[ Friday, January 28, 2005 ]
[ Wednesday, January 19, 2005 ]Sometimes, usually late at night while lying in bed, overwhelmed by thoughts & just wanting to go to sleep, I wonder if I'm crazy. If there's something seriously fucked up in my head. There is always a clear & definite path to this type of thinking. Something's gone wrong during the day, or I'm worrying about something that I've said or done, how it's been perceived, or I'm feeling like a complete & utter fucking failure. I go over the events of the day, turn whatever I've said or whatever I'm feeling over & over a hundred times, analyze it from every angle, analyze it to death. Then I think about what it means in relation to my life. How there are so many patterns. Then, ultimately, I think about every moment in my life that has made me feel bad about myself. I bring those moments back up. I analyze them again. I feel regret, shame, guilt. I worry. I beat myself up. I think about people who live with no apologies. I wonder why I can't be like that, why I keep myself from living like that.
Sometimes I just feel like such a burden. Like my friendship or love isn't enough, that I'm not enough. And I feel like such a complete failure. Rarely do I admit these feelings. Instead I hoard them up inside myself, let them eat at me until, inevitably, they manifest as one of my funks. Of course, I often write my funks off as just being "The Dude" for a day, a weekend, a week, a month. I want to wear pajamas & a pink bathrobe 24-7. I don't want to put on make-up. I don't comb my hair until it becomes absolutely necessary. And I swing from project to project, never completing one or completing many only half-assed, waiting for something, anything to awaken the creativity inside me, to set me on fire, to feel absolute burning passion if only for 30 minutes or 5 minutes.
That cycle has many times brought the term 'manic depressive' or 'bipolar' into my little train of thoughts.
I guess what I'm wondering is if everyone else feels this way from time to time. If it's just part of the human condition or a product of the way our lives are these days--rushed, hurried, with a nagging need to create something spectacular or be spectacular. Then I wonder too, is this just the way of an artist or a poet or anyone who creates. Are all these questions, cycles a product of the way I see the world. How I can become so furious in one moment & find myself in tears the next & then be just overwhelmed something simple & beautiful.
It's always been easy for me to put myself in someone else's shoes, to step into their life for a moment & imagine how I would feel, who I would be if I were in their position. I accredit my sense of empathy & understanding of people to that. But sometimes I worry, what if I have it all wrong? Maybe I don't know anything about this life, about people, about myself.
The truth is, I have no idea where I'm headed. I'm so caught up in living in the moment & for now that I don't plan for the future. And that sometimes leaves me feeling very stagnant & stuck.
I'm feeling that right now. My head is just overwhelmed with so many things that I need to do, that I should do.
Yesterday I went to Rite Aid because Rite Aid is sometimes my salvation. I purchased beauty products cause that's what I do when I'm feeling kind of blah. A micro dermabrasion kit & other items that will probably be used for a while then discarded. When I came home I decided to step on the scales & see just exactly where I am. I'm exactly where I was this time last year. And that just sent me into a whirlwind of emotion & self-loathing. And validated that 'you're so fucking pathetic' feeling that was already kind of eating at me. So I'm still stuck with that feeling today.
On top of this, I've been thinking about opening up a cafe press shop & submitting some poems to online poetry zines that seem to be geared toward the type of poems I write. The cafe press shop idea came from Dave. I could self-publish a small chapbook of poems & possibly offer some of my paintings as prints. I'm weighing the pros & cons out in my head. If self-publishing is a good idea. If submitting poems is a good idea. If they're even worthy to be read, because that idea is always in the back of my head. I feel that way toward anything that I create. I feel like it's okay, but a few steps away from being good. So I'm tossing that over.
There's also the idea of breast reduction in the back of my head.
When I began my me kick last year & began eating healthier, the goal was to reach an ideal weight so that my decision to do it or not would be easier. In June, when I had dropped 20 lbs. my bras were fitting perfectly for the first time in my life. Now, they're not fitting again. I'm bulging & have gone up a cup size.
