Away for five minutes, and suddenly, it’s waterworld.

This morning I get up late, as usual. It’s three in the afternoon, I’m still half asleep. I let the cats out of their cage (yes, they are caged at night), feed them, go to the bathroom. All the morning ritual stuff. Then I go into the kitchen to get something to munch on, off in my own world as usual, not realizing that a room away, the floor is beginning to fill with water. I’m taking my time, eating a square of cornbread just standing around next to the island watching my mother mess around with the dishes.

I wander back to my room, because I hear running water. I’m thinking ‘must have left the sink running’, but then I have the panic thought of ‘oh shit!! The toilet?!’. It has been acting up lately, running and running because one of the parts is broken. I’ve just been fiddling with it to get it to stop, but it needs to be replaced. Anyway, I open the door, and the water isn’t even in the bathroom anymore! It’s entered into my room itself, which thankfully has a lino pathway that stopped the water from hitting the carpet.

My poor cat is standing on the island of carpet, glaring down at the water because its encroached on his territory. The other cat is nowhere to be found, long having retreated under the bed. I say “Oh FUCK!” about five times, as I’m tearing my pants and socks off to get to the damned valve. I do eventually shut it off, and the water stops flowing, but I realize quite quickly that the water is seeping into the walls, the carpets are absolutely soaked, so I throw those in the tub.

My mother decides to be sparse with the towels when I ask her for them, and comes back with about three and a sponge mop that is utterly useless (I have a large bathroom and if you can imagine, about half an inch of water throughout the entire thing, then through some of my bedroom). I was not in the mood for it at the time, and wanted to just tell her to get the fuck out and let me deal with it. But she helped me, and eventually did get more towels after I threatened to use paper ones.

Anyway, I’ve learned to hate/love toilets. If they’re not overflowing on me for no reason, they’re spewing sewage in the backyard or filling up my bathroom with water. At least it wasn’t shit though. Wouldn’t that have sucked? Unfortunately, the water did get far. My dad went under the house to check when he got home, and found that the liner beneath the insulation was filled with water. I’m sitting under the porch with a flashlight and I can hear the water when he cuts a slit in the plastic. Sounds like someone turned the sink on. But he says it can dry out now, and nothing should go wrong or anything, since it isn’t just going to sit in the insulation; its free to drain out. Uhg. I’m just glad I knew there was a valve, because I confess…about a week ago…I didn’t know there was one. Ha. That would have been interesting…. Sad, yes, but I’m young, give me time.

Left out, and walking the insane dog.

Yesterday was an…interesting day. I had avoided—yet again—going on one of the shooting excursions with my dad and godfather. Let’s just say that every time I do go with them, I don’t really enjoy myself…at all. They’ve been friends since highschool, so obviously my few flimsy years of contact don’t compare in the least to that sort of relationship. I realize now that going to the shooting range with my dad and godfather is similar to me draging my dad along on one of my trips to the mall that I used to make with my friends centuries ago. Basically it equals a lot of awkward silences, boredom, and the inevitable alienation of the one who doesn’t belong from the rest of the herd. Even if the outsider does have interest in the activities, it makes little difference, as the relationships between the rest of the people are too well-worked and comfortable to accomodate the awkwardness of the newcomer.

I have a very strong interest in guns, and I love shooting, but generally what ends up happening is I sit there bored out of my mind, while they don’t include me in the conversation. I realize they aren’t doing it to be mean, but one can help but feel a bit disheartened when they ask a question and the other people look over then keep talking and laughing about whatever esoteric things pass between friends. And, the other problem is that I never get to shoot, which clearly is the entire point of the activity for someone who isn’t as exprienced with guns. The only way I do get to try things out is if I bother until somebody gives in, which makes me feel like a pest, and all in all a complete moron who doesn’t belong.

