Wednesday, August 19, 2009

And Then They Called 911 Because I Wanted My Damn Chicken Nuggets

When I apply my make-up I close one eye. His eye. His eye is the one that is a little longer and more almond shaped. Unlike her more cat-like eye. (She is cat like. She yawns when I think she should care most.) My husband always looks at me like I'm a little special when he watches me. And by special, I don't mean that I've touched his heart as much as I'm sure he's positive that my mind is touched.

When I'm tired or frustrated, I rub my forehead with the first three fingers on my left hand. Mostly because there is always an ache there. A small, thudding ache just behind my eyes at all times. The eyes that look like theirs but together make mine. I'm almost kind of sure that the ache is that thing that grows on my mind like that Stephen King book where he had his underdeveloped twin brother growing on his brain. I mean, that's normal, right?

There is nothing prolific or profound in this. It sounds more like I'm cuckoo (which I still think should be spelled cookoo, but then you would think that was cook - koo, so screw it.)

It's just that, I don't think I've ever noticed enough about myself to truly know me.

I seem to withhold opinion on myself. Generally, not about others though. I've got all kinds of opinions on you mutha fuckers. I just don't have time to waste on myself.

I'm made up of all these separate little parts I've gotten from here or there. But I don't really know how they all work together. I'm guessing probably like those McDonald's toys we got in Happy Meals as a kid. You know the ones you snapped out of the frame and then snapped together and they always had a wobbly useless wheel and you were all, "I ate that shitty burger for this piece of plastic travesty. Pshaw! This sucks."

Only I don't think I said "travesty" then. Unless they printed it ON the Happy Meal box which if they did, would already make those things about 100 times more educational than they are now. But your mistake is looking for education at McDonalds. Don't you know you find that stuff (education) on TV.

And that? Was the most contrived horseshit ever "crafted" into sentences and then piled into a mostly malformed paragraph.

You should demand your money back. For real.

10 comments:

Gypsy said...

As an adopted kid, I think I might have had an opposite issue. I don't know WHO I look like, so I've just always looked like me. These are my eyes, not my father's. This is my nose, not my mother's. This is my smile, not my grandfather's.

And you just had to go mentioning cheeseburgers, didn't you?

Annabelle said...

I see myself made up of parts too, but more like a chicken nugget than a happy meal toy.

Lolly said...

I don't need a refund 'cuz this shit is free!

the slackmistress said...

I love that you say "Pshaw!" as a kid.

Pam said...

wait? you have an opinion on me? Crap- what is it?? Oh wait- this isn't about me...sorry! You see, my problem isn't that I don't look at myself- it is that I think everything is about me and I pity myself. It is a very unattractive quality- just ask my hubby! Oh and the word verification thingy- suckox- that has got to be some kind of craziness!

By the Seat said...

I think I just started figuring out who I am too. For a long time I've just sort of felt inauthentic. But I've been the same for so long now that it's gotta be me, right? :)

Miss Merry Sunshine said...

I have found when I think I have myself figured out something happens to remind me I don't know shit. I think if we can just be comfortable with ourselves in whatever way it's a start. Like the new blog!

Sarah said...

Are you ever a guest on your own mental chat show, and you prepare answers to important questions that you might or might not be asked if you ever became famous? No? Okay, well, I do. And one of my questions is, "What one thing do you want your children to know?" and my answer is, "Know yourself, and be yourself." I feel like I know myself pretty well, but I find the latter part really hard. For some reason, being myself makes me anxious.

Rassles said...

But then again, who really does know themselves?

I'm sure personality quizzes have the answer.

flutter said...

I'm sorry, I was looking for my fucking dipping sauce, asking the 911 operator for directions and eating a big mac to read this thoroughly....