200

I can't fall asleep. I have been alone in my room for over 48 hours. I'm not good at being sick. My mind is awake thinking about all the things I should do but my body won't let me do them. I just want someone to come over and read the great gatsby to me cover to cover. I need the green light right now. I have been looking through old pictures that have randomly made me burst into embarrassing tears. When this happens I look behind me thinking someone is there but they're not.
I've always been independent. I've always been okay with shutting myself in a room for hours and getting over a cold, or in this case this MONSTER I have inside of me. for the first time all I can think of is 'I want my mommy' I just want to sit on our couch at one in the morning with a bowl to throw up in in front of me, her next to me rubbing my hands while watching lady and the tramp like we always did when I was sick. I just want that.
When she said she would fly up and sit with me, or fly me home my heart leapt. I mean, could I?
No.
I forget that I'm on my own now.
I have people. Great, wonderful people but I don't have my person which is the core of the lump in my throat.
I just want to be in my big bed at home.
I just want to sleep continuously for a few days.
I just want to eat my favorite pasta.
I just want to take a long bath.
I just want to go be sick at home.
I just want to stop leaking these stupid embarrassing tears.

as a dog

its not as if I'm the first person to not like being sick.
the problem is, being alone in my room with no distraction from the fact my body hurts and my head is a hundred pounds.
I'm one of those people that doesn't get sick, MAYBE once a year, but when I do its awful.
the worst of it is, I had such a wonderful epiphany this weekend, and it is over shadowed by the fact that standing up takes ever ounce of my effort.

CUNT

and so I finished 'Cunt' by Inga Muscio.
I must say it achieved what I thought it would. Between Cunt and The Vagina Monologues I am actually appreciating being female lately.
but its funny because I still can't type, "being a woman" without laughing at myself. Maybe its because I don't consider myself a "woman" yet. and not like, "oh sarah is a man" just as in I feel like a woman has a pants suit or a child, or is living on her own, not supported in anyway by her parents. Which makes me somewhere in between.
I have also realized I don't carry myself like a female. I'm not a feminine person. it isn't a bad thing necessarily, its really just who I am.
because of this I don't realize until the last second that I may be torturing someone. I always assume that I'm 'the best friend' because well, to the guys I'm attracted to I am. But I always seem to forget that works in the opposite way.
I had an awful night last night, way later in the night. and an even more awful morning. I got what I needed and still feel rather....
well.
just, well.

there are two little scars.

creative writing class,

task: old memory, newer memory.

old:

My sister stood in front of the mirror. She was five years old. I crawled into the bedroom we shared and sat watching her dance to whatever music was in the cassette player at the time. I stood up to join her and she told me I had to sit back down, I was only allowed to sit and watch. I kept standing, with much effort, and she continuously told me to sit. Finally, I got up, hugged her and she grabbed my face and pitched it as hard as she could and pushed me into the mirror. I crawled out of the room.

new:

We sat in the back of the car. My legs were on his and we did not look at each other. It was under that same lamppost, that same spot that was now so familiar. The silence was not deafening, and I wasn’t aware of it. My stomach growled. He started laughing and said I ruined the moment. “I wasn’t aware of this being a moment” I said, “I thought we were just sitting here” He sat up and pulled a granola bar out of the glove box and handed it to me. I ate it quickly. He laughed a genuine laugh that I hadn’t expected, or really ever heard. Slowly, he reached over and took my hand. I looked down at my hand in his and wondered why I was allowing him to do that. I hated handholding. It was two am when I realized I should leave. As I got out of the car he released my hand and said simply, “Things will be different.”

things and things and whats the word?

I keep getting too excited for things that may not come to be. little hope for somethings that probably won't happen.

I want things.
I want things that may not happen but I feel like I deserve them.

my mind resides in a sort of future, an unrealistic future?

not necessarily.

I JUST WANT THINGS.

RED LEATHER YELLOW LEATHER

its weird because I'm really loving everything that is going on.
but then sorta not.
but sorta.

Everything and nothing makes sense.
well this is weird.

wait what?
alright.

I turned bright red at the idea of someone who I don't even know. Because I was actually attracted to him. Perhaps the reason I turned bright red was because I haven't considered talking to someone I'm actually attracted to in so long. I was embarrassed for considering it.

I shouldn't be embarrassed for considering it.

a letter.

To: CEO

its all violently clear now:
I couldn't be in something because my mind was always in the back of your car. when we would draw pictures on the foggy windows and my stomach would growl and ruin and make the moment at the same time.

Three hundred and sixty-six days ago I promised that I would never go back, that I would steamroll over those moments and your car.
I broke that resolution exactly twenty minutes after I said those words on the kitchen floor.

It is clear because now I know the meaning of the words "self control".

My sarcasm is my defense mechanism. You are probably the only person who can manipulate that, without even realizing it.

Maybe next time, I'll pencil you in.

I quit.

from,
Your Former Employee