For some people the decision might be an easy one. I don't think it will be for me. There are so many questions to be answered & so many things to think about. When I had my gall bladder removed, I woke up from the anesthesia weeping uncontrollably & just mourning. Still high, I told Beverley "I don't think I could ever have a hysterectomy." I grieved over a gallbladder! How emotional would I be having of my boobs partially removed? I asked two ladies the other day who've had the procedure if it made them feel any differently about themselves. I didn't really get an answer. But they were happier. I wonder though, how it would affect my self-image. If I would feel as though part of my identity was gone. For years I've been the girl with the big boobs. That's impacted my self-worth negatively & positively. When you hear a cross-dresser say 'I'd love to have those boobs.', you feel a little flattered. Of course when that same cross-dresser brings you a catalogue of bras for bigger women & you have to say, 'Honey, I know you meant well, but my size isn't in there.', you end up feeling like some abnormal being who should probably occupy a booth between the bearded lady & the man with lobster claws instead of hands.
There are just so many issues & this is a topic I could probably write about forever. But Cody is up from his nap & staring at me as I type.
(to be continued....maybe.)
~ Rebecca 1:35 PM [+] (1) comments
[ Monday, January 10, 2005 ]Greetings Y'all!
Sometimes that pops in my head. It's always Jeff Foxworthy's voice, with extra emphasis on 'greetings'.
Chris C. from The Bachelorette.
I should have written about this last week, when the topic was current & folks were still laughing their asses off. I don't know much of what went on during the first show. Partly because we were all wandering from room to room, mocking the poor boy. If I had a dollar for every time one of us said, "You look like pure eye candy.", I'd have, like, all these dollars.
While I watched the show I was embarrassed to death for Chris, him being from this county and all. I couldn't imagine being in his shoes, feeling out of place & so much like a hick. But then such a big deal was made about his drunkenness, about how he didn't represent Wolfe County or Kentucky well, how, heaven help us, he used foul language on T.V.
And that just pissed me off. I heard, "He sure made an ass out of himself." And "So & so is furious, she doesn't go for that kind of stuff." I wanted to say, "You know what? It's a fucking T.V. show. The rest of his life isn't hanging on that one episode. You should hear the kind of language your kids handle. You should have seen your kids a few times, on sidewalks in Lexington after slurping down mason jars full of sex on the beach & Steve Azar's crown royal shot." And my God, make Campton look bad? We should all be thankful he acted the way he did, otherwise there'd be camera crews on the streets of Campton & then it wouldn't just be rumor. It would be verified. Campton is the hickest of hick towns. In what other city does the person who owns the most popular funeral home also own the gun shop?
True, he used the corniest pick up lines ever to be uttered by mankind. But he quoted AC/DC, talked about our post office & mentioned his daddy's liquor store. That alone should have made us proud. Sam & I used to watch The Bachelor & The Bachelorette religiously when we worked at Dessie Scott & didn't have anything else to do on a Wednesday night. I can't tell you how many times we said, "Man I wish that just once somebody would go on one of these shows & just turn on. Be the biggest hick ever." I think Chris did that. And it wouldn't surprise me if he did it on a bet.
I hope he collected after the show aired.
I've been working on some new paintings. I have two new ones posted on the site:
the 28th day
this is my nowhere
Usually, I'm not this motivated to paint. But I've been dragging out old ones that I either never completed or wasn't happy with, and finishing them. I completed one this morning & I guarantee there are 47 layers of paint underneath the finished layer. There were so many stops & starts, ideas scrapped & painted over. Last week, I scrapped a layer & began painting something else. Last night, I decided I didn't like it & just flung paint all over it. Finally, I'm satisfied. It's an oil, acrylic, ink & graphite & I have to let it dry before I can post it. But I'm happy with it. And that's all that counts.
I'm also tickled pink with a brand new primitive cupboard that I purchased last week. Thursday, after leaving Marcy's and PMSing like hell, I decided to stop by a little antique shop outside Campton. I parked the truck, got out & just instantly felt guilty for even being in the parking lot. I knew I would buy something. I knew it would be an impulse purchase. But I really needed shop therapy. I contemplated leaving but realized that I might look a little flighty since I'd already crossed the parking lot & stopped to look back at the truck once. I rounded the corner of the shop & on the outside of the building was a tall, grey, primitive cupboard w/ door. I've been bookmarking every primitive grey cupboard I've run across on eBay for the last 2 months. They've been my obsession & most are within the $300 - $500 range, which is not an amount of money I would want to part with for a cupboard. I inquired inside, was told that it had been priced for $150 but I could have it for $125. I gave her some money & she held it for me until Dave I could pick it up, which we did on Monday.
