Schizophrenia

It really bothers me that others have such massive control over my life. My happiness is almost always based on the happiness of others. I have completely lost myself. What does Leah want? What does she dream about? Hell if I know, my nightmares consist of murder and hate; my dreams are strange and meaningless.  I need you validate my needs; tell me you think this is what I’m meant to do. And that’s not from anyone specific. I have taken the opinions of total fucking strangers and applied it my goals. They say I’m a good listener and might enjoy counseling. There it is, my new life goal.

You know what pisses me off the most? The fact that I will probably edit out half of the inconvenient truth, just so you don’t think I’m a bitch. I mean really, this is a blog. I’ve already managed to piss of one person because of it,  in my defense, she is pregnant and probably crazy, so I really didn’t care. I didn’t write anything to hurt her. I just wrote it because I was inspired by the abundance of faith that exists over a stupid idea. Living in sin, pfff. I live honestly; I’m not trying to impress any mythological being. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in a “god” or a creator. I might even believe in Jesus, but I don’t believe he deserves my praise. I get no pats on the back for pooping everyday and managing to amuse myself. And that’s all we really are anyways, amusement for someone.

I want to say that I hate that my life has turned into a giant stepping stool. I’m glad I can support someone I really care about, but do I really want to do that for the rest of my life? I’m just going to die in about 40 years anyways, why spend a fucking day on someone else. I have no promise of tomorrow. I could burst into flames in my sleep. But Leah, you don’t have any goals of your own, why not live your life for someone else? Because that sounds like my definition of hell. To wake up every morning, go to work, smile, play nice, come home, smile, play nice. I don’t even feel like I can get pissed off about it. I chose this; I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t say “oh well I changed my mind, deal with your life on your own.” I guess I could say that, but I would feel awful about it. Why would I feel awful? Because he would be sad.

I want to smoke something. Anything. Give me something to drink, something to take the edge off. Now, if you are standing on a cliff, and you're thinking about jumping, and someone takes the edge off, where does that put you? In the fucking rocks, that’s where.

Bleeding, in the fucking rocks.

What does this all boil down to, Leah? What is your fucking point? Give me a reason to feel decent after reading this. I don’t care enough to read this and not get a laugh or a cuddle or anything. I’m pretty sure you just made a “death by rocks” reference. What’s that about? They have hotlines for shit like that.

I am not going to kill myself, and much as I long for a reset button, I’m too worried about wasting my life, to waste myself. I would come back as an abortion if I did that. And that’s no way to be reincarnated.

Music.

Art.

Mother.

Fucker.

I don’t know. I only write like this when I have a sheet over paper I can turn round and round, covering every corner in ink. It’s not meant to make sense. I just write the word that’s punching me from behind the eyes.

What do I want for myself? I want to sing, by myself, in front of people. I can do either. I like feedback, but that comes down to me doing things for the benefit of others? Do they like it? Are they going to clap? Hmm, maybe I’m not so crazy. Lots of people sing for people. Maybe that’s a valid part of happiness; the happiness of others.

Get me some

Words; words in the air, words on paper, words on the radio. Our whole life is dominated by the things we say. You can say what your faith is, establishing faith with a sound. You can say what you want, matching syllables and pitches to a feeling, or a need. “Language is the liquid that we're all dissolved in. Great for solving problems, after it creates a problem.” (Modest Mouse- blame it on the Tetons) And boy howdy, the problems are everywhere. For example, that whole sticks and stones bullshit, really who said that? I’m still recovering from verbal trauma I received as a child. And how many times do you hear someone smart off, or mumble under their breath, followed by a sassy “what did you just say to me?”

These words that we are taught, from the beginning of our lives are silly. I understand that we need to communicate and all, but I really think god got it right with the bats. They can just vibrate what they want to say, that’s what I want to do. Vibrate my feelings right in your face.

Now, I obviously can’t mean all this. Here I am posting my words to strangers on the internet. But people do that every day. What I’m trying to get at is the intimacy of words. I know we can express our feelings through touch, but what about “I love you”? How does that make you feel? Or “I hate you”, I would take a roundhouse kick to the face over hate, any day. Now words combined with music? Song is a completely different animal. I have wept, I have laughed, I have been made angry, and I have found peace, because of song.

