You know, most of my music is pretty retro: on a giddy, first-kiss kind of day, I can be found singing along to 'NSYNC, and my heartbreak is often echoed in Hanson songs. I rarely get rid of my old CDs (although I do keep several hidden), and there are countless albums I'll never overplay or outgrow. And at the top of this list sits the Indigo Girls' Retrospective, which is sort of cheap, as it's a best-of thing, but it's the one that's gotten me through every single season, every long, crying night and each breathless morning-after, the one I keep having to re-burn because it's scratched from being played so often.
Tonight, I keep switching back to the track "Kid Fears," which maybe some of you know. (If not, do yourselves a favor, because it's gorgeous and features Michael Stipe, himself.) And because I've been sort of melancholy and reflective, I fixated on the line "What would you give for your kid fears?" and attempted to apply it to my own life, which is a dangerous game to play with dramatic music, kids. But really? When I was a kid, I think I feared almost exactly the same things that wake me in the night now. I've had rape nightmares for a decade now, and when I was really young and had to use the bathroom after bedtime, I'd always switch on all the lights along my way, check all the cupboards and behind the shower curtain, and lock the door before I could pee, and even then, I'd hold my breath and try hard not to blink, in case someone came in. I still do the same thing, without ever knowing where it came from. What else? I was always afraid of being unnoticed, of not being outstanding in any way, of being ugly, of never knowing enough. Looking stupid was a huge concern, back then, and even now, after my best classes, I still feel like I'm passing, somehow, like I've tricked everyone into believing I'm intelligent. I never stopped fearing bugs with lots of legs, okay, but nor have I outgrown my fear of being left behind - though that fear is just as unfounded now as it was when I was six. So, really, I don't know - my kid fears aren't all that far away. It could be that I only remember the fears that stayed with me, that all of my irrational phobias faded from memory by this point, but more likely, I think, is the fact that kids are getting smarter about what's scary, that they're oftentimes dead-on. Next time I hang out with Izzy, I mean to find out what she's afraid of.
Today was sort of off, owing to my NuvaRing removal, pangs of loneliness and feeling cut-off (read: being back in Erie), and a triggering scene in Little Children, which I liked even better than the book in a lot of ways. There were three panic attacks, one instance of being sick in my grandmother's bathroom, and a weird bout of hallucinations. Maybe the meds aren't entirely adjusted, yet. I'm very sad to be missing Joe's birthday, and to be this faraway from friends. There's just no one here for me anymore, and I'm too panicky to go out on my own - especially when I always get shit from strangers or ex-classmates who call me a dyke when they see me out. Erie's just not my city, and that's not news to anyone. Plus, my nightmares are definitely back. I talked to my mother for a long time after we took my grandma home, though, and things with her are better than they've ever been, so that's a big thing I won't overlook.
Speaking of good, big things I can't overlook: today marks my seventh month spent officially with Miss Marshall, which is far past what I expected that first time she stayed the night. ALSO! We will be spending part of our summer dogsitting for Dr. Non-fiction, and also looking after her maybe-girlfriend's sweet dog sometimes. And, um, whacking weeds? Anyway, it'll keep me out of this city, and we'll get to play house on a grand scale, and I never thought this would happen. Also, I e-mailed Tommy Hays just now, and just thinking of the response I'll get has me grinning. Also, Jason hates the word 'grin,' and now that I am not speaking to him and owe him exactly nothing, I use it with extra emphasis, and take a certain measure of glee in that. Well, I didn't say this was going to be a mature list, did I?
I like how the Indigo Girls say, "Thanks, y'all!" after every song they play live. And how my kitten is so eager to lick my hands when I come home, how he waits for me in the window sometimes and watched the car pull into the driveway. I like checking my favorite blogs for updates, and knowing that the Tea Series will be finished in just about a month (hopefully!), and reading reviews of movies that will never come to Erie. (I really, really want to see Once, oh man.) I like having my beloved childhood toy, Blue, a floppy dog with an embroidered teardrop and a missing ear, right where I can keep an eye on him. I like fizzy blueberry lemonade, with or without vodka, and I like the thought of seeing Young Steven again next month, and I like the humongous Velvet Goldmine poster hanging over my bed. I like the progressive muscle relaxation exercises I do twice a day, now, and all the inside jokes existing within my family, and the fact that my grandma is still around to joke with. So don't think for a second that I've given up on anything, here, because this list is just the beginning. Yes, I'm sad and could use some company, but that's what this stack of books is for. I'll write tomorrow, or soon, when I'm in better spirits, but for now, goodnight to all of you, who belong high up on the list of things I like.
