4/20 - Today

A really confusing happenstance with "the" ex...

One of the most bizarre nights of my life (followed by being let go from my job)...

Being a suddenly attractive object of affection from more than one person, when feeling more unsure of myself than ever...

Telling my beloved only and younger sister goodbye as she departs to live in another state with her fiance, far away from me and our memories...

It's been too difficult for me to think straight enough to write a proper entry. My thoughts are mashed, as if I'm dreaming, and it's honestly becoming difficult to discern the difference between asleep and awake. Incoherence and over-thinking cloud my mind, making me feel smothered, like I'm wrapped in a warm, damp sheet. It feels dark and humid, and I cannot tell which way gravity is pulling me. My head spins when I try to string together thoughts, words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs. It's become overwhelming, more of a task than a pleasantry. But after all, if I stop writing, if I stop pounding these keys and attempt to explain myself, won't I sink further into what feels like Depression's firm grip? Is it madness, or am I one of the only sane ones left? From one instance to another, does the navigational point change, do the sane and not switch places? Are we dashing back and forth in a frenzied, terrifying rendition of Red Rover, set on a bleak field, monstrous characters in masks playing the game in lieu of school children?

I digress. And I need sleep. My eyes burn from tears. Living can be exhausting, even without much physical activity. I would imagine my mind is in much better shape than my body, though very distressed.

The Cove

'Shenanigans'. That seems fitting, right? In case you're unfamiliar, the word "shenanigan" means specifically (according to the lovely folks at Merriam Webster): 1.: a devious trick used especially for an underhand purpose; 2a : tricky or questionable practices or conduct —usually used in plural, b : high-spirited or mischievous activity —usually used in plural.

Why, you may ask? Because inevitably, this ends up going down in any notable bar. I am able to write about my life in some sort of entertaining fashion primarily because of the establishment in which I currently work.

Things to remember:

- some people (grown, middle aged men- not just teenagers, kids!) will smoke weed wherever they want to, regardless of the fact that it's legal or not
- other people (same age group, in this instance) will straight walk around with remnants of cocaine on their faces, even though they've just been in a bathroom snorting it, where you know there's mirrors!! Just look at your face, sir! Don't walk out and make your lovely bartender have to point out the blow on your face!
- it is NEVER a good idea to let your bar staff shoot Jameson and drink unlimited PBR throughout their shifts. I mean, it's interesting, but it's hard to count money after a while and I'm pretty sure it's led to things being lit on fire by the bartenders... I wish I could remember that better.

Um... by the way, I'm NEVER going to open a bar...

The end of a trailer & material belongings...

So of course shit has gotten all willy-nilly nuts with my life once I attempted to incorporate the attention of a male into it. After his mother's death, I was helping him clean out her classy plastic trailer in Mississippi, because no one else was there, and because I am a person who genuinely worries when horridly shitty things happen to people for no apparent reason.

As I went through the belongings of a woman I will never meet, I found myself wondering if all that life amounts to in the end is in actuality a big heap of trashy metal with buckled floors, nicotine-stained furniture, and at least a few animals to piss all over the place that's full of useless knickknacks and whatnot, leaving quite the odor.

Layer by layer of shit was bagged, organized, or tossed. It wasn't the nastiest place I've ever been in by far, but you know when you get all the way down to the stank old carpet that has had furniture sitting on it for several years in the same place, you find all kinds of grotesque things that normally would not be visible, that normally your wouldn't have to vacuum up, it's pretty gross. And mouse turds on long-unused clothes in a dresser, kinda gross.

But my main concern became this: why was this woman out in a trailer in such a condition? Sure, she didn't want to bother anybody, but it seems like no one cared very much. Is that what my life will amount to in the end? Some tiny, antiquated strapped down trailer in a nephew's yard in Mississippi? I sure fucking hope not. And I damn sure don't want anyone to have to go through my things, disburse them, garage sell them, and have to tear my crappy little trailer down b/c it's so dilapidated. It's sad, depressing, and I felt like some creepy voyeur for going through all of her personal belongings.

Then, my thoughts turned to: "why do I need things? I won't get to take them with me!" This made me ponder the lives of people; every day, we toil away, trying to buy nicer homes, better furniture, clothing, whatever... and not a single bit of it is any good once you go, unless you're leaving your family behind something that's worth something. Why can't we thrive on experiences? Why can't we focus on love?

It's been an exhausting time, and that's not all that's been going on. This past weekend has left me bruised, confused, happy, unnerved... it's really a lot. On top of my life, it's a lot more.

'I cried as cameras caught my eyes; my tears turned into butterflies,. They fly away as caskets close, a new day comes you'll wake, unfold; smile when you feel the sunlight..'

I don't understand why caskets cost so much money. When I die, I really hope (& I am not joking when I say this) that my loved ones respect my wishes. I don't know what those wishes are precisely, but I do know that if I decide to go with being buried, I want to be shoved into the smallest, cheapest possible box that I could be legally put into, not shown to my loved ones after my death or embalmed.. I just want people to be able to remember me for my life, at its best too.

And if there's a service for me, or a memorial or whatever, I want it to be quite informal. Preferably with alcohol. I want smiles and happiness. I want people to be happy about whatever I did in my life, not unhappy about my leaving (because hopefully I get to go somewhere great after I depart this existence).

So anyway, a friend of mine's mom died this past Friday at 11:30PM. I didn't get to meet her, and I've only known my friend for a few months. Although we've texted quite a bit, we've hung out once. However, when he found out how sick his mom really was, I did meet up with him to do a favor.. and then Friday we hung out. I'm honestly not sure if I have chemistry with him, but I can tell you that he is a very good person.

So, tomorrow I'm going to his mother's funeral, to show my respect and support. I just know he likes likes me, and I am definitely not ready for a relationship. I cannot do it, it wouldn't be ok for whatever man I ended up with, or to me. I have far too much emotional baggage.

Anyway, what a weird past few days...