Specific lyrics have spoken to my soul in unimaginable ways, whether it was helping me discover what my feelings or intentions were, or letting me know that I’m not alone. And that’s where the intimacy of words comes in. How can someone, whose face I wouldn’t recognize, touch me in such a profound way? I prefer the think back on those vibrations, maybe we do have them. Maybe we just don’t feel them. Like pheromones, they just bring us together.

Cutting away at tendons and such

I have decided the internet is a bad thing. If you come across something and you are unfamiliar with it what are you going to do? Google it. Now you might think this is a good thing, but you are mistaken. See if you had to wait until you could go to library or ask someone smarter than you, you might realize that you didn’t really want to know about that certain thing as bad as you thought you did.

Case and point, this really gross picture.

That I’m about to show you.

You might have already seen it depending on how big your screen is, but I’m trying to waste time for those with weak stomachs.

Yes, it’s that bad.

http://www.davidlnelson.md/Ganglion.htm

That is going to be my wrist on Tuesday. I should never have typed “ganglion cyst” into that little bar on the corner of my screen, and I sure as hell should have never clicked “images”. There are some things you can’t unsee. That little (I say little but I mean HUGE) clearish white thing over on the right, it’s a cyst, and I have one of those.

I have had this nub, as I affectionately call it, since 2008 sometime. I have shared many a good time with my nub, it only hurts on occasion. That’s just about as much as you can expect from any friend.  I have often encouraged people to touch it, some do, most look at me like I asked them to touch poop. I have, however, had some people ask if they could touch it. I have also had someone ask if they could bite it, Catie Caton. But for the most part it just hangs out on my right wrist just doing its little nubby thing. It wasn’t until I saw its shadow on my hand that I realized I needed to do something about it. I guess there is just something kind of gross about a massive lump casting shadows on the wall.

So I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago, he looked at it, poked it, made it wiggle. At one point he asked me how my breathing was, like doctors do, I looked at him and said “I’m perfectly healthy doctor, just deformed.” He just laughed, shook his head, and got out his stethoscope.  From that doctor, I went to an orthopedic doctor. I managed to surprise two nurses with my little nubby friend, and yes I am proud of that.  And now on Tuesday, June 14, I’m going to have this little guy cut out. It’s for the best, I know, but it’s always been hard for me to say goodbye.

This little nub, as ugly as it may be, has been the subject of many a conversation, there is no way to break the ice quite like saying “hey do you want to see my nub?” I have brought him up in a few classes, during rehearsals, and once after a funeral. You see nothing brings people together like a nub. This little sack of synovial fluid has really been there for me.

Reflections on Oklahoma

                Move away from home.  Spend about two years in a new place; establish a pretty decent amount of friends. Move away from those friends. Come back about 5 months later and see what happens. If your friends are anywhere near as awesome as my friends, that 5 months will be enough time for an awesome brew of “friendship beer” to ferment.  It’s a little intense at first, but it goes down smooth.

                Over the past two days, I have learned a lot about myself.

1.       When I get really excited, I sweat. A lot.

I pulled into to Ada at about half past five on Wednesday. If you didn’t already know there is a pretty decent amount of humidity in Oklahoma. I was walking, yes, walking, around the campus of East Central University just sweating my ass off. And it only got worse when I got into the cafo and was jumped by a group of people. I sat down at the table, after kissing my good friend Kaleb on the cheek and commenced to sweat my ass off. All I was really doing was laughing, making a fool of myself and asking Jesslyn how much I was sweating.

2.       Not everyone will be excited to see me.

Sad face.

3.       I really enjoy a good surprised face.

Before I went to cafo I went to Doc’s office I hid under his desk to surprise Jesse, and that was priceless. He makes really cute faces when he’s excited. And shortly thereafter I saw Doc. I tell you what, that man can make me cry faster than a beaten redheaded stepchild. I love Dr. Steven Walker a whole freaking lot. When we saw each other there were no words, just silence, smiles, and a hug. I hugged everyone. But my hug with Doc was my favorite, by far.

4.       People like me a lot more than I thought.

If I knew how much of an influence I had on people I would have thought more about staying. I would have thought less about being depressed. I wouldn’t have changed anything I said. Apparently my awkward apathy is part of my charm. I make people think. Well, I know for sure I make Caitlin Gray think. I make people laugh, I think that is what brings about most of my charming qualities. I like making people laugh, it makes me feel good.

