Saturday, August 13, 2011
I tried to read his face, before he even spoke. She was home, no wait, he's squinting, shes not.
"Yea she's home", hes says while giving that awkward strange look he always gives me. He's smiling but not really, and his eyelids look heavy and weak. I hate it. You would of thought that he had noticed the politely disgusted look on my face. Was he hitting on me? For some reason my naive thoughts won't let me go there. I think a lot, and I even chuckle to myself from time to time. Which is probably a good indication that i think TOO much. I'm not going to go there.
"Okay, could you let her know I'm here to pick her up?", I say while looking at the Jehovah's witness awkwardly look around with a nervous smile on his face, then look down at his watch and walk away. They usually come in two's, that's weird. I guess technically they can go out on their own and canvass at there own time. But who would want to? That guy of course, and a few very motivated people. Wow, shouldn't I be thinking of something else? Or should I not be thinking at all? I'm probably worrying now. Oh great.
By the time I was 17 I had already done many things. I had almost a dozen different jobs, I had all types of relationships, and my experiences were both empowering and shocking. My journey isn't easy to tell, and many people I'm sure, would be offended just listening to it. That part of my life, holds my deepest and darkest secrets. These are my adolescent years, this is my story.
When I went over, her older brother was arguing with a Jehovah's Witness at the door. The Witness was in a crisp light grey suit, he had nicely combed hair with just a small amount of gel and a large welcoming grin on his face. From his hand was a distressed leather briefcase. David, Marissa's 32 year old brother who still lived at home, was wearing the craziest button up shirt I had ever seen. Mice were playing badminton matches, strategically placed all over the garment. Hideous. It was just like me to analyze an outfit at the first opportunity. Was I that shallow? Maybe I'm just observant, or curious. That certainly sounds better.
"Hi Greg", I say while standing sheepishly behind the Witness.
They both stopped their bickering and slowly adjusted their gaze toward me. I smiled a quick small smile, trying to be somewhat polite. "Is Marissa home?"
Thursday, July 7, 2011
I worry a lot. I wish the word carefree applied in some way to my own personality. If I could find a way not to think so much I would; not to dwell on something so insignificant, then the next day it wouldn't even matter. Its hard to pretend nothing is wrong. People see me differently, they don't know. I don't even think I know.
I feel fragile; everything upsets me. I am so fucking damn irritated. I can't sit, or stand. My thoughts control me, and I wish I had an off switch.