Last time we went shooting, my dad packed all of his guns and ammo, but failed to pack any of mine. He always is the one to get all of the gun-related items, while I get everything else. It was at that point, right after he sighed in irritation from me asking if he packed the .38s, that I decided that would be my last trip with them. It made me angry, and a little sad. It’s hard to get someone like me to feel “left out”. I’m always the odd one out, no matter where I go or what activity it is, so really it’s nothing new. I rarely experience any sort of emotional reaction to it after this long of becoming accustomed to it. Which is why I still can’t quite figure out why this situation in particular bothered me so much. I guess I’m just tired of his constant preaching that we’re going to go shooting more so I can get better, while in reality all the trips seem to consist of is me standing around while everybody else practices. So to hell with it. Chances are, if I DO manage to get more ammo, I’ll just start taking my gun into the woods and practice on my own. It’s legal to shoot there, which is nice.

So when they left yesterday, my godfather left his dog with us. She’s a German Shorthair: psychotic, energetic, whiny. Not a dog I like to spend mass amounts of time with (I can only take so much…), though I do sometimes enjoy short little exposures here and there to her. Unlike the chihuahua, this dog can actually keep up, and is very fun to chase. So I decided upon waking up from her incessant whining, that I had the PERFECT solution to her energizer bunny activity level. A nice long walk with me in the woods. Hehehe. No one ever said I was nice….

After a shower and a slathering-on of sunscreen, I take her out into the heat and bright sun to see just what will happen. She tugs constantly, so hard she is actually pulling me forward somewhat. I never realized just how strong she is for her size. I have to say I was impressed by how hard she yanked on the leash; I had taken her for a bit of a wuss. I was correct however, in my assumption that she is mainly a sprinter with no long-term endurance. The first 20 minutes, it was mostly me being walked. She picked the pace, and I just followed and made sure she stayed on course, not really wasting any energy to slow her down. My plan was going perfectly…. One of the asshole dogs down the street tried to pick a fight with her, which was…interesting. I towed her away from the scene, snickering to myself as the mean dog got himself in a hissy over her, barking and carrying on. I hate that dog, by the way. Each time I walk by the fence he goes crazy trying to get at me, so it was nice to have a dog with me to bother him further, instead of having only my cruel stares to goad him with. I’m bad like that. I have no fear of dogs and am vaguely open to being attacked just for the sake of seeing who will win.

She didn’t slow down when we got to the entrance, still tugging so hard she was practically choking herself from excitement (she never gets to go for these types of walks). When we got to one of the trails, she finally lost a lot of her extreme energy, and collapsed in the dirt while I tried in vain to get her to drink more than a few licks of water. This was only about a mile of walking at this point. Then we started again, tugging reinitiated. I guess she thinks she’s going to get there faster by pulling…and doesn’t understand that pulling against a stubborn human= pain.

Chipmunks were the main problem we encountered, and put her into an absolute frenzy. If I were to write this dog’s thought process I think it would be something similar to this:

Tree! Chipmunk! Leaf! Faster! Faster! Faster, faster! Human! Tree! Hey look, a chipmunk! Did you hear that? Tree!! Chipmunk! Must eat…chipmunk!

And let’s just make it very clear here…the sight of a chipmunk meant the poor human attached to the other end of the leash was unexpectedly, completely without warning, dragged a few stunned feet in the direction of whatever bush the frightened chipmunk had taken refuge under. I then would have to haul her away from the innocent little creatures and hope that she would forget about the chipmunk in a few steps. Which she always did. Oh, did I mention she has NO attention span. Honestly. Besides a strong desire to capture all little creatures, there’s not much else going on in her head. She’s smart, but she has no focus whatsoever. She forgets what she was doing after a few seconds of not being reminded.

After a few more miles, I took her back home. The return trip was nothing like the trip there. I had the most well-behaved dog. She didn’t tug, didn’t bark at dogs she saw, nothing. Her tongue was lolling out of her mouth, her breathing was ragged. She was basically worn out and hot from the heat of the day as well as the exercise. When I got her in the house she lapped up a bowl of water then collapsed on the floor. It’s always nice when my plans go so well….

