Shinju's Blog/Journal

[Shinju]

Just my journal, which I'd rather keep here then on the main site because I'm pretty sure since this is a members only area it cannot be found with a search engine. It's long and boring and there is no need to read it, it's just here because I have an inability to keep a paper diary. Will probably be taken down soon for no reason other than the sudden embarrassment of being me.

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Kickin' it in my Old School Pants

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My day today:

I woke up at five in the morning today to the jarring blare of multi-tonal alarm sounds coming from my cellular phone. Well, I really didn’t “wake up.” I hadn’t slept, after all. Yesterday I found it overly hard to stay awake for more than an hour at a time and ended up sleeping on and off until about seven o’ clock.

I got up in my ugly, extra long night shirt and took my daily handful of morning vitamins/over the counter pain relievers. I decided I would go back on my diet and tossed a chocolate calcium chew in a Ziploc bag with all my other vitamins as a treat for after my lunch, which I had already decided would be Shredded Wheat. I then proceeded to make myself some egg whites with chopped mushrooms and onions, using the fine chopping knife my brother had gotten my parents in a lovely sharp knife set for Christmas. I always appreciate those nice, sharp knives that actually cut the food you drive them into. When I had moved out we had purchased all our horrific knives at the dollar store. But with these handy new knives (which are showing signs of rusting because none of us take care of them properly) I end up cutting off the nail to my left thumb at least one times out of ten and narrowly miss cutting a chunk out of my hand entirely, so I have to remember with each chop to be careful.

*chop*careful*chop*careful*chop*chop*chop*chop*chop*careful* chop*chop*chop*chop*narrow miss*careful*

I scrambled my choppings with the eggs. Everything stuck to the pan as always because I used that ghastly “I can’t believe it’s not Butter” spray instead of proper cooking grease. I sliced myself a kiwi, which turned out to be sour even though we had had it for over a week. I poured myself a cup of milk in my favorite Alice in Wonderland cup. I like it because not only does it have Alice playing hedgehog-flamingo croquette on the front, but has a grinning Cheshire cat inside the rim. I sat down to eat the breakfast I had cooked, which, let’s face it, wasn’t that good. But I didn’t want to risk cereal because sometimes processed food makes me sleepy.

Sometime during breakfast I noticed there was some dead skin on one of my fingers and then I realized I had burned myself, accidentally touching the hot pan and forgetting about it once the initial shock was over.

I took a shower after I heard my mom’s alarm go off; I hadn’t wanted to wake her because the bathroom with the shower is located in the master bedroom. But that turned out to be a mistake as she needed to shower too but refused to knock and hurry me up with that important bit of information and we ended up running ten minutes late. I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, knowing I had to hurry but not knowing what to wear because a majority of my horrible jumble of laundry was not clean. I tried to wear a dress thingy, but thought I looked terribly fat in it so took it off at the last minute. I had no pants that fit, I had recently lost ton of weight and now they wouldn’t even stay on with a belt, and even if they did I do not own a belt and would have had to a piece of string or a cleverly stylish scarf. So I went in the garage to a pile of clothes I had nearly given to Good Will because they were too small, but saved at the last minute because I had suddenly lost thirty pounds.

Ah ha, a pair of worn black pants from high school. And they fit good. God damn, did they fit good. I tossed on a shirt I had gotten on sale from Old Navy for six bucks the other day. Rarr! Did I always look this good??? Meow. I was ready by the time my mom was and we got in the car to pick up my brother.

I did my makeup in the car, because I can never truly be ready for anything on time, so find ways to save time later. Lots of black eye liner. Oh yeah. Although it was freakish because I kept imagining my mom slamming on the breaks for some squirrel/pidgin/stray moose/badger/whatever and the thought of my cheap, Wet and Wild eyeliner being jammed into my eye during a freak accident kept making me shudder.

I commented to my mom how I had inherited her small eyes as I gave myself long tails with the eyeliner. We discussed a rare, genetic eye disorder that runs in our family, which we don’t have but could possibly pass on to any offspring by recessive genes. Something about being born without enough eyelid to blink. Highly unlikely, but the surgery for correction is difficult seeing as it is so rare the doctors don’t know how to do it. My mother had hopped my aunt had saved the documents from her children’s surgery, for reference for my brother’s and I in case our kids were so unfortunate. Although my cousins’ eyes look awesome and Asian, apparently all that surgery was very painful. My mother joked about how one of here cousins with the disorder had been on the police force had been nicknamed “Japanese” by his peers. We’re Mexican.

When we picked up my brother he had his sunglasses on. It was sunny, but I suspected sadness/tiredness/hangover might be more the case. Then I remembered he’d just had that newfangled vision corrective surgery and has to wear them for a few more weeks. My mother asked him about his recovery. The bastard now sees 20/15. I remarked that I would never get surgery like that because I looked too cute in glasses. My mother reminded me that I was minus the five thousand dollars for it anyway.

Traffic sucked, that ten minutes of lost time made all the difference and I felt guilty and useless. I kept picturing a really bad accident on my side of the car, killing just me. Worst “fears” nearly confirmed by mother’s shoddy driving. Mood lightened by jokes about mother’s shoddy driving by me and my brother. The world was good again.

