Monday, October 6, 2008

The Days I Can't Get Through On My Own

I wanted to be sixteen today. I woke up in the dark and I was cold and my eyes were red and my hair was too big because I fell asleep with it wet. I'd been having a dream that I didn't want to remember, so I stumbled out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and took Vegas on a walk.

It was cool outside and that made me smile, but my throat was raw and my stomach was sick. I wanted to throw my comforter around my shoulders, shuffle down the hallway and crawl into my mom's bed. But I'm grown up now and I live in Arizona. I have to take care of myself and I can't afford to miss class.

I was crying by the time I got home. I found myself feeling childish, and decided to make breakfast. There were twenty-five eggs in the fridge. I don't know why we have so many, or when they'll be eaten. I pulled three out and set them on the counter. One rolled to the ground and cracked. That has to be some sort of bad omen.

I made three eggs and two pieces of toast, and put them on a big plate. I usually eat off the small plates, in a transparent, self-destructive attempt to eat less. But today, I made three perfect eggs, slightly burnt, with lots of pepper and lots of hot sauce. I put too much sugar in my tea and only drank half of it.

I put on a pair of sweats. I said ugly things to my reflection. My skin had taken a beating over the weekend because I drank too much and didn't sleep enough.

I wanted to curl up on the couch and watch movies, call my mom, and cry about being sick. But I got in the car and went to school, listened to an old CD and wished that I had someone to sing with.

I went to class but didn't pay attention. Instead, I decided to be Amy Winehouse for Halloween and looked for pictures of her tattoos. I found a wig and made a list of what I needed to buy to finish my costume. I started looking up juice fasts, because I want to be actual Amy Winehouse for Halloween, not Fat Amy Winehouse. I know that Amy Winehouse weighs around a hundred pounds. I will not get to a hundred pounds. Not by Halloween. But I'm okay with losing twelve pounds. I figure that I can lose around that much weight if I go on a juice fast for seven days. I would have to start cutting week. Looking at the logistics of everything, I decide not to do it. I can limit my caloric intake, but I hate cutting out sugars. And after I finish the juice fast, I would have to work my way back up to solid food. And that doesn't sound like fun. I vow to run every day until Halloween and double my ab exercises. I hate Arizona for being so hot, because I can't run when I get home from school.

I went home and put on a skirt and heels and my favorite pair of earrings. It's a bad habit. I always look my best when I feel my worst.

I had a meeting for a group project. We started at Xtreme Bean. I grabbed a delicious blood orange tea and loaded it up with sugar. Six packets, like always. I drove to Audra's house with the windows down, listening to a mix CD that someone who loves me once made. I'm happy.

My group finished our project and I left. I get lost on the way home and I'm angry at myself. I swing by Tempe Marketplace to visit Alicia. I decide to stay, knowing that if I go home, I will lay on the floor and watch movies all afternoon. I wander over to Pier 1 and buy candles because they're on sale. I spend an hour dreaming about how I will decorate my apartment when I live on my own. I imagine that I will cover my walls in prints of Klimt and Magritte.

My stomach is empty and I like the way that feels. I consider skipping lunch. I don't want to eat. I bribe myself with pizza. Even when I hate the way my body looks, I still love pizza. I wander over to World Market and look at the wines. I can buy them now. I can't find a Moroccan wine and I'm mad. I see sangria mix and I laugh, remembering the time when Sasha, Shannon and I bought two giant jugs of sangria at LIDL. And then I'm sad, because I miss them.

I think too much about France. I'm on the verge of deciding not to go back. My focus in going back is fatuous. I'm well aware of that. But I hate closing doors, so I leave this one open for now.

I went to Barnes and Noble. Books have always been my dearest friends. I love everything about bookstores. The hushed reverence. The air conditioning. I spend too much time looking for a book that I will be able to reread. I want a book that will stay with me, burrow into my skin, and affect my worldview. I balance on the balls of my feet, touching every book on the very bottom shelf in the biography section. I pick up a collection of essays by Latino writers.

I call my family, but they are all busy. I feel neglected, forgotten.

I buy a slice of pizza and read my book. Things are good.

When I get home, there is a package from my mom. Pictures of our trip in Europe. I look through them and don't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm amazed at the richness of colors in her photos. I haven't seen colors like that in a long time.

Today has been a struggle since my eyes opened. My emotions change more quickly than I expect. I hate anyone who gets too close to me and I hate being alone. The tiny things upset me and I forget to care about the things that I should probably find important.

The only reason I can make it through is because Someone is fighting for me. He knows I'm too weak to fight for myself


Lauren Elise said...

Ok, I started crying while watching this skit. Quality.
Love you girl

spartacus21 said...

gets me everytime...

Michelle Renae :) said...

this skit made me cry as well... everything that i've known and sought comfort in has betrayed me right now... it's so apparent of my deep deep need to be fought for. thanks for sharing this katy.