This is uninspired.

Human speech taints clear air
Sounds that should never have been heard
Nothing but pollution of everything sacred
Desecration of everything I hold dear
Corrupted things are given devious tools
They use and abuse, simply by being alive
Those voices so shrill, so imperfect
Lies that spill from foolish minds
A gift that wasn’t deserved
The solution is to seal them shut
Sew closed those grotesque mouths
Never to speak again

People talk and talk. It drives me up the wall sometimes. They don’t seem to understand just how much stupid words can ruin a moment that would have otherwise been flawless. I suppose that is the way of people though: to see nothing of their own shortcomings, nothing of their own gracelessness. Nothing compares to silence…nothing.

Hatred stinks of evil they say
It drips the blood of the ages
An ancient tool, worn, well used
The weapon that absorbs all souls
It controls, it twists
Even the wielder can not escape its grasp
Hatred will outlive all things

I don’t know where any of this poetry is going; I’ve had horrible writer’s block lately. Nothing I write is up to any sort of standard. I’m hating every line of poetry I manage to extract from the chaos…. I feel as though my writing is at its absolute worst. The words don’t flow, and I struggle with every little line. I hate this state of being. It makes me feel worse than ever, but I had to write something “creative” anyway, because otherwise I may just…explode. So to hell with good writing! If I want to write shit, I shall! And I won’t be stopped either….

Stuff, stuff, and more stuff.

Another unintelligent, degrading post. Normal posting will resume…whenever I manage to find my sanity.

I guess one of the nicer aspects of someone going on a long trip, is that they often come back bearing presents. Lots of them. Like so many you don’t really know what you’re going to do with them all. I had to clear space to make room.

Already I am entering into blase mode. I’m just annoyed and resentful of my lost freedom, and consequently I’m already starting to feel like shit. I’ve resorted back to my typical grouchy, bossy self, you know the selfish, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-if-I’m-saying-something-that-hurts-your-feelings mood. It’s a good feeling, I guess, to be back to normal and not constantly be confused about what little emotion I do have. When people are around, I know what to expect from myself…when they’re not, I don’t know how I’ll react. And for someone so focused on control, not knowing is a damnable thing. But the fact that being alone took a weight off my shoulders—that tells me something. I grew to like the reckless feeling, not worrying about hurting myself or doing something strange; no one was there to see it.

My aunt went skull-crazy. She’s met me a few times and knows I like strange stuff, so she started collecting things for me a few months back—now I have quite the assortment of skull-themed things. I got a lot of older things from my mom, as she went to many yard sales and second hand stores that my cousin likes to frequent. My mom knows I like to tinker with old things and clean them up, so now I have an old lamp and a jewelry box to mess around with. The lamp has possibilities, and the jewelry box just had to be cleaned. I hated the lamp at first; it has a marble base, and the lamp itself was so filthy it looked more brown than gold (mom didn’t like it at all, but had kept it since my cousin only wanted the crystals off of it). I cleaned it up yesterday, and actually found that I do like it. I guess it grew on me after a few hours of carefully cleaning it. Now it’s golden, and interesting; it compliments another lamp I have. The marble base has to be covered though—I can’t stand it. Black velvet maybe….

