The Bell Jar Descending

Immer wann wier traurig sein. Always when we are sad. Who would have thought that turning on some German industrial music so that I could be motivated to clean my house, would bring on the tears? I was busy making a new cup of coffee and thinking about that second pumpkin muffin in the fridge (they aren’t that big after all), when I started to hear the music from the other room.

It had been playing for awhile but I wasn’t conciously paying attention but then I realized I could understand. The chorus was simple enough that I was able to translate. It basically sad “Even when we are always sad, we make a song for you.” Something about the words touched me and I cried a little. I wanted to cry a lot, you know the type of cry that leaves you breathless and tired afterwards. The cry that when you’re done you felt like you’ve given birth to something. The kind of cry that leaves your throat sore and your nose runny.

All weekend I’ve been fighting the urge to have a huge public breakdown. I cried in the CVS drive through pharmacy line and had to ask the lady for tissues so I could wipe my face and pretend to be normal for my next stop at Food Lion. I wonder what the girl, Kate, thought as she handed me my giant bag of glucose testing strips? She looked at me with my red tear stained face, handed me tissues and said “Have a nice day.” She was probably wondering when I would come back to pick up my prozac.

It seems as if the bell jar is poised over my head and I’m fighting it’s descent with the last little bit of strength in me. I’m trying hard to remain in public places so that I don’t have the chance to indulge in my moodiness. I have filled my house with lots of bright lights and lavender & vanilla airwicks to create a relaxing environment. Last night I turned on my Karaoke Revolution again for the first time in months and sang “Close My Eyes Forever,” for the first time ever and got a 50 thousand! It was awesome.

I jogged today at Daffin Park and thought that the exercise and sun would do me some good. It crept up on me and before I knew it I was again being assaulted by an army of bad feelings. I was taking turns running some and walking. One thing I did notice was that you can’t run and cry at the same time; your body just won’t allow it. So I guess whenever I feel sad I’ll just have to go jogging.

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Rain of Diet Rootbeer

Last night I got home around 2:00 am or so cold and sticky with Diet Rootbeer flavored Faygo. I had been to an ICP concert hanging out with kids, clowns and self-proclaimed juggalos. It was strange to go to a concert on Sunday night and even stranger was the fact that this particular concert was held at a resort ballroom on Hilton Head.

When I first read that Insane Clown Posse would be playing at The Shoreline Ballroom a few weeks ago, I had to re-read that sentence a few times. When I looked the venue up online it looked like the kind of place you’d expect to host an elderly couples 50th anniversary party or something. To say that this band was incongruent with the chosen venue was a huge understatement.

After about 30 minutes of driving around the island, which has horribly poor signage, we finally located the venue only to be told that we couldn’t park there. A fresh faced teenager re-directed us to where we would have to park and then informed us that a shuttle would be taking us from the lot to the concert. My traveling companions laughed and groaned respectively. Neither of them particularly liked the idea of having to ride on a shuttle with a bunch of obnoxious teenagers and trailor park people. I didn’t really care about this little detail because I was happy that I was getting to go to a concert and didn’t have to go to boring work the next day.

When we got to our destination there were only a few well behaved kids standing against the trees waiting for the shuttle. A few of them had face paint on but it was far from the mob of unruly clown people that we were all expecting. In fact when we got to the event itself everyone there seemed to be excited but not out of control. There was a bar but most of the people at this concert were not old yet old enough to drink.

The drink of choice for the night was FAYGO. Well I don’t want to say that many people actually drank the faygo, more like they bathed in it, including myself. I felt that no concert can be truly enjoyed unless you hurl yourself right int he middle of the action. I was only able to stand at the back with my boyfriend for so long. It’s kind of like when you go to a club and are embarrased to dance even though you really want to…

Sometimes you just have to say fuck it! Yes I am 29 and an adult but who says you can’t have a little fun once in awhile? Why can’t I blow off my soulsucking job for one day so I can stay out late the night before listening to wicked clown raps and gettng soaked in rootbeer? I’m sure this sort of thing would not appeal to most women my age but does that mean that I can’t enjoy it?

Is there some rule that says just because you’re an adult you can’t enjoy being silly sometimes? I still complete a 40 hr work week every week and pay all my bills. To tell the truth all that jumping around and shouting was a real stress reliever for me. I felt really good afterward, kind of like how you feel after going for a long jog or something except much more enjoyable.

As far as the music goes it was what I expected. They played some songs that I didnt recognize because I haven’t purchased the last two jokers cards. I was lucky that they did play some things from the Jekyl Brothers and Great Milenko, both of which I had previously owned and memorized years ago. I kind of got a little out of control when “Chicken Huntin'” came on. I just couldn’t stand still with all that loud hyper music playing and people jumping around. I felt I had to participate in it or I would explode for some reason.