5.       I have no concept of personal space.

OK, so I already knew this. Whenever I have missed people for a long time, I will express my feelings in touch. I will soak up as much skin time as I can get because I need to get my touch fix, call me crazy but I really like to touch people. I will cuddle with you against your will. I will touch you while you’re in the shower. I will get intoxicated and touch you in places that I shouldn’t. And I will try to hold your hand.

6.       I put stock into things that make no sense.

7.       I really like beer. Like a lot.

8.       When I am drinking beer, I will say things that I probably shouldn’t.

I went to the bar Wednesday night, after about 2 beers I was getting really comfortable with everyone. Something was said about drink preferences, and I expressed my feelings for beer. “Beer is better than sex” I said; general disagreement voiced around the table. “Beer never lets me down,” loud “oooooo” heard around the table. This wasn’t a knock on my love life, which is lovely, I just didn’t think about it before I said it. Big surprise, I think I might have actually embarrassed myself on that one.

9.          I question everything and never accept anything, even love, at face value.

10.      It doesn’t take much to make my jaw sore.

I bought a pack of gum for the trip to Oklahoma; I chewed through about 2 pieces within 3 hours. By the time I made it to Eufaula, I was hungry. I bought some beef jerky and went on my way. From McAlester on I kept my jaw as relaxed as possible. I felt like I had chewed through a tree. It must really suck to be a beaver.

11.      I get kind of rape-y when I miss people.

          Sorry Kaleb.

          With that said, I just want you know that I think about this place, and these people often. I can only hope that they do the same.

12.   I cry a lot.

“When all I wanted was to sing,

I was granted

The honor of living”

Yeah, that makes me cry. It doesn’t matter that I’m not singing. I am alive, and I have never felt more alive than when I listened to the chorale perform that. I became part of that song. I was dancing like I was part of the choir, I breathed with it. I felt a stabbing pain with every glorious chord, I wept. That experience is the closest thing I will ever have to an out of body experience. Thank you God, for letting me experience that.

Say what you need to say

                A few weeks ago I met a man at work. He has a wicked lazy eye and is not very attractive. We make small talk and I mention something about wanting to be a stay at home mom. His eyes light up, his wife is a stay at home mom. As we continue talking I reveal that I am living with my boyfriend. He understands the situation, but also thinks we should get married. I am not offended, he delivers his opinion in a way that makes it seem nice, and not judgmental. I walk away happy.

                Later on that day I was on the phone with a friend who will remain unnamed. I tell her about the conversation and how refreshing it was to talk to a man like that. I mention the bit about “living in sin” and she immediately sees that as an opening to jump on her soap box. “He’s right you know, you are living in sin, you should get married.” I immediately know where this conversation is going. You see a few years ago me and this person we very close, in a very small amount of time our friendship fizzled. I didn’t have the same shaped faith as her. Mine was much more irregular and constantly changing. She was a girl of blind faith; I wanted to know what the world was about. She tells me that it wouldn’t be so bad if I claimed to be a Christian. Last she heard I wasn’t. (Oh, and don’t bother rereading that, I really just wrote that she thought me living in sin would be more acceptable if I was a Christian. Weird.) I tell her that I believe that if you can’t tell what I believe by the way I treat people then it doesn’t really matter. “That right there lets me know you’re not a Christian. Some of the nicest people in the world are Buddhists. There are lots of nice people that aren’t Christians.” I should have said “and there are lots of shitty people that are ‘christians’”. But I held my tongue.

                I am a nice person; I try to be kind to others. I don’t do this because Jesus tells me to or because I want to show them the light of God. I do this because I know right from wrong, and I know how to be decent. I do not try to harvest people in the name of God. I’m not searching for those lost souls to save.

                Yesterday, I met that man again. He said he had talked to his wife about me. She told him he shouldn’t have leaned on me so hard. I told him I wasn’t offended by him telling me I should get married. It was his opinion, and I took it as just that, an opinion. I told him that soon after our conversation; I got into an argument of sorts with a friend of mine. He looked sad. I told him the situation and felt very confident and strangely at ease telling this very Christian man my beliefs. He didn’t try to change them; in fact he understood my views. This man whose name I can’t remember and his wife Mary, whom I’ve never met have really touched my life. He lives down by Hot Springs, AR and comes to Conway for business occasionally. I’m sure I will see him again, and I have no idea what we will talk about next time. But I do know that I will get crazy distracted by his lazy eye.

