Coffee 22: Toilet basket Scene 3

Freaken Weekend

“So, how was your weekend?”

…fuck me. This question? Again? 

“It was a weekend,” I replied, burying my face into my laptop, hoping people would get a hint.

“Okayyyy described it in one word.”

You’ve GOT to be shitting me. If my thoughts could kill, I’d’ve stabbed myself in the eye.

“Uhhh, it’s a weekend?” I responded, trying super hard not to roll my eyes.

I could feel their glances as they wondered, the fuck is with him today?

Wanna know my problem? I’m sick and tired of being asked about my business.

“How are you feeling?”

“You seem [INSERT YOUR STUPID OBSERVATION HERE], let’s talk about that.”

Naahhh, Douche, let’s talk about you being all touchy feelly on my psyche, leeching on my emotions. Completely unnecessary, just butt out and move on. Hug your tits and have a cry if you want, wank your ego if you want, but I don’t need to hear it or be in that conversation.

Get your pathetic life off my radar. I’ll do you the same courtesy.

Unlike online life, I’m assaulted  by stories I don’t want to read, conversations I don’t want to hear, and over sharing I do not abide by. And I strongly resent people’s desire to worm their way into my life uninvited.

And fuck how you feel, and what you think I feel and what you feel is your god given right to meddle. Right, why don’t you focus on your own life? I didn’t think so.

Somethings never change. People =fucking nosy, plain and simple. So cut that nose, cuz in spite of that face I have nothing to say.

Bam!


 

So, how was your weekend?

It was alright. Went home to return Mom’s car and then went to hang out with my brother and our group of church friends.

I contemplated how odd it is, that I never had church friends when I was actually fervently attending church. Then when I began to “stray from the fold” I was suddenly folded into this group of kids near my age -3 to 4 years younger, actually- who were my brother’s friends and mine by extension.

We don’t always share friends, but these we do. Consequently, I feel more like a 2-for-1 friendship package deal of some sort (you got the charismatic and hilarious guy. And his more somber, moody brother some point after).

Cool.

Frankly, they tend to be interested in things I don’t care about anymore. I’m more of the -“been there, done that, do you want to know how not to do that? No? Okay then…”.

God, they make me feel fucking old sometimes.

Church was the usual, I didn’t go inside for services, just hung around outside and in the basement till it ended. Mom’s friend got snoot with me for “talking about my weight so much” -jeez, so sensitive! And it wasn’t even at the forefront of my mind till she pointed it out, oh well!

I just felt this distance that I sometimes feel- more so when I was younger. Being in a crowd, feeling like they’re talking around you and through you and suddenly you’re not even there.

I felt this distance a lot, especially when I was in high school. It’s like I wasn’t even there. I’d walk away and the conversation would continue without me, without hesitation, not a hitch. It’s like I wasn’t even there to begin with, and my absence is not even of note.

It’s like I barely existed.

And I felt that coming on. Didn’t help that I was feeling moodier than “usual”. I didn’t feel like trying- trying to be part of the dialogue, trying to be. I just didn’t feel like it.

I didn’t care. How funny, then, that it hurts.

Fuck it.

And then, I realized, that they really hadn’t noticed I was gone. In fact, they had structured around me and I wasn’t “there” anymore.

Always the outsider looking in.

Funny, then, that it hurts.


 

Who I am is Nothing Great

I don’t have anyone to talk to about me. My thoughts, myself, everything.

I’m still alone.

I find it so easy to talk to about being bisexual. It’s a thousand times easier to talk about attraction to guys and girls, kissing and sex. I can imagine that life vividly -kissing him or her. Hugging him and her.

Yeah, I’ve even thought of being poly amorous. Maybe “thought of” is the wrong phrasing, but what do you call it when you’ve never been in any relationship before? Never had a boyfriend or girlfriend but imagining being in a poly relationship.

Call me odd, I’ve heard it before.

I’m so tired of contradicting my mother when she insists I’ll only be in a relationship with a man. I just don’t -I doubt I’ll ever change her thinking and isn’t that a mother’s right? To think as she chooses?

Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

I get home from the shitty day and just pass out on the couch every day. I’m just so tired. Just so miserable right now.

Why does this love feel so conditional? I can’t remind her of who I am.

And do I even know who I am?

Some days I am he. Some days I am they. Then I think -fuck who cares? Life is just shit right now, this isn’t important!!

But when is it important?

When is it important?

I’d like to find a community here. Just to talk. Just to not be alone.

Damn it, I sound whiny and lonely!!

I miss my colorful hair. I feel like me with colorful hair. I’m getting it back soon. But I wonder if it’s just a crutch of sorts. But it can’t be, that’s how I’ve always…been…

No matter who I am, I will remain. Even if I don’t know who I am.

But, you’re right. My feelings and person are irrelevant.

Unless you’re just dying to know about my fucking weekend.

Advertisements

Published by

opalflame

I am artist, analyst, author, poet, composer, musician to name a few aspects of myself. A bit of a jack of trades, I dabble into many fields that encourage the blossom of imagination and allow me to channel my creativity. I dream vividly and view the world through the lens of optimism and opportunity while acknowledging the ink and shadows.

You've lent me your ears... now borrow mine:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s