I bleached my hair, which was…an experience. Anyone ever tell you that hair bleach smells TERRIBLE? Worse than some of the toxic hair dye I’ve used. I had to hold my breath while it was near my face because it kept choking me. I only did a section since I’m trying to grow my hair out and I’ve already bombarded it with chemicals the last few months fucking around with the color. I have a feeling if I had done my whole head my hair would have started breaking. I’m incredibly lucky it has put up with me this far. This year alone I’ve used 4-5 hair dye removers (which have a tendency to fry hair like McDonald’s french fries, to the point where you have to get the ends hacked off), countless different dyes, and now bleach, yet somehow my hair is still as shiny and strong as it ever was…. I don’t quite understand it. And lets just say, before my hair was stuck in “red” mode. My red hair just didn’t want to die. So I covered it with black hair dye…all the time. It was like the past didn’t want to die, so I just warred with it until it was finally beaten into submission. Then it was black. Then I decided I wanted it white. Enter the hair dye remover. And then the black decided it didn’t want to die…which actually pleased me more than I would like to admit. What did the bleach do? It didn’t really remove the black…it just gave me a white/blonde streak that is in toward my scalp…the hair in the middle is black…then the hair at the bottom…it’s red (this is all in one chunk of hair). Weird, isn’t it? I don’t really get how that all added up to equal cool…but somehow it did. Instead of running to the store to fix it, I’ve decided that red, white, and black go well together. And we all live in harmony…haha.

Let’s just face the facts: my hair is supposed to be black. If I had a “residual self image” my hair would be black even though I was born with it red. No matter what I do to my hair, I always go back to black because I can’t stay away for long…. That’s just the way it has to be. We all have an image of what we want to be in our head, and that sadist, she has black hair. Fuck the red. It started when I was fourteen and dyed it temporarily for Halloween…. Ever since it’s been a war between it being red (out of the sheer laziness of getting sick of dying it because it grows so fast), then dying it black. I’ve gone back and forth about 3 different times. Meaning: I had it completely back to red again (loads of hair dye remover), then a few months later dyed it black. All over again. After spending months getting it back to red. Yes, three times. I don’t know how I still HAVE hair. I have even less of an idea of how it still looks nice…. Don’t ask me why I’ve blathered about hair for the last two paragraphs, I have no explanation except that I haven’t written in a few days and feel deprived. I’m a hype when it comes to my writing. Just know that in a few months I’ll probably get tired of white/blonde+black+red, and I’ll dye my hair all over again. And if I do, who knows, there could be a miracle: I could tell you about it.

I went quading earlier. Got hit in the face with a bug. Somehow in managed to squeeze between the ONE space where skin is vulnerable between goggles and helmet. It hurt. I had to stop and let myself suffocate in a cloud of dust while I repeatedly slapped at my face. All hard things to do while wearing a helmet and goggles. Good times. I’m just glad there was no one to witness the moment.

Washed the cats—Salem hates me. He’s under my desk sleeping because he’s so tired from licking his fur for the last hundred hours.

Goodnight, I’m going to sleep.

Irritating, inconsiderate people.

I’m going to write about something useless. The other day I had hunger pangs for a McFlurry. Can’t explain it, I just did. So on the way home my mom and I stopped at McDonald’s to get me my ice cream.

The parking lot at this McDonald’s is shaped a bit oddly, so that if there are more than 2 cars in line at the drivethru the third car ends up blocking one of the laneways to get in and out of the parking lot. Which is obviously a bit inconvenient, so instead of blocking the road, my mom left enough room so that cars could drive between us and the car in front. This little gesture is where the trouble started.

All of a sudden some woman behind us in line drives on our side (by the way, there was even a guy behind her) then gets in front of us, which is quite a tight squeeze. My mom blared the horn at her. I mean really, she went kind of crazy with the horn. She’d had a lot of trouble that day at the stores she went to, so she wasn’t in the grandest of moods. Oh, and you can also blame the menopause, which has recently taken its grip on her. Her hormones are crazy right now. Back to the lady in line: she doesn’t move even with all of the honking, she stays where she is. My mom gets out of the car to go talk to her…and she’s looking scary….

Let me explain a few things about my mom. She’s very unconfrontational, to the point that I have huge arguments with her where I tell her she needs to start sticking up for herself. She doesn’t do this sort of thing…ever. Which is why I know it’s her hormones…. Generally I tend to be the one who gets in peoples’ faces, but on that day I was not in the mood after having gotten up early and taken a final exam: I wanted nothing to do with any of it, I just wanted my goddamned McFlurry.

