On The Fly

Prompt #1: Strangers

Great stories often begin with the arrival of a a stranger. Have the stranger make a grand entrance and then take it from there.

The party started and there was already some disastrous little details that were not taken care of. The women were all wearing the wrong color. They were told to wear black and these particular women instead rebelled and wore every other shade of the spectrum. The men were all told to do the same, but they wore shiny suits of blue, green and gray. The music was a singer who was told to sing Sinatra and instead sang heavy metal lyrics in a 20s style. The food was all a worldwide disasterly array of over-the-top crackers and bland cheeses. The banquet hall was unswept, poorly lit and every chandalier was missing lightbulbs and glass pieces. The people were confused and giggling either over the poor planning or over their own wardrobe rebellion.

As everyone drank the over-iced punch and laughed, the double doors opened with a loud BANG. Everyone looked anxiously to toward the door and there stood an handsome man in a tuxedo and a woman in a long black dress. They stood there a second with a stare that pierced everyone in the room. The people gasped and made way as the couple walked towards the center of the hall. Their shoes made the only sound and it seemed like minutes were hours as they passed all the guilty faces of the guests. The woman was holding a baby which did not move. There in the center of the room, stood a pedestal, covered with red solo cups of the poor red drink. The man in black throws each cup onto the ground and wipes the surface clean of any dirt or dust. The woman in black places the baby onto cold marble delicately. The couple then walk out the doors and lock it shut behind them.

A party goer with a loud yellow dress examines the strange baby. “It’s dead!” She yells. Everyone looks at one another and cheer.

The last babe has died.

Advertisements

“Can I Lose Weight By Eating Costco Cheesecake?” A Poem of Facts.

I am addicted to you, oh so so good things.

Your cheesecakes, your milk chocolate. The happiness it brings,

Your white version Taco Bell, caramel apple empanadas,

Your salt and vinegar chips, more addictive than marijuana,

Your Cheesecake Factory five-cheese pasta satiates my palate,

Your coffee-flavored M&Ms that I had to get by submitting a ballot,

Your sugary Panda Express chow mein and your In-n-Out chocolate-vanilla shakes,

Your food just makes me have all kinds of sugar aches,

Your cheeseburgers! So warm to the touch,

Your Costco cheese pizza un-ruining my lunch.

So the moral is: Just eat whatever the heck you want!

No diet that can keep me away from my food confidant.

Don’t you dare try to change what I love,

And to answer your question that you typed in above,

No. It’s too addictive. It’s also high in sugar, carbs and fat,

But who cares?! Go away! I am so done with this silly chat.

A One-Sided Conversation With Myself

Every day is a struggle to find meaning and happiness in my life. A STRUGGLE. It does not mean that I actually do something about it, but just the opposite. I sometimes wonder why I am an idiot, TV addict. I was told by a stranger whom I respect that I just have to meditate on me. That’s dumb. I have psychoanalyzed the shit out out my mind and body as well as the people I know. Why should I just sit around and think some more? My main problem is just DOING. I don’t know how to DO. I don’t know if I ever did.

What incites my passion?

I like writing. But I am not as good at it as I would like to believe. Hell, I just taught myself to type properly only recently.

Get better.

What is this voice in my head that just said that? Oh yeah, THAT voice. That voice is dumb.

Psychology was never your passion. 

There is that voice again… Damn voice. You harsh. If you don’t already know, I have a B.A. in Psychology.

You love food to the point of an unhealthy obsession.

I know I know. Pick on the person who sleeps right after eating. I person willing to eat until she becomes broke.

Technology is interesting, but you are not logical enough nor willing to put in the hours to pursue it. 

This voice is saying things that make me upset. I have been seriously considering to learn to code. Why are you saying that? What happened to “Get better.”

You basically live in front of a screen watching your life away. To you, it is your happiness. 

No argument there.

What does food, TV and writing have in common?

Ugh. I am not gonna be an Anthony Bourdain, okay? I don’t give a shit about being a travel/food blogger. I don’t even like reviewing things on Yelp. How are these things supposed to set me on a path to a future? This voice does not know that I am an artsy person who thinks that getting into the arts will be horrible.

Will it? Or can you find another way other than the black and white way that you just described?

Uh… I am not sure…

You can still pursue anything other than modeling or sports, which you don’t want to do. Neuroplasticity is alive and well in your mind. You can easily go and pursue anything you have started but haven’t finished. I am just trying to guide your mind and passions. 

