sick

i am sick and i am sick of it. sometimes tho i like being sick. don't get me wrong it sucks to be sick. but sometimes what i like is the fuzziness in my head, the way your head clouds when you are sick and sometimes it is almost similar to being stoned. is that sick? it is cloudy and muggy and the things you think about you repeat back to yourself in your head and it's almost like you can hear yourself saying it. and it reminds me a little of what it was like all those years sitting on the landing of the iron staircase off my parents kitchen chain smoking and scribbling incoherant works of profound genius in my stoner little notebook about being comfortably numb and quoting a bunch of pink floyd and shit, nodding in and out and coming to and seeing the amount of time i lost in the lump of ash that was dangling off the end of my cigarette. and remembering what it was like to have those little aha moments -that sounds like something oprah would say- where id realize my fucking potential and think things to myself about how fucking brilliant i was and for a moment i could see the truth about life and i just knew i was alone in it and at the same time hating myself so much so much wanting to fucking drive myself into head-on traffic because there was no hope that it would ever get better or that i would ever be not so fucking alone in it. its funny looking back and seeing how those two ends of the spectrum existed at the same time. but from what ive seen and the people ive known ive come to realize that those 2 viewpoints tend to go hand-in-hand it happens all the time. ive seen the greatest minds of our generation also tend to be the fucking stupidest. where did all this come from? i dont know i am sick i was just sitting here looking at my cat look at me and i started to remember some things.

my life

this is what my cat does when i ignore him for 5 seconds. i do not have the energy to sort thru those papers they are killing me.

West Virginia!!!

i went camping in west virginia this weekend. here.

ow

i just got back from having an 8 year old tattoo on my back touched up and fuck me sideways with an anvil if that shit didn't hurt 3,000 times worse than the first time! fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. that is what i said over and over again in my head. trying to breathe, my nerves on fire, the pain deep deep down so intense shooting down my spine into my legs until i felt my insides shaking, praying for him to stop.

i was so tough tho. hahahahha no. no more back tattoos for me.. for now.

my 7 week stint in the psych ward is over, and i miss it. seriously. i knew the minute it started that this is what i should be doing. let's share a few moments of what it was like.

week 1
i walk over to the wide-eyed tall elderly man with the walker who is waving at me. he is pale and has red circles under his eyes.

me: hello,
him: I'VE GOT ARTHRITIS! -he has buck teeth and a voice almost identical to that of goofy, no lie-
me: oh..
him: I'VE GOT IT HERE, AND HERE, AND HERE, AND HERE! -he points to his knees and hips and various other body parts-
me: oh.. i'm sorry. are you seeing a doctor for that?
him: YEAH. the doctor gives me pills to take. he said to take one SO I TAKE 100 IS THAT BAD?! -he grabs my arm and stoops down, smiling at me-
me: you mean you take 100 milligrams?
him: NO.... he says take one SO I TAKE 100! IS THAT BAD?
me: well, i would think that if he said to take one then you should probably just take one pill, don't you think?
him: TODAY I TOOK 500! AND THEN I TOOK 1,000!
me: wow, that's an awful lot of medicine.
him: YUP!! -nodding and laughing-


week 2
i decide to go talk to the dude with the mustache sitting at the round table, staring into space.

me: hello, i'm [murl], ok if i sit down?
him: I CAN'T URINATE PROPERLY!
me: oh..
him: -slams his head down on the table-
me: ok, well, see you later.


AUGH FUCK i wrote like a fucking amazing novel here and it is gone gone gone it didn't save and computer died and FUCK BLARG.
oh well maybe i will try again another day- until then you will have to live in suspense.

my grandmother's journal

the woman i was named after died when i was about 12. i have only vague memories of her. i remember visiting her in florida. i remember thinking that that is where everybodys grandparents went when they got old.

i remember her favorite color was yellow. everything in her house was yellow. and i remember she had 2 best friends. one of them lived in a condo where everything was blue because that was her favorite color. the other one liked pink so everything in her condo was pink. i remember thinking that is what you are supposed to do when you get old- decorate your condo in florida according to your favorite color.

i also remember her telling me to chew my food up real good everytime i was eating around her, i guess she said it to instill non-choking skills in me. whenever we would come to visit i would see all of my drawings on her refrigerator. years and years worth- she never threw them away.

so last weekend my mother tells that my nana kept 2 journals. one written about the dark times and one about the good times. she started them when she was in the hospital after having heart surgery. it has been nearly 15 years and my mom tells me about these journals. so i read them and felt.... i don't know i guess kinda emotional? i copied some excepts from them down. here is a little:

As I was growing up I started roller skaiting and ice skating and used to race the boys on the ice pond and I used to ride my bike out on Jericho turnpike before it was paved. All the roads were dirt and when it rained it was all mud.
Growing up I liked to dance and I would only date boys that were good dancers and I went to Catillians and many wonderful places to dance, like the Aster hotel and saw Frank Sinatra when he was young and skinny.

My sister was 10 years younger and real cute always wanted me to take her shopping for clothes and things and one night she wanted to go roller skating and there was a place called Pavillion Royal in Valley Stream that had changed to a roller rink with a beautiful big organ and we started to skate to the music and I saw this handsome man and he tripped me (I think) and he picked me up and I felt a thrill from my head to my toes and I knew he was the one for me (Joe C, Oct 4, 1938). I was going with an other fellow who was a teller in the fire Dept (Gerry Haggarty) and they both gave me bracelets for Xmas, one was silver that was Joe's and the other was gold. They both wanted to take me out New Years but I took Joe C after and dropped the other one and we went together for four years.
When we met, Joe's father had a stroke and couldn't work so we had to wait, finally we planned our Wedding for Nov 26, 1942, it was a small one, not being Catholic we could not get married in church so we had the marriage in the Priest's Room and the reception with only the family in a lovely Restaraunt, it was Thanksgiving Day so of course we had turkey and my Uncle Frank played the Piano.