So now that baby's sitting in Dave's bedroom, after being washed down with Murphy's oil soap & lugged across the house. It was a heavy little bastard. And around 6 feet tall. I'm tickled. Somehow when I get certain pieces of furniture that I'd like to have on my mind, I end up running into them somewhere. For a long time, I was consumed with claw foot tubs. I checked on reproductions & found that they were in the $700 - $1,200 range. Not long after that obsession began, Bradley's grandma, Hilda, decided to redo her bathroom & moved her claw foot tub out to the back porch. Tammy called to let me know it was for sale & shortly thereafter, I moved a clawfoot tub into our basement. I haven't been able to use it yet. But I feel good knowing it's in the basement.
This is just so you know.
At IGA in West Liberty, a large poster advertises: Mega Meat. Buy Big & Save.
I think that would be the perfect promotional poster for a clinic that specializes in female to male sex ops.
At least that was the thought that made me laugh while I sat outside IGA Monday night while Dave picked up a gallon of milk.
Those Igans are so funny.
~ Rebecca 3:25 PM [+] (1) comments
In 27 minutes Mr. Chris C. will be stepping out of the limo & greeting Miss Jen Shefft. I need the piss smacked out of me, I'm so excited.[ Thursday, January 06, 2005 ]
I'm waiting to see how much he drinks. How he'll be portrayed. And to hear his accent compared to the others around him.
Being from Kentucky, and especially eastern Kentucky, we don't tend to notice our accents. Cause everyone else talks this way too.
I'm hoping he can drop it for a little while. But I don't think he can.
(The word on the street is that there will be muddy, four-wheeling footage on the show tonight. I can only hope.)
~ Rebecca 8:35 PM [+] (0) comments
Local boy gets the opportunity to chase big-city tail.[ Monday, January 03, 2005 ]
That should be a headline in the Wolfe Co. paper this week. Local boy Chris C. , (fourth from left ), is one of the 25 bachelors competing for the new bachelorette's attention. Apparently, from the commercial that is being aired, he makes us proud.
Promo:
Narrator's Voice: Do the guys hit on the girls?
(Fellows talking to female bartenders.)
Bartender: "What do you need?"
Chris: "Something with some alcohol in it or something."
Narrator's Voice: Do they hit the bottle?
(Close-up of Chris chugging a nice tall glass of something.)
Narrator's Voice: Or do they hit the floor?
(Guy standing beside Chris falls flat on his ass.)
That promo killed me today. Shortly after the auditions for The Bachelorette were held in Lexington, I heard rumor that Chris had auditioned. The first story was that he desperately wanted to be on The Bachelorette. Being that his car was in the shop, he rode his crotch rocket to Lexington & went to the audition with full on helmet hair, redwings & t-shirt. The second story, and probably the true version, is that Chris went to Lexington for his birthday, was approached in a bar & informed that auditions for The Bachelorette were being held next door.
Word is he gets cut during the first episode.
I can only say thank god.
I can't imagine the horror of him making it till the end, being invited to her hometown, then having the bachelorette & camera crew visit his hometown.
My God. What would Bobby on the bridge think of a limo rolling through Campton & then stopping at Chris' salon, a tiny trailer right beside the local & family owned beer store? I know what Bobby would say. Bobby would say "By God, I've seen it all now. I was just standing here minding my own business and a @&!*#&*$ limozeen, as long as this road rolled through. Huh!" (Bobby rolls eyes, tilts head & continues to speak.) "Huhuh! That skinny little bastard, I walked up to the beer store & they had that @&!*#&*$ limo hung up, son! Had the front tarr over in the ditch, liked to never got it out. I had to call Raymond & we took the tow truck over there & got 'em out. Last time she'll be in this town."
If any of you know Bobby, that little paragraph will make complete & perfect sense. He sees everything that happens in town. Knows everything that happens in town. For years he was my go-to guy. If I needed to know something I asked Bobby. Then I had to dissect any information he gave me, weed out the untruths & after a while had a pretty clear idea what was going on.
I can't imagine Bobby being able to handle an event of this proportion. So again, I'm thankful that Chris doesn't actually stay longer than the first night. (All rumor, of course.)
But it does crack me up.