Not that I actually moshed or anything. I was right on the edge and someone behind me was grabbing onto my Derby Devils t-shirt for some reason. I think it was a girl and I think she was doing that so she could push me right in the middle of the shit and save herself if things got out of control. Even though there was a lot of moshing it was mostly really tiny men and boys doing it. I think I was taller than most of them so I wasn’t really worried about being hurt. I’ve been to see the Misfits, Agent Orange and The Business; I was actually a little afraid at some of those shows. This show was for the most part was good harmless sticky fun.

At one point I caught a 2 liter out of the arm and ran with it under my arm like a football. A felt a few hands snatch at the bottle but I had a firm grip. I stashed my prize away for later, my souvenir since I couldn’t buy anything. By the end of the night Violent J and Shaggy had launched about a thousand 2 liters into the crowd and everyone who wanted a bottle had one. A girl standing beside me in the back had both her arms full of as many empty diet rootbeer faygo’s as one person can.

I was really amazed by the amount of trajectory those bottles can have, at one point a half full bottle was hurtling through the air toward my face and I deflected it with my palm. Then immediately grabbed it and and emptied the contents on myself and the surrounding area. It was hard no to get swept up in the mayhem of the crowd. I got a stern warning from a sound guy about getting the equipment wet. Shortly after this the show was over. They didn’t do an encore no matter how much the crowd cheered for them. It was Sunday night I guess and we all had a shuttlebus to catch.

Jehovah’s Witness

Well  I just made an enormous mistake by opening the door to a Jehovah’s witness.  Of course I didn’t know who she was or what she wanted until I opened the door.  She was a nice older lady in a brilliant read pants suit with blue grey eyes. I should have known something was up because the only older black women I know are at work.  My first mistake is having a big glass square in the top of my front door;the second mistake is leaving it uncovered.

The area in question is such a weird shape 24×27 or something, and I have not been able to find a blind or anything that is that exact size.  I had an old blanket covering the hole but it clashed with the rest of the colors in the room, which are red black and white.  I hated the blanket so much I just left the window uncovered.  It has proved powerfully inconvenient as my apartment is rather small so anyone standing on my porch can see into the living room, kitchen and all the way back to the bathroom.

There was no way to peek around the corner and get a look at the person standing at the door without them seeing me also.  And when I saw that it was a kindly old lady, I had no excuse to ignore her.  She immediately asked if she’d woken me.  She was lucky she had not because otherwise I wouldn’t have been quite so nice to her.  As soon as I heard the reason for her standing on my porch I groaned inwardly, and tried not to show the displeasure on my face.  I tried to think of a way out of having a long drawn out discussion about religion with her so I told her I was a Baptist thinking this would make her give up.

She said she wasn’t trying to convert me and then opened her bible to read me some scripture from Revelations, which to me is the abosolute scariest part of the bible.  I pasted a smile on my face and nodded at everything she said while wondering how long I had to keep up the fake niceties.  The passage she read was dealing witht he holy spirit and it said something about “a time when no one is sick and on one is dying…”  Then she asked me if that sounded nice to me about not having anymore pain.

“Like I’m having pain now walking up your steps but it’s a sacrifice I’ve made.”  Okay, I have like four steps and I would have much rather she saved her knees and not bothered to walk up them.  She asked me about my work schedule and I was trying to be vague about it saying I worked “traditional hours,” but she wanted to pin me down about when I would be home so she could “catch me.”

She gave me a pamphlet about the “holy spirit,” and wanted me to read it so she could come back and talk to me about it.  I felt like I was digging myself into a hole I would never get out of.  Just because I wanted to be polite and I hadn’t felt right lying to this self-proclaimed representative of the holy spirit, I had now opened myself up to yet another awkward unwanted visit.

I’m wondering what  you say to these people to get them to go away immediately?  I guessed I could say I worshipped the devil but that might have prompted a much longer sermon that the one I got.  Maybe I could say that I’m pagan and I that I pray to wood fairies?  I’m not sure if I could have pulled that off without laughing.  I’ll most likely just hang my old blanket back up and hide in bedroom the next anyone knocks on my door on a Saturday morning.

Books worth reading more than once

The very first book I read more than once was The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I read it first for pleasure and then again in accordance with a paper for Abnormal Pscyhology class. It was appropriate, she did try to kill herself three times finally succeeding the last time with her head in the stove. The way she describes things is vivid, you can see smell hear and even taste the scenes. The word choice and what she chooses to focus on is also unique. One of my favorite quotes from the book is, “There is nothing like puking with someone to make you into old friend.”

Another book I fell in love with, or rather became obsessed with was Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. I became even more fascinated with this story when I was given a hardback version of the book that had footnotes about the author all throughout. It was called The Annotated Alice and talked about how the author was more or less in love with a little girl. In fact the scenes in which Alice is constantly growing in size and shrinking is supposed to allude to his inner conflict at loving her as a child and at the same time wishing she would grow up so he could marry her. Anyone reading this story can’t help but be amazed by the authors imagination. Of course you can’t help but wonder if he weren’t also taking something that helped him think of all these strange and inventive characters.