This man never came out and said he was a Christian, I could tell by the way he acted.

For Cam: fuck, damn, piss.

Song of Fate

Chicken Salad

                One of my favorite things in the whole world is the chicken salad from Mizzola’s. Mizzola’s is now closed. It’s hard to lose something that is a favorite, whether it is a favorite person, or a favorite show. Speaking of shows, I did something stupid. I started watching Reaper, there are only two seasons. My heart is broken, but on with the chicken salad. This particular salad inspired me to refer to the “Shicksalsied” by Johannes Brahms as chicken salad. The title means song of fate in German. It has nothing to do with food. It was the semester that we performed that piece; Mizzola’s closed its doors.

               

Chicken Salad

(Mizzola’s remake)

3 Chicken Breasts (cooked, baked, or boiled your preference)

2 lemons

½ cup olive oil

2 Tbs Dijon Mustard

Enough onion, pickle, and tomato to fill a small bowl (around 2 cups) finely chopped

Salt, pepper, garlic powder, and Italian seasoning

Combine mustard, oil and the juice of both lemons in a small bowl. Add a pinch of salt and pepper. Whisk.

Shred Chicken breasts.

Add Dijon Vinaigrette (the mustard oil combination), veggie mix to the chicken. Mix.

Season with salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning

Serve on bread, preferably homemade or at least the kind that tastes really good. Serves at least 3.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNUTUPo4ako (I am in the choir performing in the video. This is the Schicksalsied)

Getting to know me, getting to know all about me

This will serve as a larger explanation of my intentions on the interwebs.

I currently live in the great state of Arkansas. I am from Oklahoma so there should be a heavy hint of sarcasm when I say that Arkansas is great. I am taking a semester off from college right now. There is something about wasting money that just doesn’t quite sit right with me. I live with my boyfriend and I am trying to stock my womanly arsenal.

I am the 3 day old owner of a sewing machine. I love to paint on stuff. I like to cook from scratch, and I am somewhat of a music snob. Not in the hipster, “I listen to obscure bands you’ve never heard of” way, in the “I spent 3 and a half semester s as a music major and I can sing your face off” kind of way.  That’s really the only thing I am snobby about. I’m not snobby about Jesus; I am friends with Jesus, but not in the whole friends with benefits thing like a lot of people. I do nice things, I love people, and I try to be a positive influence. I like to believe that God is love, so if your god and my god look the same, and we both love, then were the same.

Even though I’m owning this whole “music snob” persona, I’m not performing anywhere. That’s a lot harder to say than you might imagine. I will get back on the choir train eventually, for now I am just entertaining dreams of learning how to play guitar and doing awesome acoustic covers of bar staples. My line up would look something like this:

1.       Total Eclipse of the Heart (Dan Band Style)

2.       Bennie and the Jets

3.       Blinded by the Light

4.       You Shook Me All Night Long

5.       Night Moves

6.       Only the Good Die Young                                                                                                                                                          

I like to think that would go over well, with the bar goers of Arkansas.

          When I grow up, I want to be the coolest, most bad ass, stay at home mom there ever was. I want to be that Mom, who makes the moms of the other toddlers stare, and then right when they pass judgment on me and my ruffian kids.  My kid will be the one giving a hug to the girl that just got pushed off the swing by one of the other bitch kids. Yeah, who’s the bad mom now? Letting you kids watch TV instead of teaching them how to pretend how to fly in outer space, stupid woman. That is all beside the point though. I am not with child. I have not reached the point in my life where I get to be barefoot and pregnant. I have years of mastering the arts of sewing and cooking and not sleeping. And Drinking, yeah, mostly drinking.

                Now, for my intentions here. These words that I write are not here to enlighten, or persuade. I am here only to share things I want to share, things that I am proud of, or things I need to get off my chest. With that being said, just know that when you get addicted to the sugary sweet, awesome I am infecting you with. There might be a recipe in here. There might be a pattern I found that I am totally stoked about. There might be instructions on how to sculpt your pubic hair into a handle bar moustache. Ok, that last one will probably never ever be on my blog. You’re welcome for that; this is not that kind of blog.