Tonight, I keep switching back to the track "Kid Fears," which maybe some of you know. (If not, do yourselves a favor, because it's gorgeous and features Michael Stipe, himself.) And because I've been sort of melancholy and reflective, I fixated on the line "What would you give for your kid fears?" and attempted to apply it to my own life, which is a dangerous game to play with dramatic music, kids. But really? When I was a kid, I think I feared almost exactly the same things that wake me in the night now. I've had rape nightmares for a decade now, and when I was really young and had to use the bathroom after bedtime, I'd always switch on all the lights along my way, check all the cupboards and behind the shower curtain, and lock the door before I could pee, and even then, I'd hold my breath and try hard not to blink, in case someone came in. I still do the same thing, without ever knowing where it came from. What else? I was always afraid of being unnoticed, of not being outstanding in any way, of being ugly, of never knowing enough. Looking stupid was a huge concern, back then, and even now, after my best classes, I still feel like I'm passing, somehow, like I've tricked everyone into believing I'm intelligent. I never stopped fearing bugs with lots of legs, okay, but nor have I outgrown my fear of being left behind - though that fear is just as unfounded now as it was when I was six. So, really, I don't know - my kid fears aren't all that far away. It could be that I only remember the fears that stayed with me, that all of my irrational phobias faded from memory by this point, but more likely, I think, is the fact that kids are getting smarter about what's scary, that they're oftentimes dead-on. Next time I hang out with Izzy, I mean to find out what she's afraid of.
Today was sort of off, owing to my NuvaRing removal, pangs of loneliness and feeling cut-off (read: being back in Erie), and a triggering scene in Little Children, which I liked even better than the book in a lot of ways. There were three panic attacks, one instance of being sick in my grandmother's bathroom, and a weird bout of hallucinations. Maybe the meds aren't entirely adjusted, yet. I'm very sad to be missing Joe's birthday, and to be this faraway from friends. There's just no one here for me anymore, and I'm too panicky to go out on my own - especially when I always get shit from strangers or ex-classmates who call me a dyke when they see me out. Erie's just not my city, and that's not news to anyone. Plus, my nightmares are definitely back. I talked to my mother for a long time after we took my grandma home, though, and things with her are better than they've ever been, so that's a big thing I won't overlook.
Speaking of good, big things I can't overlook: today marks my seventh month spent officially with Miss Marshall, which is far past what I expected that first time she stayed the night. ALSO! We will be spending part of our summer dogsitting for Dr. Non-fiction, and also looking after her maybe-girlfriend's sweet dog sometimes. And, um, whacking weeds? Anyway, it'll keep me out of this city, and we'll get to play house on a grand scale, and I never thought this would happen. Also, I e-mailed Tommy Hays just now, and just thinking of the response I'll get has me grinning. Also, Jason hates the word 'grin,' and now that I am not speaking to him and owe him exactly nothing, I use it with extra emphasis, and take a certain measure of glee in that. Well, I didn't say this was going to be a mature list, did I?
I like how the Indigo Girls say, "Thanks, y'all!" after every song they play live. And how my kitten is so eager to lick my hands when I come home, how he waits for me in the window sometimes and watched the car pull into the driveway. I like checking my favorite blogs for updates, and knowing that the Tea Series will be finished in just about a month (hopefully!), and reading reviews of movies that will never come to Erie. (I really, really want to see Once, oh man.) I like having my beloved childhood toy, Blue, a floppy dog with an embroidered teardrop and a missing ear, right where I can keep an eye on him. I like fizzy blueberry lemonade, with or without vodka, and I like the thought of seeing Young Steven again next month, and I like the humongous Velvet Goldmine poster hanging over my bed. I like the progressive muscle relaxation exercises I do twice a day, now, and all the inside jokes existing within my family, and the fact that my grandma is still around to joke with. So don't think for a second that I've given up on anything, here, because this list is just the beginning. Yes, I'm sad and could use some company, but that's what this stack of books is for. I'll write tomorrow, or soon, when I'm in better spirits, but for now, goodnight to all of you, who belong high up on the list of things I like.
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