Happy? Who’s Happy?


So I’m happy right now, and crazy busy right now. I wish I had time to catch up on all that’s running through my mind. I want to take you on a tour of my happy. I want you to be able to roll around in it with me, like a lazy Saturday when you watch the day go by from your puffy bed. I want you to smile at yourself like I am, knowing you deserve this.

I passed my CPA exam. I huge hurdle in my life this far. The demons of my mental disability seem like an enemy I squashed. My friends and family are safe and sound. So what that my sister is worried about my moral state and thinks my choices are questionable? What does that have to do with me? I feel fine. I’ll just make a mental note that the sis thinks screaming naked boys in her house is something Jesus wouldn’t want. Oh, but wouldn’t he? Surely he has a larger since of fun than that. You can tell by the way he makes dolphins communicate and tortures the fundamentalist with monkeys. He’s a riot.

So happy Fourth of July to you all. I miss you and want to wrap you up in the big blankie of happy that’s found me. My best friend since childhood gets in today. It will be endless hours of talking and rationalizing everything from cheetos to men. We’ll mix up the margaritas and soak in the sun knowing there’s nothing the other could say that would ever be wrong. We’ll laugh at the boys who treated us like shit and then tried to come back, cry over the ones that didn’t work out, and marvel in the ones that make us smile today. We’ll look over at each and thank the Jesus that loves naked chaotic boys in my sister’s domain that we have one another. Happiness is an old friend and good stories.

Say Nothing

I’m starting to realize that maybe I don’t express myself very well. I think of myself as a very blunt and to the point person. Despite this, I keep hearing from people that they didn’t know what I think of them or that I am hard to read. I find this fascinating, because I think its written all over my face.

I’ve listened to these complaints and I’ve tried to look at myself honestly and see if it’s true. I’m starting to see what they mean. Do you know how many times I have looked at you and wanted to tell you that I love you? Or the millions of times that I looked at you at thought you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but quietly shied away.

I’m not sure if it’s the pressure of dealing with those words once they come out, or the strength to say them that prevents me from opening my mouth. Part of it is the vulnerability that comes with honesty; some of it is the levity that comes with being honest.

I’m just not there yet. I’m not there with lovers or some of my friends. I’m trying to relay that it’s not personal; it’s just me right now. One day I’ll be brave again, but for now I’m being careful with me. And if one more person asks me to make an excuse for this, I’ll fucking chop their head off and mail it to their mom. Got it?

Love you! Kisses!

Hidden Talents

Sometimes you just know how to do things, but you’re not sure where it came from. You know how to turn a doorknob just the right way so that the door doesn’t make a noise when you come in. You know how to hit the side of the fridge when it makes that noise to quiet it down. No one shows you, you just know.

For me this talent is secretly and subconsciously trying to kill myself. This weekend I tried to commit this foul agenda by running right into a shelf. You know those shelves that hang high up on the wall, designed to hurt unsuspecting people? Why do people have those? Do they hate their friends, or just want to laugh at their misery. I was just walking along and BAMB! The shelf hits me in the head and I fall to my knees. Two days later I’m guessing I still have a concussion, my head still has a huge aching knot, and both of my knees are bruised. And alas, it was not a sex crime. No bump on the noggin due to crazy reckless sex, but another attempt to injure myself.

After this graceful debraining, I then decided it would be a great idea to do a shot. My stomach didn’t agree and I ended up puking in someone’s front yard. I wonder how much classier I could be? “Hi? Wanna meet me? I try to injure myself at ever opportunity and then puke. Pretty huh?”

I’m just wondering why my unknown talent isn’t hitting a wall Fonzie style so a door opens. Instead I’m plagued with constant attempts to injure myself.

Sigh, maybe next time I’ll get drunk and end up with a new manicure or something. Anything would be better than looking like I’m in Fight Club. Want to party with me?
No wonder I sleep alone most nights.