dumdum and dumber

A coworker for whom I have no respect called me an idiot today, though I know her IQ is two-thirds or less mine, and maybe even as little as half, the incident still rankles. What the hell am I doing, going on my seventh year as an hourly Wal-Mart associate, having my intelligence questioned by people who never finished high school or learned the proper spelling (never mind management) of the departments they've "managed" for years?

And why, after all these years, did I never learn to debate, to argue, to muster up sassy comebacks?

Above is a picture of a woman named Sarah, who died on one of the happiest days of her life.
Killer Wave Sweeps Away Wife

~*~*~*

If I were truly honest, I would say that most of the time, most days, I feel sad, dejected, depressed. My life, such as it is, is unimportant, forgettable, disposable, deniable. If I were gone tomorrow, people might feel sad in a "She was only 28, she had her whole life ahead of her" sort of way, and a handful who actually knew me might miss me for a while, but they'd get over it.

I am an ant. I have made no difference. If I died tomorrow they'd promote someone else to Department Manager, Patrick would move out and someone else would live in this apartment, Cocoa might mope for a few days, but then she'd be fine. None of it matters. At all.

I'm not trying to hurt myself. But if someone pushed me out the door of a speeding car and into oncoming traffic, and oblivion followed, I wouldn't particularly mind.

It's funny, the nature of fear. I left the church a long time ago, but sometimes I wonder if there is a hell and if I'm going to burn in it. Most days I don't believe it, but with my luck the afterlife will be something like that movie, "Defending Your Life," and I'll be stuck with having to justify a dispensable, indefensible life.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm tired of limping along, and no one can or should help with this anyway. Patrick's known for a while that I'm depressed but yesterday in the car I said something that I guess overstepped the line for him. So I'm packing it away again, putting on a big smile and swallowing the bitterness down whole. Most of it is just poor self-care anyway. So I've resolved to eat salads for lunch, sleep 8 hours each night, and work out at least thrice weekly. We'll see how I feel after three weeks of this.

Home sick.

I sit at my cluttered computer desk and munch on what has become my weekend breakfast of choice: orange marmalade generously slathered onto two slices of buttered cinnamon-raisin toast. I'm back to drinking green tea, this time from my black new mug, a capacious ceramic piece that goes for just a buck at any Wal-Mart.

I slept through most of yesterday, missing out on a Six Flags trip and a backyard barbecue. It was just one of those days when I wish I could curl up inside the womb, rocking in the roiling tides, comforted by the beating of my heart.

We finally ventured out just before six, to return library items and check out new ones. I had that strange overly sensitive feeling one gets when feverish: my clothes felt too rough and restrictive, and the lightest breeze gave me chills.

Patrick and I got haircuts, too: him because he needs one, me because he's been telling me for the longest time that I do too. I'm indifferent, for once. He tells me now that it looks the same; I basically just got my layered cut a long-overdue trim. The lady hairdresser told me I'm pretty and Patrick's sooo nice, that I'm lucky that he's neat and that we don't have kids yet, because as they grow problems grow with them.

I'm done dreaming. I don't know what to wish for anymore.

His name is Kyle.

My Music Monkey, that is.

Though I live for Ugly Betty, life cruelly and indifferently goes on. It's all senseless and meaningless, and no one has time anymore, everyone's oh-so-nice and well-meaning, but they're all just so busy. And still someone asked me to smile, because when I smile it means it can't be all that bad. And to think, he's not even a friend.

That's not the first time I've gotten that either. What the hell is wrong with people. Ano ba 'ko - aliw?

Hi-hello-howareyous and i'm-fine-thank-yous, but if I keeled over tomorrow you might be sad for a little while but you'd get over it. Everybody would.

I just want to stay home and nibble at frozen strawberries and watch my Netflix DVDs. I wish the world would just go away.

Currently...

Still depressed.

Watching: Jeff Dunham's Arguing With Myself and Spark of Insanity; Ugly Betty.

Listening to: Sara Bareilles, Josef, Bryan Adams, plus the usual: Nickelback, Daughtry, Matchbox Twenty.

Excited about: (or, as much as you can be when the overriding feeling is still detached, depressed, hopeless)
Elizabeth: The Golden Age; Exile on Mainstream; the next Ugly Betty disk from Netflix.

Wanting:













a Matchbox Twenty USB wristband of their album, even though I don't need it;















a Rob Thomas tee, which I may just get away with wearing at work;

This house, even though it's been ebby.com forever and the price keeps going up;

A limited edition Lagerfeld Steinway grand

~*~*~*

Been asked what's wrong, why I'm not "the usual happy Farah". What the fuck. What makes people think I'm happy? What makes them think they know me at all? They think because they see me every day, and I'm singing, that it's all sunshine and good cheer. I'm short with customers and coworkers both. It's all I can do not to cuss anybody out. I really don't want to be anywhere but at home.

135 lbs, a light weight attributable to lost muscle mass. Haven't been back to the gym since weeks before Inventory. My clothes are just as snug and I'm tired and achy all the time.

I made arroz caldo tonight, the first time in a long time. Yesterday it was Manwiches, which it's true are not like my sloppy joes. Not better or worse, just different. And easier.


On a friend's recommendation I got an adorable iFlops Monkey to replace my speakers at work. I haven't decided on a name yet.













I want new shoes, red ones. None have really grabbed me yet, though. I don't know if I want to dress up for Halloween this year.

I was surfing ToysRus.com and found this pic.

B-Daman Battle Basic Figure: Wing Ninjaby:

Yeah, okay. So my mind is in the gutter. I get that. But really now.