Yeah yeah. Save me the story, voice in my head. Dude I am just screwed up. I washed out Millennial with a semi-respectable job who refuses to believe that Human Resources is a college major. (I just thought that shit was learned on the job) I refuse to believe that there are jobs that required a college education in the past that are entry-level anyway. Hell, even the job I have now seems like any person eager for a job can do it. ANYONE. But I needed a degree for this shit. Colleges just seem like half of the on-the-job-training that I receive anyway. NO ONE knows what they really need to do and yet, the person with the flair, connections, extroverted personality and “relevant” degrees are the most valuable/most desirable people to hire.

We seem to have gotten off topic. What does TheHumanGirl want? 

I want a job that I can live off of that I can also be happy with doing. I want to be happy and not worry about money all that much. But here YOU ARE telling me to pursue an artsy fartsy passion that I KNOW will just make me a Millennial loser cliche. The jobs I have now at least pay my bills.

You need to be happy first. 

I know…

 

A Change in Life: Two Things

Do I like you? Do I know you? Do you know me? Do you like me? Do you know how I have been? I have been upset lately with the things I cannot control. I hate taxes. I hate rent. I hate that I don’t like my jobs. I hate everything it seems. When I come towards you, I don’t want to hate some more. I want to be happy. But happiness is only what you make it. Can I be sure that I will be taken care of? I don’t know. I just need to take care of myself and I cannot do so if I am in a cycle of sadness and constant stress. Stress is making me a different person and I can feel it changing me. A monster with a cape over its head. I am so stressed that I just want to go home and relax. But it doesn’t seem likely. I am so stressed that I have been apologizing for it all the time. I am so stressed, I can only think of my needs and that makes me more stressed when I forget to call someone or something. I just need you more than you can ever imagine. I want you here. I want you with me. I want to know that I am not going to be stressed forever. That I am not going to be the mama with the cash forever. I want to know if you know why I do what I do. If that is why I am the way I am. Understanding me is understanding my stress. Understanding my stress is understanding how to help me. Yes. It is just that difficult. Please don’t make it look easy. It just makes me more stressed.

I am thinking of moving in with someone I don’t really care for. My friend’s ex-boyfriend. Why? Because we both need an apartment because the landlady at my current house is a psycho. My friend (His Ex) is 100% okay with this. I don’t want to get close to this guy. He seems needy ever since the recent break-up, and albeit, very lonely. I need to find out if my boyfriend is okay with this. I have my reservations, but they are mostly monetary and car-related. I don’t want him to think that I am into him or anything. In fact, just the opposite. I just want out of this horrible house. I would rather get my own place, but I know that it would be more expensive, small, lonely and kinda scary. I feel like it should be cheaper for a one-room apartment or at least a studio in this town. With this guy, I can lock myself in my room. It would have its own bath!!! I wouldn’t have to share. I am worried. I just want my own space without the worry. Without the fear. Without the inconsiderate management that I have to talk to every day. If I ask, “How was your day?” she would respond, “Not so good.” I ask every day. What am I supposed to do with a response like that? I have tried everything to console her. But she runs herself in these circles of anger and despair and violence. She is starting to become passive aggressive which is the worst kind. I am a model tenant. At least treat me better than the convict… Sorry I have a life. Sorry I have two jobs. Sorry I have some money. Sorry you suck and are entitled, you crazy bitch. Act your age. Be the reasonable, responsible one. I hate always having to be that person. It’s stressful. I know that she would never change. I know that. I need to leave. Cheap rent isn’t worth this much anguish.

We Shared

We shared laughs together.

We shared tears together.

We shared similar interests together.

We shared food together.

We shared fear together.

We shared smiles together.

We shared pictures together.

We shared hate together.

We shared thoughts together.

We shared hugs and kisses together.

We shared ideas together.

We shared knowledge together.

We shared our different pasts together.

We shared moments together.

We shared intimacy together.

We just shared.

I Keep My Phone On Silent

A new day and a new feeling. I don’t know what to make of it and I don’t know how to make it go away. I am nervous and worried about myself. I am scatter-brained and tearful. I don’t know what to do or say. I just see the eyes pointing at me.

There are parts that make me happy. And there are parts that seem to rip my emotional core in two. I write this passage while droplets fall from my eyes.

