Killing Me Fattie with Flip of Reality-

It has been almost one year ago, and I can still remember it clearly. The alarm clock sent all of my dreams crashing to a screaming halt as I jolted upright to kill the sound. I climbed out of the king size water bed, I shared with my husband and walked sluggishly to the bathroom. Automatically I turned the heater on, and then the light, opened the cabinet and grabbed my toothbrush. I closed the cabinet door and turned on the water. With eyes closed, and one hand holding me up I was calmly enjoying the feel of the electric tooth brush when I glanced into the mirror. The quick shock of what I saw looking back at me made me flinch so quick that I ripped the tooth brush out of my mouth. I stood there staring with my mouth open and tooth brush still running at the horrified reflection looking back at me. A strange feeling of recollection came over me. But the feeling that something was terribly wrong was at the same time screaming up in my throat. Those were my eyes, but that was not me in the mirror! Who did that to my hair? Why is she so fat?!? I spit out the toothpaste, and rubbed my eyes with water. Slowly I peaked back into the mirror. She was still there, on the other side, looking back at me with worry. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Turning slowly, I looked into the full length mirror to my right and almost fell over at the sight I beheld. “Oh God!” I managed in a sick voice. I grabbed for the counter and stood there shaking as I looked through the mirror at her. She stood there looking back at me with stringy hair that ran over her chubby shoulders and on to her white night gown that was clinging to the abundant fat rolls. She was shaking too. It was like she was shocked at the sight of me through the mirror too. I was horrified! This was me! But it wasn’t me! She was a very fat, and very tired looking version of who I thought I was. The reality of the situation got no better as I slowly turned and realized I had an ass the size of Kansas. “Oh, Fuck!” I yelled.

A little over an hour later I pulled my fat ass up off of the bathroom floor and opened the door. I walked as though in a dream through the rest of my day, watching the life of the fat girl I was possessing. She seemed pathetic to me as I saw how she lived her life, wasting so much. She was unhappy that was clear, but I had no idea how to help her. Things got stranger and stranger as I began to change her behavior. I modified her eating habits, quit her job, and started telling the people around her no, and that they could do things for themselves. I had no residual feelings for the husband she had married, but felt a deep love for her daughter. I could remember all of her memories and knew all of the ropes of her life, but her feelings, began to dissipate as I took over her pathetic little life. The people around her began to ask questions, and worry. I had to explain that I was fine, and just needed a few changes. Her mother was the only one who didn’t seem satisfied with the lies. She pushed and questioned, and has not stopped. Even now one year later she does it.

It has been almost one year ago, and there is little left of the ignorant fat girl I found in the mirror last spring. I have taken over her life, and am now running full speed ahead with it. It is mine now, and the person I see in the mirror is me, not her. It is my life, and I will be taking it where I want to go from now on. So, good bye fat girl, sorry I had to kill you.

Moth

It was cold and dark in the world until the small spark created the flame. The flame slowly grew, creating heat, and light, brilliant as the sun. The darkness ran into the corners commanded to leave by the light. Everything is attracted to light in this world. It is the nature of all living creatures to draw near to it in the darkness. A moth is no different. She flies ungracefully for the heat. It isn’t the fault of the fire, what the moth does. She is burned for her own passion and chooses her own path. She will fly into the licking flames to dance in the light, perhaps willing to get burnt to feel its warmth. In the end, it is not the fault of the fire for growing, but the moth for its lack of restraint.

Shakespear was Wrong, That isn't the Question.......