*talk*politics*talk*my brother’s lasik*talk*my brother’s dog*talk*my sister in law’s diet*talk*food addiction*talk*what we would eat for lunch*talk*my mother’s favorite American Idol contestant, David Archuleta, etc.

We made it into the city, alive and intact. Someone was driving the wrong way on the one way street we were on. I crossed my fingers “Pleasedontbeasian, pleasedontbeasian, pleasedontbeasian.” My brother laughed, and to my chagrin there was an old Asian lady driving the car. I suppose it was far too much to hope, being in the middle of Chinatown.

I saw a woman riding a bicycle. She had long strawberry blond hair and a peach skirt that ended just above innocent, pale calves. I’d so do her.

We parked in a much coveted, private space. I was a little hot. It was sunny out, I had a mug of hot coffee that had been on my lap the whole ride and I was still wearing my skull jacket. There was a lady waiting for us to go in the building so she could get in too. She had entered the lot when my mother had opened the gate by remote control. She had a pretty red retriever with her, reminding me of a dog we had once owned. After she was far ahead of us, my brother joked how if my other brother had been there he wouldn’t have let her in.

The white, empty blank hall. Hallways always stick out in my mind. Especially this one, with the pale brown wooden doors, most of them with business-like Chinese writing beside the English on their brass door placques. There are a lot of Asian business owners in the building, which always reminds me of my desire to be born Japanese (or even Chinese or Taiwanese) in my next life, probably a product of the over-animed generation I was born in.

My mom held the elevator door for my brother while he got the mail. There was a cramped elevator ride to the third floor. When I was little, elevators used to amuse me. But I needed to go to the potty very bad right then. I remembered all the coffee, milk, and two bottles of water I had downed before leaving home.

When we got to the office, I tried to open the door for my mom, but I was holding things with my right and there’s something wrong with my left so the door slipped through my seemingly nerveless fingers, caught by my brother. I was angered by my stupid weak body, even though I should be glad that I can actually walk now, as opposed to December, when I was at my worst and the doctors couldn’t tell me exactly why I couldn’t walk without terrible pain and misbalance.

Right when I put my stuff down I grabbed the keys and headed for the loo, upset to notice that I still kind of walk with an awkward shuffle. I vaguely wondered if the people working in the Chinese chiropractor’s office next door hear my gait and shake their heads every time I walked by, but I suppose that is a product of my overly-vain imagination.

In the stall I questioned which way was the correct way to put the seat cover on. You think being my age I would know by now.

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*sniff*awkward*sniff, sniff*

Oh shit, I forgot to wash my vagina when I was in the shower today!

Then I realized it was not me, but the woman in the stall next to me.

*smack forehead*

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The soap at the sink smelled like an illusive memory from my childhood, some sort of delicious cherry candy that I could not put my finger on.

I spent some time checking out how good my jeans looked in the full length mirror on the back of the door. I felt much better not being a total fat ass now. Plus for some reason I looked cuter than usual today.

When I got back I commented to my mother, “Kickin’ it in my high school jeans, oh yeah!”

The rest of my day was filled with files and paper cuts and blood sugar crashes. Lots of coffee and lots of bathroom breaks due to lots of coffee. And then later, lots of acid tummy.

My mom listened to the news on the radio, which probably made my blood pressure rise by about fifty percent. Blah blah blah, Hilary, Obama, constantly interrupted by my mother’s fist shaking comments, which made my blood boil even more. I mean, our views are pretty similar, but I try to keep my mode is constantly set to “chill,” knowing that me yelling about things isn’t going to do any good for the state of the world.

I smiled while she talked about David Archuletta and the state of the heated competition. I hate American Idol, but it’s her favorite thing in the world so I tolerate it, knowing she tolerates the occasional SpongeBob or Family Guy.

I had a stack of about seven reams of files to punch holes in and attach together with long, sharp brads. Not the most strenuous work day in the world, but being as retarded as I am, even the littlest task is daunting. I kept imagining earthquakes or narcolepsy throwing my head toward the desk and my eyes being stabbed out by those wretchedly sharp brads.

I have an insane fear of blunt head trauma as well. I constantly think people are angry at me for being a loser and are coming to beat me up and smash my head into things, although no one has ever really physically harmed me in my entire life. I had about ten thoughts like that during the day, feeling my head bust open with each one.

I’m really sick, I really should be on medication, but my social anxiety disorder makes it impossible for me to make and keep appointments half the time and I know from experience it would take a long series of hit and miss mindfucking medications for me to find the right one, making me even more scarred to go. I admitted this to my mother one day, and she said she and dad would help me to get to my appointments, which hasn’t happened yet, but I suppose they are very busy and can’t deal with that right now, which is understandable. I’m 24 and should be able to attend to such matters myself. I feel gross and disgusting and wonder how they can stand to put up with me when I know they must see me stay in the house for days at a time, with my pale, dark circled face and greasy hair and ugly night clothes and my being antisocial and awkward even with them.

