bubbles, bubbles everywhere ... i oughtta be sedated

i've decided to do two things at some point in the near future:

1) i must build myself clothing of bubblewrap.

preferably a tracksuit, 80s style. made entirely of bubblewrap, with tape fastenings instead of zippers or velcro. perhaps then i wouldn't bruise so easily. could take more risks, leaps, jumps, climb a tree, dance off a small rock in the garden without scraping my knees. i'd have to have great willpower though. it would be incredibly hard to avoid popping myself.

poppop pop poppoppoppoppop poppop pop... pop?

2) i must get a human hamster ball

http://www.zorb.com.cn/zorb-ball.htm

i would travel the streets, running over small children and elderly grandmothers.
they wouldn't be hurt much, maybe a few scrapes or bruises. i could talk them into lining up like bowling pins at the end of the lane. they rack up and i take off, cool plastic on hot asphalt, building up speed faster and faster as my arms and legs climb and climb, spinning in circles, pushing harder and harder til --

BAM!!!

i hit the front one and keep pushing into the throng. they cry a little, more from shock than injury, and they all fall down; ashes to ashes, ring around the rosy (we're singing about the black death for some reason)

we'd make a fantastic game of it all. i'd chase them, they pretend (they're pretending, i swear) to scream in terror and run away. i could blast "ride of the valkyries" on my ipod that i never bought and refuse to have.

i love the smell of crying in the morning

i would make a fantastic event of it. as fresh dew settles on the leaves and grass, i eagerly raise the garage door and slowly roll out my plastic steed (that sounded a bit too sexual, even for me). i tape up my bubblewrap track suit, carefully covering the crooks and nannies that no one needs or wants to see. a dayglo sweatband crown, wristbands triumphantly raised to the sky, i begin the ritual.

wagner plays.

i climb inside.

the children, like deer sipping from a stream, sense the danger. they pause, heads raised, ears cocked (could we choose a better word) to the side listening for sounds of danger.

i raise the volume to 11, and start the push. i feel the bloodlust. i see the prey.

and the screaming starts... as i swoop in and after the little running legs. they won't Indy out of this one, grabbing their hat at the last minute with golden idol in hand.

victory is mine!

as one after another they fall to my plastic fortress. and as the last one succumbs, limbs flailing, tears falling, snot running down quivering lips and chins, i play a new song: my victory march -

... its the cream of the fight, risin' up to the challenge of our rival. and the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night. and he's watchin' us all in the EYYYYYYYYYYYYEE OF THE TIIIIIGGGGEERRRRR!!!


this is what i think about when i can't sleep.

If you had it all to do again

ok first post. gotta make it good, right? something to last the ages, grasp the attention of the ADHD generation.

meh... i'd rather just post this:

i'm thinking of becoming agoraphobic.

i wonder how long i could live shut up inside my house, never setting foot outside. you can order groceries online, stream movies from netflix, download free porn so you don't need to bother dating. and still have social contact via twitter and facebook. all life's necessities fulfilled by the glory of the internet.

i'm sitting in my living room babysitting my brother as he watches the same family feud episode he has repeatedly since july 14th of last year. he loves it. but only the first 3 minutes or so. he'll sit and watch it over and over and smile and laugh and just be happy with that one stupid game show episode from the 70s. i guess its the simple things in life that really count.

i'm sitting on our foam couch in my underdog pajama pants with the hole in the knee and a stewie griffin t-shirt that makes my breasts declare "you are under my control" watching my brother in his simple happiness. he hardly leaves the house and it doesn't seem to bother him. then again, he's 19 and severely autistic. so maybe it bothers him and he just can't tell us.

if you could relive your childhood with the mind of an adult, would you want to? all the shit you know and learned til now crammed in that little body with the slight lisp and the missing front tooth, pigtails messy and loose, dirt on your little pink pleated dress from falling off the monkeybars at recess. the ability to do complex calculus or conjugate russian verbs safely nestled away in the recesses where no responsible adult would ever suspect. they'd spell out words like S-E-X and B-L-O-W-J-O-B, never knowing that you giggled because you understood, not because you just chopped barbie's head off. you'd be smart enough to know that cute little johnny over there will end up divorced and broke and unemployed in 20 years. suzy with the perfect smile will get in a car accident, horribly disfigured and never smile again. sweet, quiet angela will strip for her tuition and get shot in a random gas station robbery. all those little boys and girls that never wanted to be your friend don't really matter in the end. you'll move on and so will they. and you might meet again, you might not. ten years down the line you might say "wow, they turned out swell, did i?"

but you'll be wise enough to know, in your not-so-little, little mind, that none of it really mattered. the experiences you had back then may have shaped you into who you are now, but would they change you if you could relive them? would you be happier knowing what you know and reliving the painful past? i think i'd find more time to play. run in the field, chase butterflies in my backyard. i wouldn't care so much what jennifer or jeremy thought of me. i'd laugh it off and know that those mean words at that 5th grade dance will not affect the 25 year old me. i'd tighten my pigtails, kick off my shoes and swing as high as i could pump my legs, just to prove to myself i could. i'd try to do that cartwheel on the balance beam and damn the consequences. keep on pulling myself up the rope regardless of the blisters just to ring that stupid bell at the top ONE damn time.

its taken 25 years to get here. and i still backslide every once in a while. have fits of that old depression, that sense of not belonging ... itching to escape my own skin. that lingering idea that i'm not good enough for the company i keep. that maybe i should try a little harder to be what someone wants me to be instead of just good enough for me... but in 25 years the one thing i'm certain of is this ... it doesn't fucking matter anymore. this person thinks i'm depressing, that one thinks i'm a bitch. i think you're both retarded. i'm through wasting my time and effort on people that don't think i'm worth it. and if i had my hair in pigtails today, or if i were wearing shoes... i'd find myself a swingset and have at it. but its triple-digit texas summer and i'm opposed to sunburn. i guess i'll have to settle for dangling my bare feet off the edge of the foam sofa and watching old episodes of looney tunes...