Reih7’s Weblog

Sure, sit there in your pretty lavender shirt and bright colored tie. Run your hands through your fine messy hair that looks vaugly red on this 70 degree day. Make your faces at the screen, rub your hands over your smooth skin, softly say “bless you” to the girl with the sneezing fit and smirk when she doesn’t stop. Do all the things you do that make me want to disappear somewhere safe, make me wonder why I decided on wearing sweats today and why my thighs are still so huge.

Make me wonder what my life would have been like if I had the kind of social life that I used to have when I was healthier. Make me angry that I have been so shafted in what should be the my “prime”. Make me sorry that I ever decided to stop eating and forgo my chance to ever know someone like you in the first place.

I’m going crazy, sitting here, wanting to gouge my eyes out out from frustration that I seem to look at all boys lately with a special hunger and that I can’t figure out how to control my destiny enough that I’ll end up with on or a few of them. I want to run a hundred miles, throw a thousand punches, kick a million dents into an old piece of scrap metal. I just want to be able to have the chance, instead of being made to sit here like an ill-mannered child told to wait for her presents. I am SICK of this pathetic existance and can’t sleep at night because I don’t really care if I wake up. My time just streaches widely in front of me with specks here and there that keep me busy but nothing, no one, to keep me SANE.

“I give up”, I say to myself softly. Louder now, until I’m screaming it in my head: “I! GIVE! UP!!”. These ideas that used to keep me going, that “fate” will intervene, or even that by sheer probability I’ll find someone who’ll want to stay with me for awhile, all of that is bullshit. The probability is just as likely that I’ll end up miserable and alone. I’ll be banking on getting out of this town and returning to my old self during my training, but work will take over and I’ll be surrounded by people who are all married and together and I’ll end up 30, 35, 40; a pathetic little girl who thought that everything was going right until she woke up middle aged and alone.

My sister’s repeatitive prolaimations that she wants to have a child by the time she’s my age just make me feel worthless. Certainly I think that she’s on one extreme of things and I, with all my work and scholarship, am on the other, but if there’s a right side to chose, I think my sister made the best choice. Poopy says “you can’t base your life around who’s going to come to your funeral!”, to which I say that I could work 20 hours a day, come home to something wonderful, and I wouldn’t feel it at all, or I could work 2 hours (like yesterady) and be feeling every second of my lonely existance tick by. He “hrumphs” and says he doesn’t want to argue when I’m in the mood to fight him on everything he says. I think that this is something that I want so desperately to argue about, if only because it may give me something else to hang on to.

It *is* about who comes to your funeral. No one who’s died over the last few years has told me that they’ll always remember their salary or their undergrad university. All of them have professed their thanks and neverending love for their friends and family. You know, we’ve all got about 80 years on this planet and then we die. As to what comes before or after that, I can’t say either way. I do know that while we’re here we have to do something to occupy our time (get busy living or get busy dying, right?). When I die I’m not taking my career or my accomplishments with me. If our youth is worth beleiving in, then hopefully whatever meager contributions I made to society will have long been surpassed. As long as I’m here, I just want to find someone to spend the time with. Laugh as the world goes by, then say our goodbyes as we move on as well.

It’s one of those things that you always knew: People matters, LIFE matters; not career, money, etc. I didn’t really, truly start beleiving it until recently, when these other people in my life because sicker and I got healthier.  

So maybe that’s why this kid sitting here, this Jonny Depp look-a-like, is giving me a fucking heart attack. Because more than preparing for my interview, more than organizing stuff for my meeting tomorrow, more that working on faking some research, I just want to…be with someone. Some insurance against the ‘living’ and ‘dying’ parts of being alive. A safety net. Or something. And after seeing the highs and lows of people’s existances, I can’t bear being without that security.

Jesus. How am I going to continue.