aaaand I'm watching cartoons. Yes, cartoons are making me cry. Avatar: The Last Airbender is making me cry, to be specific. I probably should not be telling you this, imaginary readers, but by now I kinda feel like this blog should be titled "embarrassing things Marcia does and says that for some reason she feels the need to share with the internet." Anyway, I feel embroiled in conflict and turmoil about my life at the moment, and actually have been for quite some time. And cartoons are currently making me cry because one of the characters has just had a heartwarming reunion with his dad and I'm feeling sorry for myself because I want a different childhood. Yeah. Welcome to my pity party.
I feel like I should apologize to every person I meet for being older than they think I am, or for not being at the correct point on the General Map of Life that I apparently should be for my age. I should preface every meeting with: Hi nice to meet you, by the way since you will inevitably ask and then be shocked, I am twenty-seven, yes I know I am an undergraduate no I don't have a credit card oh yes I'm still a barista no I'm not married yet and I have roommates no I haven't been out of the country and no you cannot meet my parents because one lives in a tent in the woods and the other one is well I am just not going there.
I thought I was processing things pretty well up until now. I knew where I came from (abject American poverty slash other shitty things), I knew I handled my situation poorly (fucked around for far too long and spend every penny I earned on shoes), and I knew I was doing everything I could to fix things for myself (it's kind of a slow process) and I thought I was okay with that. But I am not so sure anymore. I wish I could join in conversations when people talk about the instruments they played and the camps they went to as kids. Even the television shows they watched. I KNOW I am being fucking ridiculous and millions out there had and have it far worse than I did but you know what millions had it better also. And I deal with those millions every day. They are my friends. My classmates. They are the boys and girls I attempt to date. And I will never relate to them. I can tell them my hopes and ambitions but unless I pretend my life began at nineteen years old they will never fully understand me. And I will squirm around and away from them. I hate this. How did my brothers and sister manage to form solid connections with other human beings? Is it because they managed to get real jobs, keep the wind at their backs and the sun on their faces? I don't want that but at the same time I very much do. Because it would be easier. To have a faceless, normal career. a mortgage. decent car. health insurance. ticky fucking tacky. They can toss aside their nightmares of poverty because they have pulled themselves up and out of it. It only cost them their dreams, right?
Do I even have dreams anymore? I was going to be a writer. I was going to put down on paper those nineteen years, ride those volumes to fortune, vindication and victory. and break free from my madness. Then I realized I was a fool, standing on the shoulders of those who dealt with real suffering and trying to call myself tall. Now I'm trying to change the world (ha ha) but it's been so long I am exhausted and so very tired of pretending I fit in society. And I don't even think I am making sense anymore, am I?
I'm sorry. It's just, when I close my eyes I want to see darkness instead of these memories.