They come and they communicate. It seems nonstop. I can’t relax. My mind is telling me that it is crashing. My eyes see a blurry past – a sad past with no future.

How can someone stand this? Is it lying if you want to tell someone something, but you don’t know how to tell them? How to convince them that they think you are something else?

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do.

Right Around

It pulls tight. I cannot tell who has done this.

It feels scratchy and still. Strong in weight.

It is the option that no one wants to hear.

A feeling of death and vagrant justice.

When there are no more roads that can be traveled,

When there is no future to the present.

This moment that needs to happen.

Are you ready?

It will hurt. And you know it well.

This is not a trust exercise, but a mortality question.

Who are you to be alive and who are you to be dead?

Toes ache with pain, putting immense strain tiptoeing,

Who in my life- our life – that stands in the way?

From my happiness. My everything. That blockade.

Are you prepared?

I know that it is the right thing. The only thing.

Is this what should happen? No.

But my body craves silence. Craves an end to a whirlwind.

It doesn’t recognize the settled dust for what it is.

It creates new dust, new mess, new things to clean up.

I am tired, I guess.

Just let it come to an end.

 

Last NaBloPoMo Post & Pap Smear!

20151127_082024

Happy to eat you November Blogging.

 

Today I could have wrote about possibly the worst pap smear I have ever received. I could have written about how just her finger going in felt really wrong. I could have written about how the speculum felt like a piece of old plastic that did not go in without force or unwelcome friction. I don’t even want to write about how just the doctor getting the sample made my hands push my body up and away from the table, which my back struggled to lay on naturally. I don’t even want to write about the apologies that she kept giving me during and after the procedure. I don’t want to record her opinion on my sensitivity and the white chunks I saw on her latex gloves. Was that conversation I had with the overly nice male nurse even worth mentioning when he handed me my prescription? (Especially when he said that it was for my “lady parts.”)

You always feel violated afterwards…

… And a feeling to need to pee.


 

Yay!

I have finished THIRTY blogs this month! It was not easy. (Even though I sometimes cheated) I have a lot of things to work on when it comes to my writing. I’m not the best writer, but I don’t think that I am the worst!

I went through a lot in the beginning of this month. A lot of self-doubt and confusion. I do feel like I am in a better place but not without some damage to my creativity. (Which had happened during the middle of this month)

Thanks National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) for existing. I would like to say that my goal is to do NaNoWriMo at least once, but I am glad I am taking baby steps. This was a good exercise in self-discipline and creativity and I am glad that I did it.

Proud moment.

The Almost Balcony Dive

IMG_20151130_145908

Foals concert – 11/29/15   (balcony view)

He was rocking on the stage. His hair moving to the energy of the music he was playing. His feet twirling and stopping as if choreographed to be wild. There were fans screaming and waving their arms to the music. Fists pumped into the air, keeping time to the beat of the drums. And in the middle of it all, he suddenly stopped singing. He stopped strumming his electric guitar. The rest of the band started to repeat a hard melody over and over again. He walked off the stage with his electric guitar, walked down the steps of the side stage and disappeared into a side door. Was he peeing? Was he going to change his shirt? A minute later there were screaming fans in the top balcony. He had walked all the way upstairs and passed through the fans. They were all elated and in shock at the same time. Some using this moment to touch his person or to take blurry photos. He walked to the front of the upper balcony. He looked down at the fans below. Everyone was wondering what he was about to do. Mouths agape. He looked long and hard at the people below. No. He was not going to jump, or… was he? But what if those drunk fans don’t catch him safely or what if he falls onto that wooden divider?!  Alas, our rock star decides not to jump after a second glance. He goes back down to the first floor and another silence and confusion happens in his absence. Now he is at the back of the concert hall, he tosses his guitar to his skinny bodyguard, climbs said divider with tightrope accuracy and jumps into the back of the crowd. With hands touching every part of his body, they attempt to bring him back to the stage. They dropped him twice, one fall more dramatic than the last sink into the crowd. His excitement from the crowd surfing was nonstop. He was amazing; he tried to stay high and aware all at once. He already did one stage dive and now this slightly epic moment occurs. Once the hands had returned him to the stage, the crowd goes wild. He receives his guitar back and completes the song that the other members have been prolonging in his absence.

He should have went for it.

Haha.