I was hungry so I got a pickle out of the mini fridge. I quickly put it down because the UPS guy came and I didn’t want him to see me awkwardly eating a pickle. He was cute. He checked me out. I liked him, but still not knowing after so many years how to deal with this kind of attention, which, for some reason, I get all the time from guys, I immediately froze and went into frigid bitch mode and pretended to ignore him. This, my friends, is why I never get laid. And if I am in a situation where a guy gets past frigid bitch mode I freak out and give him a fake number. That could also be why I never get laid. In fact, I’m pretty sure that is the reason.

My mom commented on how the usually quick and grumpy UPS guy spent an awful lot of time hanging around our door. I ignored him.

Mom wanted to go out to lunch. I was a fat ass and wanted to eat shredded wheat. I was quite adamant, actually, that she and my brother just go and leave me to my crunchy cereal. But for some reason she really wanted me to go, and ended the argument with her giving me puppy eyes and being near tears. Well, there goes my diet for today, I mean, the woman gave birth to me for Christ’s sake.

Our hostess at Applebee’s was plump, but she had a sad and pretty face. I imagined what she would look like in bed. I so have not been laid since October. Haven’t made out with anyone for months. I think it has finally gotten to me.

While waiting for my food I nervously tore up the wrapper to my straw and my paper napkin ring. One of the shreds from the straw wrapper looked like a paper heart, so I pressed it to my condensated water glass and it stuck. I annoyingly realized that I could not look anyone in the eye.

I love their tomato bisque. And I got some salad. And I helped myself to my brother’s shrimp. Fat fat fatty fat fat fat fat kept echoing around in my head.

Back in the office I was dizzy and couldn’t think. It had to be those wretched green tea vitamins from the dollar store. Sometimes I forget that most things get sent to the dollar store for a reason.

I took a break, hanging off my spinney chair awkwardly like a monkey.

Then it was time to go home.

When I got in the elevator, I remembered a story in the news on how a sensor in an elevator was broken or improperly set and it beheaded a man. In my imagination, the door went right through me, decapitating my torso from my legs. Impossible, I know.

On the ride home it was sunny. I remembered how cold and miserable I was during the winter, because my body never warms up, so I was happy there, sitting in my skull and crossbones sweater/jacket in light of the full sun. The only thing niggling at my brain was the thought of the butcher knife I had used to cut the mushrooms this morning, and how sharp it was, and what it would feel like if someone would slice up my tongue with it.

We dropped my brother off and my mom asked me if I wanted to go buy pants that fit. I felt bad for being a 24 year old child. If it hadn’t been for my parents, when I got injured I probably would have been out on the streets, or living with psycho-ex, who I truly believe would have eventually ended up murdering me. I’ve been better since the beginning of the year, but I think that everything that happened to me last year has made me more mental than usual, so it’s hard for me to take care of myself. I’m working on it. I think I’m making progress. I have plans to get a temp job and go back to school. I’ll use the money from my government stimulus check to get my CAN/RNA so I can use the money from a job doing that to pay for my medical bills and my collage. But I quake in fear every day at the thought. I used to have a life and now it’s gone.

The only place I would go was the thrift store, because paying forty dollars for pants at the mall seemed to me ridiculous. We went to the nice second hand store near where I live. Their prices are excellent and they always have really good stuff. I went around the store like a madwoman. I love clothes and most of them look so good on me, probably the reason I receive so much male attention. I never respond to compliments by men though. I get them all the time, but I end up feeling guilty, thinking that I have somehow fooled them and any moment the will look at me and see what a disgusting loser I am and tell me so. So I just ignore them and make it look like I'm just a bitch.

My duality astounds me. I’m pretty. I’m ugly. I love so-and-so. I hate so-and-so. My feelings change from second to second and it makes my head spin. Most of the time I feel two different ways at the same instant and my mind hurts. Needless to say it is very hard for me to make decisions, which is why if you ask me a question I am highly likely to sit there and stare at you like an idiot.

I got two pairs of lovely jeans and a pair of ugly work pants my mother picked out for me. I suppose the uglyworkpants did look good on me, but I just hated the high cut. I related to her how much better it was to get three pairs of nice pants for less than the price of the single pair (oxymoron?) she had wanted me to get at Old Navy. I also got a skull T-shirt that I imagined smelled like the cute guy who had last wore it. And, to my mother’s chagrin, I also picked out a T-shirt that said “Yellow Rat Bastard,” which I guess is a clothing company. And a I ended up getting pair of vintage blue sunglasses, which looked awesome on me.

Afterwards I was starving, and, my diet being totally fucked for the day, I took up her suggestion we go out to eat dinner because we were both too tired to cook. I felt like breakfasty foods, so we went to one of those bourgeois breakfast/lunch diners. It took them forever to notice we were there, they were understaffed. One of the cooks blatantly stopped his work so he could ogle me from the kitchen. I decided to be silly and did a little dance. “Maybe they’ll notice we’re here if I start dancing.” My mom laughed. Sometimes I’m just like my dad.

We had French toast and it was yummy and then we went home and I passed out on the couch while my mom watched American Idol.

I feel glad. Best day I've had in months.

The end.