Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Reality, Population: 1

with 6 comments

Apples to applesauce.

Apples to applesauce.

Life feels like it’s going full speed ahead without my permission, but I guess that’s the joke:  permission isn’t needed.   I don’t feel old or left behind,  just like I’m actively aging and can’t keep up with the rest of you young fucks -which is kind of like comparing apples with applesauce:  they’re the same, but one is closer to death.  That’s me, I’m the applesauce.  The kind that rots your teeth out.

I have a real problem with dying; Death is not in my Top 8.   I understand that it’s going to happen, and that I have no control over it – but what I’d like to do is prevent it from happening at all, and–barring that–control the manner in which it happens, if it must.  My mother, who is much wiser than me, would say that I’m at war with Reality.  But I say you can’t war with something that doesn’t exist in real life, anyways.   Check.  Mate.

The reality is:   with so many balls to juggle in the air, it’s hard to feel like I’m moving forward.  I’m waking up earlier and earlier–thanks to an obscenely-early internal alarm clock–but it seems like I’m running out of time faster; constant nightmares don’t help the REM cycle, either.   So now I wake up sleep-deprived and feeling like a total failure before I get out of bed – I can’t even execute the simplest of tasks:   sleeping.  The one thing I like waking up to is the Esq, but his impression of Rip van Winkle is SPOT. ON.  That guy can sleep for-fucking-ever.

The feeling of failure?  Nah, doesn’t bother me.  It’s almost like a comforting shroud of impending doom – and if that description didn’t fill you with confidence, WELL I CAN’T PLEASE EVERYONE.  My ex-husband and I were together for almost seven years; I was with my son’s dad for two; my high school sweetheart, four.  I’ve attended at least five colleges; given up custody of my son to a well-meaning imbecile; quit four jobs and been fired from two; been to rehab; forsaken my friends; stolen from my family; weighed almost 300 pounds at one point; and a host of other things I’m not proud of, but will never forget for the rest of this life I’m reluctant to call mine.   So please believe me when I say:  I’m very comfortable with Failure.  If anything, my relationship with it–or what I consider to be failure–is stronger and healthier than ever; it has endured when all others couldn’t.   Look, Ma – no hands!  So this is what Reality feels like.  Like someone’s crapping on my face.

Even with all of the teeming bullshit in my life, the crazies, the economic landfill called My Bank Account, the juggling balls and the self-hate, self-aggrandizing, self-confusion:  I wouldn’t give it up for anything.  Even in my three-minute misery, I can tell it’s better Here than Not Here.  I want to live until I’m 300, but in my 30-year old body… is that so much to ask?  How is it I can only appreciate Life when it’s shanking me in the back, and not when it’s actually going well?

Now I want applesauce.


Written by sn0tteh

February 16, 2009 at 1:53 AM

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged with , ,

6 Responses

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  1. I don’t know if I’d want to live forever, but if I did I’d *definitely* want to go back to the body I had when I was 28. Unfortunatly, at 33 it’s not lookin’ so hot.

    Wish I could pull off a Rip Van Winkle. When you mentioned you weren’t getting any sleep I thought for a split second, “is Snotty pregnant too?!”

  2. NO. Allow me to repeat: NO.


    February 17, 2009 at 12:43 AM

  3. my vote is yes.

    polls are open. everybody weigh in:

    is snotty with spawn?

    __ yes
    __ no
    __ don’t they eat their young?


    February 17, 2009 at 5:30 PM

  4. wait, applesauce rots your teeth? news to me. what if i add bacon bits to it?


    February 17, 2009 at 6:58 PM

  5. Newp. But yes, we eat our young.


    February 17, 2009 at 7:31 PM

  6. Well, applesauce made out of old Samoan hags rots your teeth out – and will just make you fatter if you add bacon to it. 🙂


    February 17, 2009 at 7:32 PM

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