2003-08-12 - 10:43 p.m.
Today was a day rife with danger, excitement, and thrills. Actually, I just had another experience with another greasy service man. Yeah. The theme of my life is starting to chill me a bit.
So anyway, we had an exterminator come in at like, 8, so I had to be up and dressed, room cleaned by then. Not an easy task for erratic sleeping, messy little quiddle. However, the prospect of more of the giant mother of a bug that I found in my room while in a half-asleep fuzzy slipper stupor made me decide that getting up was indeed, a rather userful and purposeful idea. I feared they were tunneling through my precious fender, and if my parents had not contacted the fellow-ship of pomade-slicked men who kill bugs for a living, I may have made drastic plans to go after the little destructive six-legged bastards myself. I don't like them being in my room where I enjoy privacy and the privilage of eating ben and jerrys, the ocassional milanos, and various weird looking candy-like lumps and haphazardly leaving the remains lying around. This is my inalienable right as owner of the quiddle establishment, and some freaking critters can't decide that they're gonna take over and I'm gonna be the gourmet mastermind that provides the decadent feast they gorge their nasty little mandibles with. Gimme a break. Oh yeah, and my mom sort of freaked when she found one in her shower. Like the kind of freak out that includes lot of naughty words and screaming and calls to my dad saying "This house is a disaster, I can't get anything done, and a huge giant killer mo-fo of an ant tried to take me out in the shower this morning! Help me now or I will personally castrate you!" Or something to that effect.
Anyway, so under the premise that the greasy-pomaded man may indeed have to extend his eradication of the terrible beasts into my room to spray and poke and prod, I had to be up early. This made me unhappy. I like to hide when people like that show up, and my dad said he intended to sweep the whole house. So quiddle gets her lazy little butt up, takes a shower, is dressed by the supposed time that creepy slicked back hair man is expected to show up. He shows, quiddle waits nervously in room, door slightly cracked for signal puposes and hears the heavenly chorus singing as the man announces he will not have to go into the bedrooms and then continues to explain to my father why he left his fifth wife. It was all quite educational really.
I think that's all. I mean, later on in the day there was a little walk, and a dreary kind of splash in the puddles, and some movie watching punctuated with the ocassional popcorn fight and someone who shouldn't have trying to touch my poor tortured feet...but otherwise, just another day inside my crazed oblivion.
Oh yeah, and I'm getting severly paranoid again. I have a way of dwelling and obsessing about things that scare and/or upset and disturb me, and then I just become preoccupied with them and they start to interfere with my ability to do things. Like, once I had to do a report on a dangerous criminal for school and I chose Ted Bundy. I saturated myself with information about him and ended up with a paranoia so bad that I, even at the age of 14 (at the time) slept in my parents room on numerous ocassions, and could barely do anything alone...(i.e. get the mail, walk alone, go into a store alone) It was a truly disturbing time for me because I have a way of knowing that it's frightening and I should stop scaring myself, but i become obsessed in a weird way. I'm not the kind of person who is unduly fascinated because I'm violent and hateful, I just have a strong draw to tragedies and things and why they occur. I think it's sort of a part of human nature...what makes us stare at a fatal car crash even though it sickens, saddens and later haunts our memories. I honestly believe it has to do with death and it's finality. No one on earth really knows what death is in it's entirety...yes, some of us have skimmed the brink and come back...but none of us has left this world permanently and known what it feels like. We also wonder how people could become so deranged and tortured as to do the things that they do...the villans of society...We want to understand what we don't know, thus the fascination with things as horrible and tragic as Oklahoma City bombings, the Waco incident, 9/11, and Columbine.
The incident at Columbine is a bit over 4 years old, but having been in 6th grade at its occurence, I find myself almost dealing with it all over again. Yes, this is strange, noone has thought about that in a long while, I know, but we watched a movie on it at a youth meeting and I was rife with emotions about it. Maybe it's wrong to say I grieve, because it wasn't me personally, but I'm sensitive and I feel like I never dealt with my fears and concerns surrounding the event adequately as a little(er) girl. So that has been my latest worry and preoccupation. I hate feeling this way, heavy and helpless, but the world frightens me so deeply, and I imagine that these kinds of emotions will be a struggle for me in coming years. I will probably grow up and feel like 9/11 hadn't been processed properly in my mind, and go into a small tailspin about that. It's hard to feel like this, and although my enormous imagination gives me creativity and freedom to express myself, it also creates an element of fright and worry that may transcend someone else. Weird stuff.
Goodnight diaryland, hug eachother a lot because you never know what your next moment holds, (it sounds cliche but we all know it's true) avoid the rapid consumption of pickles, and when in doubt, run around in circles and say "WWHHHAATTT?????" Bye.
