|
[
F. Scott Fitzgerald
]
:
"You don't write because you want to say something;
you write because you've got something to say."
[
clarification/dreams
] [ ABC's of Me ]
Yesterday, I went on a bit of a rant. I wanted to clarify a few things however. First, that message was directed only to a few select people in my family who tend to, in their process of 'helping,' only insult. They are not aware of this, and it is not their fault. They don't realize how it rings and do honestly feel they are doing good. Doesn't really excuse them, nor does it make me or my sister feel better, but to make them feel better (though they would never in a million years care), I understand their shortcomings (I'm a bitch, huh?).
My sister and I do, of course, appreciate it when people can recognize that we aren't a stereotype. We appreciate it when people seem impressed. We still maintain we didn't consciously do something extraordinary, but we do understand why others may think so. And if we didn't do something conscious, trust me: we have our unconscious mental ills due to trying times. On some level, we are affected, and it's good to hear that we're doing okay. We hear it when people tell us they are impressed, or proud, or amazed. It all depends, however, on who is saying that to us. When it's people who are related to us in some way: aunts, uncles, cousins, fathers, grandparents, and they decide after all the bad stuff has passed that they can say to us, "we're proud of you," my sister and I instinctually think "you don' t have the right cause you could have made it easier." Just because we beat the odds doesn't mean it was easy or didn't scar us in some way. The way it scarred us is only to make us realize family isn't always what it's cracked up to be. And their compliments and sudden 'support' isn't genuine or wanted. If anything, we have only become bitter when it comes to family because we realize that if they cared, they would have been there. They would have overcome their own shortcomings, their own principles, and realized: kids are involved. Let's help.
I wanted to point this out because I don't want to appear bitter to the world in general. Yes, I'm bitter toward biological family, but because I say these things now doesn't mean they can't change in the future. Feelings are imbued by seconds and minutes and each new second can change the outcome of my feelings. Who knows what I'll feel like tonight. It's not set in stone.
Now, on to better things: I've got to tell you about one of the scariest dreams I've ever had.
I wrote briefly about a family I once lived with who were the worst foster parents and treated us like "state kids," making our difference clear when they outwardly favored their own children. In this dream, I was living with them again and actually liked them. It was a trailer. The shower was outside. Actually, there were a few showers. See, some of the skinny, leafless trees in what would be a yard, had spigots on them for showering. I walked outside in my towel and looked across the street where about five men in plaid jackets and greasy caps were smoking by a red pick up truck. One of them looked over and whistled. I dropped my towel and started showering, but realized they could see me too well. So I ran to a tree further back in the yard. I think another tree was barely covering me. I kept leaning over a bit to see what was going on, aware of the pine needles under my feet and the sharp pain they were causing. Suddenly, one of the men walked right by me. He went by in slow motion, but he practically brushed my skin. He seemed out of it, acting like he couldn't see me. It freaked me out, so I picked up my towel and ran into the house.
When I got inside, I went into my foster mother's room. She was lying on the bed cause she had a headache. I tried telling her about the guys outside who wouldn't leave me alone, but she wouldn't listen to me. The phone beside her rang and I picked it up. It was for my foster father. So I walk toward the door, and suddenly, the man who brushed by me is standing at the door. I reach for the door handle around him, when suddenly, his arm lifts up, I know he has a gun, I pull the towel up around my face and feel him shoot me in the head. Split second. Boom.
I realized so much in that split second. I never saw a gun, but knew he had one. I didn't try to say anything cause I knew he wasn't going to talk. He was just going to shoot.
I had this dream in April or May when Jon was working at MIT in Boston. At the time, I was messing around with this idea that we die at every dangerous moment, but while we die, another part of us, as if we turn to a parallel universe, that person keeps going. That person lives. Meanwhile, people grieve in the world in which we just died. So when I woke up, I thought I had died, and I felt terrible for Jon and my sister and my roommate, cause when she came home, she was going to see me with my head shot off.
Then I realized where I was. I was at home, in my house, not with them, the mean awful terrible foster parents. Jon was in Boston, I was in my bed. Everything was okay.
It took a while, but I recovered.
I had another theory once as well. I thought that we never really hit the bottom in dreams because to hit it is to actually die. When we dream we're on a construction site and we start falling, we never land. When we dream someone is about to shoot us, we wake up. But this time: I didn't. I got shot. I've had two dreams since just like that. I dreamed once that I was getting beaten to death with a bat by a burglar.
Man, sometimes dreams suck.
I posted two short stories on my [ web site ]. I'm being picky about what I post. I can't post anything I hope to publish cause there are strict guidelines to follow. Blah blah blah.
If you know of any journal rings to sign up for, let me know.
Did I ever mention that I do all this while at work? That's how exciting my job is. I think I may look into United Way and find out if they'd like to have me. Yay!
I'm stealing this great idea from Sasha's website, who stole it from someone who stole it. Yeah!
A-Age: 24
B-Best Friend: my sister Jojo and my lover punk Jonny
C-Choice of Vegetable: green peppers all the way
D-Dream date: all the romance that will embarrass me the next day
E-Exciting adventure: a lot of woods with fairies, me, a tent, and kick ass ass-kicking skills
F-Favourite food: whoa! let�s not go there.
G-Greatest Accomplishment: putting up my online journal and paying for four years of college all on my lucky lonesome
H-Happiest Day of Your Life: tomorrow
I-Interests: reading, writing, sex, reading about people reading, writing and having sex while crocheting!
J-Joke: A ham sandwich walks into a bar and says, �I�d like to order a drink.� Bartender says, �Sorry, we don�t serve food here.�
K-Kool-aid: No thanks.
L-Love: all the time.
M-Most Valued Possession: My mind, health, and best friends
N-Name: Christen Roberts; "The Great One" to some, but we don't talk about them at parties.
O-Outfit You Love: I wish I could wear hip hugger jeans with a skimpy made-for-MTV t-shirt that says �bitch� in pink, shimmery letters.
P-Pizza toppings: pesto, green peppers, olives, tomatoes and garlic.
Q-Question asked to me the most: What are you on?
R-Radio Station(s): 103.9 (R&B, Hip hop, Rap), 98.9 (classic 80s)
S-Sport: I have newfound love for baseball!
T-Television Show: I was a longtime fan of Voyager; now Sopranos, Friends and the Practice. Oh! And always, of course, Law & Order
U-Umberella in the Rain: not usually, but sometimes wish I did. Yet I always wish I didn�t sometimes wish it. I�d rather go without. Inside.
V-Video: like, as in movie? The Lover (the rain put me in the mood)
W-Winter: I love the winter, but lust for fall
X-X-rays recently?: Yeah. My teeth hurt!
Y-Year Born: 1977
Z-Zodiac Sign: Gemini; are you my twin?
beam me up, scotty
back up : : index : : moving on
|
|
|
the online journal of c.m. roberts: