While talking with a friend last night, I realized that my train of thought has turned into something more like a magical shuttle bus. Kinda like "The Magic School Bus," complete with me as Miss Frizzle. (I think that's her name.) You get on, the doors close, I push the buttons and presto, we are at one of any number of odd stations in my mind.

Now to present the odd stations to you, I shall use a format I've stolen from my beautiful friend Lisa--A list of first sentences:

1. Long before Cinderella crashed the ball, little girls dreamed of finding the perfect prince.

2. Some days it's not about the number at all.

3. Some mothers are the bane of the Devil, and should be locked in a room with an exact replica of themselves just so they can see how it feels. (Keep in mind that I'm not actually refering to my own mother in this instance. She's usually ok.

4. Brownies

5. I really hate it when people feel the need to bang their heads against some hard object and then find if funny and laugh hysterically because they are causing pain and it's "cool."

6. Why is it that a carreer in education pays less than a carreer in mechanics?

7. If we paid teachers what they are worth, would they try harder to reach more kids?

Those are the basics, and I may choose one to follow up on in the next few days.

mmmm. Summer vacation...

My summer "vacation" has been spent working in a flowershop. For those of you who have the misconception that it is all pretties and roses, and who want to keep that misconception, don't read the rest of this.




Flowershops are probably the nastiest places to work. The flowers get stuck down in a bucket full of water. Once anything has been cut off from it's life source it starts to decompose. So, within a few hours, the water in the bucket has turned slightly slimy. Wait a few days, and you can't see the bottom of the bucket. Most people see the flowers after the designers have already peeled all the bad petals off of them, defoliated the dead, moldy leaves and have stuck them in something to hide the stems.

I have about 15 pairs of jeans. (My friends say collectively and in unison, "That's all?") Every pair of jeans I own now has green patches on the front where, failing to find a towel, I have wiped my hands off on the front of my jeans to rid them of the unhealthy slime I get from the flowers.

I understand that roses, and other flowers are pretty, but I see them before you do. After the dirt, and before the presentation, they go through a nasty transformation. I guess in a way we all do.

WOOHOO!!! Go me!!!




Gay Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Ok, on second thought:

Warning:

The blog you are about to experience contains some explicit views into a very dark part of my mind. Keep in mind that I don't feel this way all the time, and it is by no means a completely driving force in my life. Yes, I am anorexic. But what I've done is taken and artists leeway to go to the extreme edge of it and explain to the general public (or at least the ones who read this blog) what many people who suffer from anorexia feel at one time, or in some cases, all times.

Those of you are close to me have seen me feel this way. You will also know if I feel that way now. Those of you who are not. Don't worry about me, just take it like my poetry, and understand that I'm representing something, not necessarily feeling it.

I had intended to put a warning on this blog, but I don’t think I shall after all. I shall just preface this by saying to those who don’t know I have been struggling with anorexia since I was 15 or 16 years old. I’m 29 at present, and it’s still a struggle. Some days are better than others. Some days are much, much worse…

Sometimes it’s all about the number—getting on that scale and seeing 115 and nothing more. Some days it’s all about the next bite—the sickening feel of the food in my mouth—the unnatural revolt of my stomach before I swallow.

Sometimes I want to hide like a fugitive. Sometimes I want you to make me take that next bite. Sometimes it’s all about control. But there are days…days when I wish someone, anyone, would make me take the next bite. But you don’t. You sit and look at me and wonder what to do. You wish I would just see reason. I feel you cry, I hear you, and still I don’t want to see what I’m doing. I don’t give a flying fuck if it hurts me.

I want to choke the people who say it’s all about the attention. Of course it’s about attention. You just don’t understand what attention I want, and I don’t know how to ask. I want to be better than you. I want to be stronger, faster, smarter, prettier, thinner…in every way. I want to be the best I can possibly be, and that involves being better than anyone else. If I can’t, I’ll die trying. And make you wonder why.

Then again, maybe it is just a phase…

I like to sing. (As some of you know.) On my trip to Minnesota, Jessica and I stayed in a youth hostel. I know this may seem like it has nothing to do with singing, but just bear with me. We met Ann. Ann is a very interesting person, and we found ourselves going into downtown Minneapolis to find a place with jazz music.

Ann has this VW Van. It's really a pretty neat vehicle. Upon getting into the van, we discover that she likes the Indigo Girls, but she can't find her CD. Jessica can fix that. Jessica retrieved her CD, and Ann plugged it in. So, on the way to the place with jazz music, Jessica and I sing. Ann loved it.

I never knew I sang like an angel...after a 5th of Bourbon, and a pack of cigarettes.

There are days when I'm glad to rest. It's nice to see the world pass me by sometimes. There are days when peace comes unbidden to my mind. Nothing is particularly beautiful, no wonderful scenery, or serene setting. There are days when I am just calm.

There are days when I could watch the wind for hours. In a field alone with no interruption, perched on a log somewhere back home, listening to the absent sound of no train. The world spins to a whir. The colors blend, and I stand still. Everything moves around me.

There are days when sound goes through me. Ricocheting around before wandering off.

There are days when I justifiably collaps. Fall into repose as if it were the arms of my closest friend.

There are days...

For years I've had a rather negative view of marriage. Most people who know me know that I'm a Christian. My father is a Baptist preacher. When I was growing up, he was the strictest variety of Baptist it was possible, to be. I've talked about the rules in the household on here before, so I won't rehash them. My parents marriage failed...badly. They were the epitome of everything I have come to hate in a marriage. Even though both are married to other people now, and those relationships appear relatively strong, I still don't approve of either of their approaches to marriage.

My father's wife is a very nice woman. She cooks, cleans, works, does yard work, smiles, and has perfect hair and makeup. Although I am sure she has a brain in her head, (she couldn't do all the things she does without one) she clearly doesn't use it to make decisions about anything major in her life. She always relinquishes control of that to my father. They are both in fairly bad health, thus they are in very deep debt from medical bills.

My mother's husband is, well, he's rather interesting. His name is Dink. He can make almost anything. Just give him some duct tape, wire, and a lawnmower motor and you'd be surprised what you'll get with it. He's not intellectual, but he has a lot of practicality. In the last few years, Dink has had some health problems, including a tumor in his head that had to be removed

My parents are rather well matched to their relative spouses. Over all, my father's marriage seems happier, as his wife is passive, and obedient. Those of you who know me can already see my problem with this...

Obedience isn't a quality I wish to exhibt toward a husband. I have recently been in a very long conversation with a friend whom I have known for years who just couldn't understand why I didn't see the necessity of having the husband the head of the household. His argument is that no structure can hold if there are two people in authority. He used the government as an example. "The President," he said "listens to his advisors, but then has to make a decision for the good of the country." I quickly pointed out to him that by using the government as an example, he has then put his wife on the same level as the children, and I didn't think I would want to be in a relationship with someone who viewed me as a child.

This conversation started because he wanted to know if I would have a close relationship with someone who did not have a good, close relationship with God. I retorted that I will have a close relationship with someone who treats me as completely equal, and that there are very few Christian men who actually understand equality, much less practice it. Of course, he claimed to practice it, but then negated it by the above argument (among others, I just particularly liked that one).

So, it's not necessarily marriage that I am against. It's the idea that from my upbringing, I've been trained to believe that marriage cannot work unless I'm a subservient, good little wife. Since I have no delusions as to how subservient I am not, I have come to the conclusion that marriage is not something I should try.

I have now come to the conclusion, that instead of viewing marriage as something that is negative, I should just refocus my disapproval onto the real issue and not ever consider someone who would treat me as if i were less in any way.