I swear, my chair is cursed. Cursed. Every time I sit down to write an entry, the moment I sit down, everything I wanted to say slides out of my head like spaghetti off a paper plate. And so my floor is all dirtied with everything I wanted to say now. I am trying to pick up the pieces and sift through. I will see how good a job I can do collecting my thoughts. But dirty spaghetti hand picked off the ground and slapped back on the plate is not quite the same as it was before.
I really hate elephants. The figurative ones that loom over conversations. I hate sitting awkwardly silent, feeling like there are some to dispel. There were no elephants in the room though. It was the lingering smell. Elephants leave a powerful smell of uneasiness behind them. I really needed air freshener to dissipate it, but I had none on hand. I never seem to have any. Can't there be a store for me to pick up these sort of things? I need conversation starter kits, insta depth encouragers (you know, just add water sort of thing), and I'll take some awkward moment air freshener.
Truth be told though, all's well that ends well. Or something like that. All is well, although it wasn't necessarily a fun, or a smooth journey. It ended well though. I like all my relationships to be as straight and neat as my...oh darn. My bed happens to be in shambles, my closet happens to be unorganized, my sock and underwear drawers are slightly a mess, my papers are in a jumbled state. To the ordinary person, my room is neat and straight as a pin, overlooking the bed. Not a thing out of place. But to my OCD, my room is a hideous, unorganized mess. So do we really hope all my relationships are like that? I suppose some are neat and straight like my bookshelf or my cds, while others are slightly a mess like my closet or drawers, and then there are others that are in shambles like my bed. My relationship with my parents would be one of those in shambles. I have no intention of fixing it, and haven't since I was 8. Yes, that's right, I haven't had a good relationship with my parents since I was 8. We aren't really talking about that though are we?
We *were* discussing how nicely everything has straightened out since the night I hit myself. It is over. It is now a closed issue. I get to pack it up into a neat box, and put it into my secret vault. My ultimate closet. The one with the dark skeletons. The closet of the things that seem like they come from another Megan. I finally get to put in it a neat box of ashes. Everything else in there is in shambles. Everything else is unfixed and undealt with. Only shoved away from my sight and that of everyone else's. Maybe someday I can straighten out and destroy everything else in there.
Otherwise today has consisted of the utterly mundane tasks of life. I did laundry. You know, somehow it takes me all day to do 3 loads of laundry. And I still haven't even folded any laundry yet. What's up with that? And I need to do my laundry tomorrow. One's own laundry is easier though. Especially when it all gets washed through the gentle cycle and line dried.
I need to grow up. Enough of this never never land business. But that is a story for another day. It is a story that got lost when it slipped off my plate. You may have it tomorrow. And that is today's offering of dirty spaghetti on a bent paper plate.