So, I'm walking to school today when I see this dude standing sort of close to the curb. He's gesturing to no one in particular, and talking in this kind of high sing-song-y voice, and as I watch him I think,
Awww. Poor crazy dude.
He doesn't look like your average crazy dude. He's wearing skinny jeans, for pete's sake. I don't know what the correlation is with skinny jeans and mental health, but there you go.
As I pity the poor crazy dude and think about how sad it is that no one is actually talking back to him, the crowd ahead of me parts, and I see:
His young daughter.
As I walk past I think how funny, that schizophrenia and attempting to parent a child present in such similar manners.
Poor crazy dude.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
melodramatic me
4/14/92, 8:08pm
"Today was awfully sleepy. The old ache is back. I feel kind of empty. What hurts the most, though, is feeling so lonely and not being able to tell anyone. I keep thinking that somewhere there's a friend that I can really talk to . The sky is unhappy, because I am. I can tell. When I am happy the sky is violet, or a deep blue. Tonight, it is a sad blue. I do have friends that nobody knows about. The moon is my friend, and one star that is always above my window. That sounds horribly childish, but it is true."
Geez.
Someone really should have limited my L.M. Montgomery intake.
****Addendum: I was thirteen when I wrote this, so don't worry. While I do have very positive feelings regarding the moon, stars and sky, I no longer consider them to be close personal friends. I feel more than slightly embarrassed that apparently at one time, I did.****
"Today was awfully sleepy. The old ache is back. I feel kind of empty. What hurts the most, though, is feeling so lonely and not being able to tell anyone. I keep thinking that somewhere there's a friend that I can really talk to . The sky is unhappy, because I am. I can tell. When I am happy the sky is violet, or a deep blue. Tonight, it is a sad blue. I do have friends that nobody knows about. The moon is my friend, and one star that is always above my window. That sounds horribly childish, but it is true."
Geez.
Someone really should have limited my L.M. Montgomery intake.
****Addendum: I was thirteen when I wrote this, so don't worry. While I do have very positive feelings regarding the moon, stars and sky, I no longer consider them to be close personal friends. I feel more than slightly embarrassed that apparently at one time, I did.****
Monday, April 20, 2009
i'm late for my PETA meeting
So, it's been approximately a million years since my last post. Apparently when I get stressed typing is impossible, what with all the curling up in the fetal position and thumb sucking and all.
Well, after some lengthy pep talks from Paul, my mom, and my good friends Ben and Jerry, I have crawled out from under the table, pried my shriveled thumb from my mouth, consumed several pounds of sugar, and, I am pleased to say, feel much better. A month plus of sugar consumption and thumb sucking will do that for you.
So, uh, yeah....
Here I am.
Let's see, what has happened in a month? Well, my brother Walt got married, which came as a huge shock since I thought he was still nine (turns out he's quite a bit older), and I had spring break, during which I watched a lot of Gilmore Girls, shouted "SPRING BREAK!!!" quite loudly at random and talked a lot about running around in a string bikini while holding a red plastic cup filled with root beer because I've heard that's what the kids do during spring break nowadays. Well, maybe not the root beer part.
It was a good week and a half. I ate like a five year old and stayed up until two in the morning a couple of times and once I even forgot to brush my teeth.
It was wild.
Now, I'm back at school and facing something most distressing:
I think maybe my literature teacher doesn't like me.
I've had my fears, but today when I approached her after class to ask for clarification of a word she scribbled at the end of one of my papers and she didn't beam with smiles as she gave her response I thought, hey. Does she not like me?
I thought about it all the way to the subway.
I mean, I'm at every class. I'm punctual. I turn in all of my assignments in a timely fashion, participate in class, come up with some fairly un-stupid ideas. What's not to like?
Am I obnoxious? I mean, I do sit at the front of every class, and maybe I do beam from ear to ear when she walks in, but that's just because I really like her class. Geez. Listen to me. I can't stand me.
Maybe I should sit in the back, and look sort of morose and troubled. Yeah, that's good.
Is it because I wore that bright pink lipstick last week? Dang. I'm too girly. I knew it! Okay, so I'll put on some sort of ripped clothes, and maybe they should be flow-y. Yeah, flow-y is good. I won't wear any makeup, and I'll perhaps neglect to put on a foundation undergarment and buy a pair of thick soled sandals and run them over with my neighbor's stroller a few times to make it look like I wear them to all my PETA meetings.
Yeah, that's good.
I feel better having a plan. Maybe then she'll like me.
Well, after some lengthy pep talks from Paul, my mom, and my good friends Ben and Jerry, I have crawled out from under the table, pried my shriveled thumb from my mouth, consumed several pounds of sugar, and, I am pleased to say, feel much better. A month plus of sugar consumption and thumb sucking will do that for you.
So, uh, yeah....
Here I am.
Let's see, what has happened in a month? Well, my brother Walt got married, which came as a huge shock since I thought he was still nine (turns out he's quite a bit older), and I had spring break, during which I watched a lot of Gilmore Girls, shouted "SPRING BREAK!!!" quite loudly at random and talked a lot about running around in a string bikini while holding a red plastic cup filled with root beer because I've heard that's what the kids do during spring break nowadays. Well, maybe not the root beer part.
It was a good week and a half. I ate like a five year old and stayed up until two in the morning a couple of times and once I even forgot to brush my teeth.
It was wild.
Now, I'm back at school and facing something most distressing:
I think maybe my literature teacher doesn't like me.
I've had my fears, but today when I approached her after class to ask for clarification of a word she scribbled at the end of one of my papers and she didn't beam with smiles as she gave her response I thought, hey. Does she not like me?
I thought about it all the way to the subway.
I mean, I'm at every class. I'm punctual. I turn in all of my assignments in a timely fashion, participate in class, come up with some fairly un-stupid ideas. What's not to like?
Am I obnoxious? I mean, I do sit at the front of every class, and maybe I do beam from ear to ear when she walks in, but that's just because I really like her class. Geez. Listen to me. I can't stand me.
Maybe I should sit in the back, and look sort of morose and troubled. Yeah, that's good.
Is it because I wore that bright pink lipstick last week? Dang. I'm too girly. I knew it! Okay, so I'll put on some sort of ripped clothes, and maybe they should be flow-y. Yeah, flow-y is good. I won't wear any makeup, and I'll perhaps neglect to put on a foundation undergarment and buy a pair of thick soled sandals and run them over with my neighbor's stroller a few times to make it look like I wear them to all my PETA meetings.
Yeah, that's good.
I feel better having a plan. Maybe then she'll like me.
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