They are constantly running, never stopping. Relentless…….
There is nothing that has been able to stop their playing. They go on, without permission, confusing, twisting, and tempting will. They begin in the fog of waking hours early in the morning, and end in the dusky starlit sky. They creep in through the cracks of everyday thoughts, popping up at random moments. They are the thoughts that torture me with their sweetness. They are warm, happy, and sensual. They have become a close friend to my routinely drab and obligatory thoughts of the normal day. They whisper in my ears telling me of their greatness. I long for the moment when the new ones are created sometimes in the blink of an eye. It has gone far beyond any semblance of normalcy. They spiral outward into the personal corners, touching and entering for a quick look into my coveted personal life. I remain unsure on a daily basis. How did this dance of wonderful chaos start in my mind? You have what you have, and you have what you have always pictured as what you should have. Then what? Then what? That is the question, Shakespeare was wrong. “To be or not to be?” That isn’t the important question. I’m in a place where I simply have been. What I will become, and where I will go with what I have, is the question. Seemingly a simple question, yet never simple to those making the decisions. I know it is inevitable, the choice that I will ultimately make. The axe will fall. The variable is the time it will happen. The outcome is the answer, and the blank life after the dropping of the axe is what I fear. Wow, does anyone even know that I actually fear things? They look at me as an iron statue. I guess I have had to become one in a sense. I look into time, my life, and know what it will be from this day out if I stay on my current path. The life I know and all that will happen is clear and stretched out on display before me. It’s like sitting down to watch a movie you have already seen. But the part after the inevitable choice where the head will roll, and the axe remains buried in a point beyond return is blank. It is the movie I have never heard of or seen. I don’t know if the outcome will be good, or bad. I don’t know what will happen, or who the characters will be, or the plot they will play out. It is black, the road around the corner of my mind. I am unable to reach into it and see if it is safe. Then it starts again. They run, never stopping, relentless………

Light in the Trees

They buried him in the corner of the Cemetery under a pine tree. The sun filtered down through the trees in bright beams of light and everyone stood silent as the flute music echoed through the green branches above. Even the horses in the near by pasture seemed to stand at attention, listening to the beautiful and eerie sound that came from the wooden flute. The smell of sage, sweet grass and cedar lifted my spirits as I listened. We stood in a circle around the old buffalo hide and each took our turn passing the red stone pipe. I never noticed how much a pipe ceremony is similar to a friendship dance. The pipe was the spirit, taking a step to each new person, shaking their hands, and smiling. The sun was warm on my shoulders and the grass cool on my bare feet. I could almost hear him ask me, “Osta, toheesu?” as he always did when we would see each other, and he would clap a warm hand over mine and smile as he would pull me into a big embrace. The feeling of the ceremony wasn’t unlike the hundreds I have been to before. Everyone was telling me that I have grown up so much, and I was telling them that I grew up a long time ago. They all had stories to tell, mostly about Grey Wolf, but others about Sun Dance, and Owl Creek, and the times we all spent there. We hugged the elders and kissed the new babies. It was a family gathering like all the rest, complete with a buffet of potluck food made by grey haired women with no teeth. You know Indians can’t gather for anything with out having a Potlatch. We sang some old songs, funny how I am the only young person who knows all of them. Perhaps it’s because my mother is the song teacher. I don’t know. We all started to sing and halfway through the song I noticed I was the only one singing. They all stared at me as I sang. It was unnerving. I finished and everyone just stood there. Later Big John gave me one of those big fat bear hugs and told me that I had made him cry. It was the only time I broke today. My eyes filled with tears, and I buried my head in his chest. It’s a big chest. He patted me on the back, and told me it was ok, no one was around to see. I wiped my eyes, put my sunglasses back on lifted my shoulders and turned to go.
Today I did everything I was supposed to do. I was strong for everyone, and I’m glad too, because my Aunt Tony would have been on the floor a few times had I not been there to hold on to her. After the burial everyone smiled more, and laughed and hugged. Having a dead body in the area always makes people weird. So the sun is setting, and tomorrow is a new day for the AhnieSahani. Who knows what tomorrow will bring for them.

