Birthday thoughts

Getting old sucks.

I was never one of those kids that couldn't wait to grown up. I wanted to be little forever. And why not? Nap time, snack time, play time... And life was perfect when mom made mac and cheese for dinner and you could watch TGIF on ABC.

And getting older, even with the perks of driver's license and boyfriends and independence, isn't always fun. I have noticed that my body can't handle the stress it used to. When all I eat is chocolate and coffee, I get fatter. I can't stay up all night without DIRE consequences. I'm no longer flexible and my energy level is on the ground most of the time.

The older you get you have to look at your life and start to make decisions. I bought and sold my first house in 2 years. What now? Should I start over again? Should I get married? What about babies? (and I can't wait too much longer for children, to keep the risk low for healthy mom and baby...) I need to take better care of myself; it's not like when your younger and can skip those doctor appointments. Dentists, gynos, doctors ....plastic surgeons???

Mostly I hate turning one year older because this will be another year I get older than my brother. We were born 18 months apart. He's still 21 and get older every year. That is the true motherfucker of it all.

And I mean that.

From Park Ave to just the park

So this is what being homeless is like.

Worry not, gentle reader. I am not scruffy or unwashed as of yet. I always find a place to lay my head. I live out of my car, true, but I don't sleep there. I still eat 3 square meals a day and get a hot shower every day. Thank G-d for my friends and family. I spend much of my time trying to network up a job, scowering the internet and sitting in the park.

A truly homeless person came up to me while I was sitting in the park, reading. I held back the urge to scream, "Can't you tell I'm one of you?!" Instead, I hand her a dollar. Enjoy you're tall boy, ma'am. I'll be here, not regretting that decision later.

I have good days and bad days. Today is good. The weather is nice and I sold a bunch of my clothes and got a sweaty wad of cash for it so I'm celebrating with an ice cream cone.

I'm just going to sit here and watch my old life disappear.

Harry Potter is my best friend

As of late, I have had much trouble sleeping; the homelessness and uncertain future does that to you.

I lay awake for hours, mind racing, heart racing... pretty much every part of me racing around the room but my legs. (And even they twitch a little) So I sleep quite poorly, get up and disparage about my situation, then fall into a bed, where ever that may be, and stare at the ceiling some more. After about a week, things start to get weird.

I burst into tears for seemingly no reason. The shadows move. Lights are too bright, noises too loud and I sit in the middle of all of it and pray for a zombie apocalypse. And I'm a real bitch. Who wouldn't be after no sleep for a week? No one, that's who.

So last weekend, after a big fight with TMS, I find myself feeling like shit about myself and my situation, running on fumes, no sleep for 3 days and trying to fall asleep while fucking Seinfeld plays on the tv. Every time someone started doing that ever so charming 'whining-escalating-into-yelling' thing, I though my head was going to pop off my body.

I excused myself and tiptoed downstairs to have myself a bit of a cry. I sat on the floor and ate crackers and cried about the sorry state of me. If I had been an art piece, my title could have been, "Plathetic Mess, in C Minor". ("C Minor" lends it some credibility, don't you think?)

The sleep timer finally killed the tv and I ventured upstairs again, full of crackers and shame. I stared at the spots on the ceiling, thought about ice cream flavors I wanted to invent, trying not to collapse yet again into weepy sadness. That's when I roll over and spot my ipod on the bedside table.

I hope he's legal in the picture...

I put on book 4, curled up, and forgot the rest of the world. I escaped into a world of purpose, fantasy and safety. As I listened to the brilliant Jim Dale, I drifted off.  Finally.

 So because he's a roll model for kids, he's entertaining escapism and he finally got me to sleep, I declare Harry Potter is my best friend.

Besides, who doesn't want a friend who looks like this? No one, that's who.