That somebody from Wolfe Co. would be chosen to appear on any T.V. show other than Cops or Jerry Springer. And that I'm so farting excited to see this episode.
The last event of this funny & exiting was sometime last year when a fellow from West Liberty sent his Fear Factor audition tape in & actually got a call back. He performed his stunt during winter. That would be okay except that his stunt involved sliding from a cable that was suspended above the lake. He fell from the cable, skidded across the lake, broke all the ice in his path & then continued with the audition tape, covered in slush & blood.
(I'm not gonna stand by that story 100%. But this is how I heard it. And even if it's not entirely true, it's still pretty damn funny.)
Rednecks gravitate toward cameras. It's a scientific fact. Let something bad happen in any county in Kentucky, doesn't matter where or what it is & some hick saw the whole thing & wants to tell about it, in detail, to the entire state. We make noises to articulate our points, to describe the tornado or the sound of the tires or the big kaboom. We enrich the story with intricate hand gestures and an excited, almost crazy, widening of the eyes. And almost any story that a hick tells begins with the infamous words "Son, I'll tell you what..." And most times end with, "I grabbed my 12 pack & ran like hell."
Just once I want to be that redneck.
Which means that I'll have to spend a lot of time hanging out, waiting for something news-worthy to happen. Or I'll have to make it happen.
Someday, baby. Someday.
~ Rebecca 9:06 PM [+] (0) comments
I feel a funk coming on.
Last year coming back from Lexington on New Year's Day, extremely hung over & almost choking on regret, I stared out Sam's window at the black fence rows framing a farm. Each section rushed into the next & that stretch of black seemed to go on forever.
black fence rows
so much like our lives,
the burden face-down
on our laps
& suffocating
Those words came to me while I stared out the window, head steadied by cold glass. Regret. Everyone else was asleep, I wasn't prepared to let the party die down. I roamed outside the confines of our room. Found beer. Had heated words with a security guard. Talked to strangers. Talked gibberish to strangers. Made out with some random dude then went back to my room, where everyone else was already sleeping off the beer we'd consumed while seeing Charlie Daniels & Montgomery Gentry perform. The next morning I made a rule that when we go out one person will be designated to beat the shit out me when and if I get out of hand.
I was engulfed in guilt after that episode. Part of it was thinking about all the things that could have happened to me while intoxicated & roaming, but I've had a few embarrassing episodes, risky episodes even & none of those inspired that type of guilt. At one point during the concert, while sneaking a pee between acts & acquiring more beer, I remember looking into the mirror & thinking 'I am so fucking ugly'. I looked away & could have just vomited right then. I felt absolute self-loathing. So my making out with a random dude was purely because I felt ugly, and I wanted someone to make me feel as though I was not. That plagued me.
And shortly afterwards I began my 'me' kick.
Returned to my natural hair color. Altered my diet. Began lifting weights & working out. Months later, I began to see the effects. Bought new pants cause my old ones weren't fitting. Sent my grey dancing pants to a storage container cause they definitely didn't fit.
Now, one year later, I'm having to dig those pants back out again. I haven't gained all the weight back. But the road I'm traveling on now, is leading me there. And again, I'm feeling so goddamned ugly.
A lot of the motivation for the 'me' kick was that one look in the mirror in a bathroom inside Rupp & thinking how in one year--I'd be able to rectify that, I'd be able to look in the mirror & not feel like Quasimodo.
It didn't quite happen that way.
I spent this New Year's Eve with Dave & Lisa & a host of other good people. I drank. I didn't pace myself. I hadn't eaten. I ended up vomiting in the driveway shortly before midnight. And again, woke up just riddled with guilt. I haven't been around Dave's friends that much. Had never been to the house where the party was hosted. I know almost everyone has been in that position at one time or another, but I just feel like I should have maintained.
Or maybe it's just that I worry too much about things when I should just say 'Ah, shit happens.'
But that is me. I tend to worry worry worry about minute details. And I blow it out of context, even though in my mind it's a big thing. It leads me to believe that I am a horrible person, that I'm not fit to be around normal folk. That maybe I should become a total shut-in.
I've had these thoughts for years, anyways. My internal dialogue is not kind.
I don't know the answer to all this or what the question is really.
I just know that I feel a funk coming on.
And I've not been in one in a while.
~ Rebecca 5:58 PM [+] (0) comments