A Short Visit in Mystery Film

It was a shock to see her face after all of these years. But it was there, plain as day as I flipped through the photo’s. You’ve got to love mystery film. I have a whole drawer of it, and this year decided to start getting it developed. The drawer contains all different kinds of film and disposable cameras imaginable. So I went to pick up three rolls of MF that I had dropped off, and sitting in my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot I saw her for the first time in almost fifteen years. Her eyes looked up at me from the photo, I immediately stopped breathing. It was almost as though she was suddenly there. It was unimaginable the feeling that came over me. First the shock of seeing a picture of her, then the feeling that she was in my car made my skin feel like goose flesh in an instant. Then I became curious. How did this film end up in my possession? Why was this film developed now, fifteen years after she died? I was overcome with grief from missing her. I believed I had passed the point of crying over the loss of my grandmother so many years ago. It actually made me laugh. So, here I was flipping through photos in my car, and I was laughing and crying over them. I must have looked like a lunatic. It just made me remember how much I missed her. If ever I needed someone’s advice in life, it would have been her that I have chosen to ask. I would give anything to sit at her little green table, watching her gracefully smoke her cigarette, and sip her coffee.
I sat there in my truck for some time, looking at her photo, a photo that no one has ever seen. My grandmother smiled at me with bright eyes and flaming red hair from the photograph that I held in my shaking hands. I am guessing that from her healthy glow, this film had to have been close to twenty years old. As I flipped further through the pictures I found that I was correct. There I was, probably ten or eleven years old, dancing in circles in the parlor of my Grandmothers house dressed in her long white dress. I don’t remember doing that. How odd, and what a gift it was to see her today. My spirits are uplifted, as I am reminded of all of her words of wisdom she would give me in my youth. Among them is one of my favorites. “Live your life, don’t worry about pissing people off.” She had so many different quotes, I will never remember all of them, but I still remember most, and that is what is important.

Geographical Ass Screws up My Day.

Last night, I watched as the Mountain Blew up. (Again) The technical term is Eruption. But what it really did, was make my simple fast day into a long, stressful shitty day. I work at the bottom of a fifty two mile road running up to Mount St. Helens. The Subway I work at is the last fast food joint for fifty miles, so, we will be crowded with all the News Crews, Scientists, and Brain Dead Tourists. (PS> If it’s Tourist Season, Why can’t I shoot one?) So, my day is going to be filled with non English speaking assholes, who spent their whole months rent, and stuffed all six of their screaming children into a station wagon, so that they could come watch the Mountain Blow up. They will assume that eight miles is a safe distance, and that it is a once in a lifetime experience. When in fact, I have seen it four times now, and I am only twenty nine. My day is predestined to suck, thanks to a geographical pain in the ass. I think I will be drinking tonight. Thanks St. Helens!

Tsu Nale Noqusi-From the Heart of The Last Star

Who knows how many times we as humans have been through this, the struggle to find each other once and for all? I think everyone searches for that one person who was meant only for them. There is the theory that we were once “Whole Beings” and were separated into two halves and thrown down onto the earth, to forever search for our perfect match. There are numerous versions of this theory through out history, different cultures and religions, but basically the same is true for all, there is just one person out there who was meant to be with each of us. How do we ever know for sure? Isn’t that the cosmic secret? It has been called many names, and compared to countless things in this world. But the general consensus of what people call this theory is simply “True Love”.
“For lack of a better definition, true love is the bonding of two souls always meant to be together. No matter how the script plays out, they will find each other, somehow. It's written in the stars.”
In all of the past lives we have been through, who knows how many times we have loved and lost each other? I believe that when the two halves finally unite, they will finally become whole again, and no longer have to search. There are lessons we learn through out our long stairway of lives to reach the top where we will finally be prepared and ready to be reunited with our missing side. So, how do we recognize this one person on our journey through time if we are both changing with each life? If we are all truly star crossed lovers, colliding with each other in random and desperate attempts to be whole beings again and it is written in the stars, then it will happen. The question is when? This life? Two lives away? No one knows.