My mom goes over to the car, yelling at the driver’s side window (it was a bit…disconcerting…), and after I see her face lose the angry lines I realize that there was some sort of misunderstanding, and when she even smiles I’m beggining to think that I must have just entered bipolar land. What the hell? So she gets in the car after the guy behind us gives us a thumbs up, and explains to me that the lady thought that we were parked and talking or something. Apparently mom just told her to go ahead and stay where she was. But wait, it gets better.

Finally after about 5 more minutes mom starts ordering, and I turn back in my seat after hearing honking. An Explorer is trying to get in between two of the cars behind us. It’s such a narrow space that only the front end of the SUV can get into it, leaving the back end sticking out onto the road. How dumb can people be? After getting hit with a hail of honking, and realizing that their SUV wasn’t supposed to be there, the driver reverses and somehow manages pull into a parkingspace, away from the drivethru lane.

I eventually get my McFlurry, and see, as we’re pulling out, that the line is now blocking that one exit. Such nice, considerate people, don’t you think? Needless to say, we drove around and went the other way. It’s sort of incredible how when we did it everybody followed our lead and left the space open, then once those people got their orders new people came and did it their way. Which of course made other people follow their example, and block off the exit. Such sheep. Nice example of conformity. 

I knew we should have just gone inside.     

Freedom at last. Or is it?

I actually dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning in order to fully experience a day of silence. I know, must be a miracle; can I really get up at 9:30 and be functional? Apparently if there is quiet and alone-time, I can. Who would have thought.

Except I’ve discovered that this whole ‘alone for a month thing’ has a catch. My dad may not get home until 5:00 or 6:00, but that fucking dog is here all day long. If I don’t take him out every three hours he’ll piss all over the floor. It doesn’t sound like an entirely bad deal until you take into account that I have to leave the dog in the bathroom because he fights with the two 15 pound cats in my room. And the cats HATE him, and threaten murder at the sight of him (the dog has already disappeared beneath black fur three times, as my favorite cat went for the jugular). By the way it’s a three pound dog, yet it whines so loud from the bathroom on the other side of the house, that I can still hear it in here when the TV is running. Highly irritating. Not to mention even if I attempt to comfort him, the dog will have none of it. He likes my mom (she’s the one who is gone for a month), not me. So even when he is out of the bathroom, he STILL whines. Christ. Fucking cruicify me.

I also am pleased to say that I am finished will college until the fall. I did well on my psychology final, which was nice. Now I have absolutely nothing to pin me down. Well…except the dog. Curse him.

I need this time alone to recharge my batteries. I feel like I’ve been going on nothing for months, and my depression has made me exceedingly exhausted. For the last week I’ve felt as though I have the flu, and ever single movement is painful because my body feels so stiff and sore. I think it had a lot to do with stress; though I didn’t feel it mentally, it was there physically, which is unfortunately something I can’t control. It reminds me how easy it is to fall out of balance, and how my body can break down over nothing. I don’t like being reminded of my weaknesses, but I suppose it is a necessary evil, one that prevents me from overestimating what I’m capable of.

I blocked the light from the windows with a sheet, so it is dark right now, even when the sun is glaring down outside. I bought another journal, this time one I like. I’m hoping the fact that I like it will increase the probability that I will write in it. We’ll see.

Update….

I just found out why the dog isn’t whining right now. He managed to squeeze out from under the bathroom door, even with that monstrous head of his. We have these strange doors with about 3 inches of space under them for pressure build-up. Basically if you have normal doors around here you’re likely to get trapped in a room because pressure will hold the door shut. Sounds far-fetched, but even with these doors I sometimes have trouble getting them open. Somehow that little chihuahua must have eeked his way under. Last time he tried that trick (with my door) he got his head stuck, haha.