Routine smiles
December 02, 2002 @ 11:17 a.m.
I haven't felt this trapped in a routine since I lived here last. The daily unendingness of my life angers me in a strange way. I try to change the routine, with road trips and ear piercings and different (pointless) foods and activities. And it doesn't work.
I have all these choices to make, but they're so far away and seem fuzzy. They're difficult to make out, to understand. This familiarity feels like nepenthe and I'm forgetting it all, although I try to remember so fitfully.
Worthless and stupid, my brain echoes now. (I was happy then...maybe content more than happy.) I had routine there too, but the past erases pain so I honestly believe I could deal with it again. And my mother realizes I'm unhappy but feels helpless. And I don't blame her, not for much of anything.
I blame the male figures in my life for raping and pillaging most of the self-esteem I once had. And I cannot tell you the self-disgust that I have, or the random terror that I feel in having to face myself and all my moods in the mirror every day. They can write termpaper insanity but until they've felt the cool hand creep up their own neck it's all subject to opinion.
My cat cleaning himself and my reaction to it is but a microcosm of my reaction to this routine. Every night the snotty British thing (although he's an American shorthair, I have determined by personality alone that he is British) clambers onto my bed, stares at me or nothing at all for a minute or two, and then proceeds to lick himself to pieces.
This drives me nut-fucking crazy.
First, the very fact that he licks his penis on the place where I lay my head is disgusting. I don't weed through my clumpy pubes directly over his sleeping basket.
I also cannot stand the contortionist positions he throws himself into and then meows helplessly until I bother him enough so that he moves out of them. Finally, and most appallingly, this feline insists on making the most revolting sound to conjure up spit.
That's all it is, you know. A cat making a perpetual dry heave/gag reflex noise to produce spit, which he slathers all over his body.
And this is why, every night, I pick up a disgruntled and thoroughly insulted Montgomery Michael and dump him unceremoniously on my floor.
A year ago, the only pussy I had to deal with was my own.
I despise having to return to this high school life and whimper on occasion when the moods become self-serving enough. Mostly I learned to keep quiet, though, and hope that my life doesn't pass along too quickly. I can't be so sure of my reaction if it did.
And I want to work again in the libraries where I did everything from figurative cutting and pasting to Powerpoint presentations. I loved knowing enough to aide those who needed it. I loved lonely-bored weekends, especially in the health sciences library, where for 6 hours they stuck a girl who thrives and dies on solitary and said "Help when they need help, otherwise you entertain yourself."
Was it understandable then why I never got any homework done?
I was happy then. I can bullshit you and say how happy I was to see Matt, to see alcohol, to see the weekend. But I was only truly and undeniably happy when I worked those weekends. And that's why this routine at the library now, this reporting to a boss who treats me like a 2-year-old (and hates toddlers) burns me so badly.
I suppose it just seems all pointless in the end anyway, which is why I'm learning not to care much anymore. Which is why I'm taking a cue from Jessica and skipping my class.
Which is why I'll smile just a little today.
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006