The hard part is simply that there are uncountable stars in the sky. We are each a broken and lonely star on a crash course through the deep abyss passing many different stars, colliding with some, running close to others, and completely passing the rest by. We will in our short lives, never have time to connect with all of the other stars out there, to see if they fit with our broken selves. Sometimes we find one that fits almost perfect, and we make the choice to stay, even though we know that they aren’t “the one”. Because we know that the odds of finding that perfect fit is very slim. We all need to be with someone, to not feel alone in this great abyss that is life. The question we must ask ourselves is this. Is this one that I have chosen fitting well enough for me to be happy? Or should I simply move on, searching the stars and infinity for the small chance to become whole once and for all?

Over a Sick Addiction?

The bar has always been kind of an addiction for me. Not really the alcohol part either, but the other part. That part is hard to explain to people with out them getting the wrong idea. It has always been the same, I go, I flirt, and, I leave. I have never left the bar with a man, and have been proud to be the only person I know to have not taken someone home “from the bar”. I continued with this pattern for years, taking what I needed from the crowd, and the energy that came off of them. I only came for the fulfillment of this badly needed feeling, but I have found it to be an empty and desolate place of late. I no longer go for the same reason. How odd is that? I have always gone for the same thing. It was always in the same pattern of action. Usually the same activities filled my nights. But there is no more walking through alone, no looking for the unsuspecting, and no looking for the game. I used to toy with people, simply because I could. I would draw out the most selfish, and conceited of them all, and make them beg; only to leave them empty handed and alone. I got a high off of it. It was a new found power I had discovered; defeating the smug and self centered masses. I would put them in their places, and make them understand that they were no better than the rest. This was the game I played with the drunken men of the bar.
I went tonight, hoping for one thing, and ending up with a different thing. What I ended up with was a carbon copy of many nights I have already lived. The same opportunities presented themselves, and crossed my path. I felt the need to leave. So I did. I have been home, thinking on the subject for a time. Things were so different, tonight. I can’t explain, but it isn’t the same now. I can no longer run the path that I have run before. The energy that used to be my driving purpose has become miniscule to me. Not worth pursuing. Funny, that man never could persuade me to stay away from that for ten years. Odd, how after a short time, I could leave and never miss it.

I'm gonna Pass........

I was going to write something terribly smart and witty, but yours is better today, and yesterday's was also better. Be careful little sister, you don't want to go showing up the master.

Love Ya
M

(Help, Help, Save the Princess!)

The Bottle of Water

The bottle of water sits on my night stand, all but drained of its contents. It serves as a reminder of many things. The room is cold, and I really want a drink. It’s all I can think about, in my cold room hidden beneath the covers. The water, the bottle, how easy it is to reach for another drink, yet I hold back. The cold stays my hand as the rational part of my brain tells me that I can live with out it, don’t get cold. The primal part is the one that wins in the end, I strike out from under the blankets and grip the bottle with all my thirst I take in the last drops. The bottle is drained, but can be refilled.

To Debate with Ones Many Personalities

They are all versions of me, sitting together arguing over the topic at hand. One is dead set on one side, another holds tight to the shreds of a life. The others are there adding to the fire of the discussion too, each one viciously defending their point of view, none willing to budge an inch. All of the versions of me are willing to drift along on their destructive and intriguing path until a real decision can be reached. They debate and discuss in my head all day long, sometimes all night. The constant jumping from one side to the next is exhausting. Perhaps much like how a waterfall creates bubbles around the rocks on the river bed. All confusion, never clearing, more bubbles beginning when the old ones pop. How many petals will we tear away in the search for who we are before we realize that we are already too close to the center? First the outer shell comes down, then the soft shell, then the smooth skin, and all the rest that follows. It could be true, the mirror image thing, I feel something each time, but can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps I was separated sometime in history, and am searching for the other half. What if I do find it? Can that happen? How do you ever know for sure, but for the feeling in your chest? I guess it’s all relative. I am just going to have to be that person, who does the things I do. At least until this reality flip has run its’ course. Who knows how long that will be? The last one was ten years give or take a month. So for now they all continue their discussion.