner may be the bane of my existence. The machine plays with your mind, I stick in the documents and the machine starts to spit them out the right way, once I turn around it jams. I am aware that you may be sitting there thinking “Oh well obviously she didn’t get all the staples out or take off the post its. Silly girl!” But alas, I have indeed done it all. The machine just likes to induce psychosis. No problem.

When you give a mom a truth…

I’ve decided that maybe in order to find myself, I should start to tell  a little truth at a time. The problem with so many damn lies is where does the truth fit it in? BAM tell one truth and it unravels a lie that maybe wasn’t ready to be revealed. Revelation is probably one of those things that could be compared to ripping of a band aid. Who better to start peeling the band aid of with than a mom? My very own mother to be specific. I started with a little truth, the look of satisfaction on her face was of non other. So maybe, MAYBE, this is a challenge I am ready to take. Like I have been told, time and time again, all we have in this life is our word. I think it is time to take my word back.

WHO AM I?

For the past nineteen years, I have struggled to figure out who I am, where I fit in, and how I plan on creating a happy life for myself. Throughout this journey I have struggled immensely with the idea that reality is not in the least bit glamorous and stories keep people interested. The problem with stories are that they are fiction, yet life is not. So I have created a story for myself, not one I have stuck with, because many people can tell you many different version. Professionally I could be called a compulsive liar, though I prefer to say animated storyteller. Getting sucked up into a story is the best drug out there, the adrenaline rush of hooking the audience is like none other. Unfortunately these aren’t stories I am writing, they have come together as a falsified version of my life. Maybe it is time to set the record straight, or maybe it isn’t. Here is my question to anyone listening, How do we become ourselves?

Sea of Teeth