my ridiculousness explained

when i’m hungry at 2am i usually end up venturing downstairs and consuming massive amounts of calories.

i feel like a bulemic must feel during their binging phases- wracked with guilt and slightly horrified with myself.
not because of all the calories i’m consuming, but mostly because i usually end up scarfing down forkfuls of cold, straight-from-the-fridge leftovers, from several different tupperware containers splayed out wantonly on the counter. 

i think most of the guilt comes from the fact that most of these leftovers belong to my roommates, and not me. i watch them enviously during the day as they carefully prepare and cook these lavish meals, while i stand in a corner reheating some spam or frying something strange in butter. and at night, overtaken with hunger i creep downstairs and rape their carefully stored bits of pasta and chicken and white fish with grilled onions with my fork, my stark-raving mad barbaric fork. 

but i’m not completely stupid about it, obviously, which probably makes it even worse. i rearrange the food around in the containers once i’ve had my naughty way with it so it appears perfectly untouched- if slightly diminished. 

i’m an absolutely ridiculous human being, i know. but strangely, i’m perfectly okay with that. that’s my true essence, i think, ridiculousness- tinged with bits of boyishness and the strange desire to appear feminine and flouncy to public eyes. i went to the buffalo exchange yesterday and ofcourse loaded my arms with everything drape-y and loose-fitting and feminine i could possibly get my hands on. and in the dressing room i flounced about a bit more in these gorgeous, perfectly draped frocks and blouses all floral-y and lavender and delicious thrift-store-y vintage. BUT… my true essence is found at 2 in the morning downstairs in the kitchen, wearing a grey band tank and basketball shorts and stuffing its face with stolen food, pushing glasses back up the bridge of nose once in a while in the frenzied throes of feeding. 

ah yes.

me.

i sound very much like a hyena, do i not, or maybe a deranged person or a zombie with a penchant for girly tops. 

i do not know why i present myself to the public the way i do- like a perfectly lovely girl cradling some perfectly lovely books in her arms and long flowing asian hair and mascara sparkling eyes and everything. it’s not like i enjoy the attention. attention from passers-bys makes me very uncomfortable, and attention from boys through my friends, or directly to my face, makes me gag and want to hit something. 
i don’t know why exactly, i never said i was a normal human being. i already told you i was ridiculous. 
i would like to have the courage to go out in public the way i feel most comfortable- with my glasses and no makeup and my old grey band tanks and pants of some sort (i don’t really care what sort) and my hair all lopsided and the way it is when i wake up in the morning. or bald, whatever. my hair is not important. 
but the reason i do not is because i lack courage. pretty girls are supposed to go out in public looking like pretty girls, not dirty frazzled ragamuffins. 

my friends always wonder why i reject attention from boys with such ferocity, as if i’ve just been insulted deeply or slapped in the face. when i think about it.. i feel like they are showering attention on some girly strange skank creature living next door, and are telling ME about it, as if there is anything i can do about THAT. 

well then, how does one go about getting in contact with that lovely dancing skank creature i met at the club the other night?

how the fuck should i know? i don’t KNOW her, she’s an illusion. i’m not a fucking witchdoctor, i can’t conduct a seance and conjure her ass out of thin air, she doesn’t fucking exist!! so why are you coming to ME with your horny bullshit? i’m just a dirty frazzled ragamuffin trying to mind her own business and scarf down other’s peoples foods at odd hours of the night, and sometimes in moments of weakness and without the courage to do otherwise i dress up as your lovely dancing skank creature for some hours of debauchery and fool you blind. don’t come to me afterwards asking for her, i don’t know any more about her than you do. 

and then i want to slap you in the face, because can you not see me now as i really am, as a ragamuffin and happy and carefree and frazzled and smiling and why can’t that be good enough for you? 
that has never been good enough for any boy. which suits me just fine because in exchange i know exactly who i am and exactly who i’m happiest being- not lovely dancing skank or flouncing-blouse girl cradling books.
i’m happy as dirty ragamuffin with my family around me, not noticing for a second the days i choose to wear makeup or the days i do not, only noticing when i am being especially clever somedays or especially silly, because that’s what’s most important to them. 

this is a long post, and strange, but flowing straight out of my heart and into your blank staring daydreaming eyes and all i really started this entry wanting to talk about was my late-night binge-fests. 

oh and don’t worry heather, i don’t eat your food. i promise. actually all i eat is kate’s pasta sometimes and cory’s chips and dip and maybe a corner of eliana’s fish because it looks so damn tasty and i swear it doesn’t even happen that often.

ba na na na

listening to andre and eliana talking in the kitchen makes me want to end my life. their topics range from the new budget chart she made for their grocery list to just exactly how to prepare the chicken recipe on the box, and no you’re doing it wrong, oh did i tell you i wrote my writing schedule on my mirror? 
their expressions are stony and their intonations dull. the sounds of their slippers scuffling around on the kitchen floor is much livelier fodder for the ears. 

i’m sitting in the livingroom plucking my usual nonsense bits of songs on the guitar and am forced to retreat upstairs to get away from the barrage of mind-numbing death rays emanating from the kitchen.

listening to kate snore loudly as she naps in our room makes me want to smile. except i don’t, because i hear this shit every day and it’s interestingness has reduced to about the level of a happy mosquito humming little ditties through the air all day.. and such things tend to fade out of your direct consciousness. 

i want to kick their dog. andy and eliana’s dog, i mean. it’s large and oafish and probably the most incredibly stupid dog i’ve ever met. and it’s a couple months old. this is really a very horrifying thought for me because i love dogs, rats, worms, cows, animals much more deeply than i love humans and i’ve never felt such an urgent desire to send one hurtling into space.