At the diner, part 1

It's 3:30 AM and I'm sitting in a shitty little diner doing my homework, because what the hell else would I be doing at 3:30 AM on a Saturday? What was I doing the night before? Don't I care about any of this school shit? And more importantly, don't I care about being a proper adult, the kind that goes to bed at a decent time and definitely doesn't go to a diner at an unreasonable hour and buy illicit things on the dark, scary internet? Who the fuck am I?

A website I don't trust anymore just told me I write like Cory Doctorow. Who is that? And why does he write like me? There are so many uncertain things this early in the morning. For example, how many waitresses have come and gone since I got here, and who, if any of them, remembers that I paid for coffee AND a tea, damnit. Both cups are empty.


Fortunately, my brain doesn't really care too much- it's been buzzing along happily without refills, which is I guess proof that medication works. On me, anyway. If I could get high off my own prescriptions, I'd be pretty fucked pretty soon. S'all I'm sayin'. 

Earlier, I went out for a smoke and it was way too cold outside for anyone, and I had a really awkward imaginary conversation with my boyfriend and some guy I went out with for a terrifying week a long time ago. In my mind, I was walking through the mall with my boyfriend, and a guy stopped, like he recognized me, and said "Hey! Meghan!" 

In my mind, we stopped walking. I looked at the person who had called me, and I struggled for a moment to place him while my bf looked at me with a curious look on his face. 

 And then, oh no. No, it wasn't. Fuck. It WAS. It was HIM. THAT GUY.

I remembered that guy. 

Since he clearly remembered me, and since we'd all stopped walking and were now staring at each other in an awkward little triangle, I thought I'd better say something.

So I said, as cheerily as I could, "Hey!" 

And then we exchanged (un)pleasantries while my brain yelled out things about drugs and bad decisions. I was perfectly enthusiastic, totally normal, and not at all as legitimately terrified as I was. Because I would be, if I ever did run into him again. It would all come back, and I'd have to look at Past-Meghan again and we really didn't get along. 

This all sounds much worse than it is. 

Anyway, after we'd finished up and went on our separate ways, my bf turned to me and asked "so, what the fuck?" 

And I told him, while my brain cringed inside my skull. I'd imagine my hands were probably shaking a bit at this point. 

And then I was outside again, smoking in the freezing cold outside a shitty diner so early in the AM it was still dark. My everything was numb, and my cigarette was disgusting. I ground it out with my boot, and went back inside.
 

Something I wrote months ago

Tonight I met my memory of my best friend as a child. He called himself “Peter,” but he had the same intelligence in his eyes and I knew it was him. We talked about dreams and travelling and things insomniacs see out of the corners of their eyes (but don’t talk about except to other insomniacs), and he waited for me while I peed on the beach. I almost thought he’d disappeared back into the shadows, and I had a flicker of acceptance for something I hadn’t put words to yet. Something personal and deeply calming. But then he was there, and we walked back to my car while I waited for the hangover to pass. We almost robbed a bank- he picked it out like he was casing a job.

- and I remembered-

In eighth grade, me and my friends camped out for opening night at the Royal Theatre. We wore our Harry Potter scarves, and ordered pizza to the sidewalk, and across the street, a drunk person tried to break into the BMO in broad daylight. At least 3 police cars pulled up, and it was the only time I’d ever seen guns being held up, like proper guns. No one got shot- the drunk tried to hide under a truck outside the bank, and everything was taken care of before anyone knew anything had happened. But I remember, when everyone moved away and tried to duck behind doorways and behind vehicles (so they could watch without been seen to have watched) I ran up to the corner, and stood behind a tree in case any stray bullets came my way. My mom yelled at me, I think, but I don’t remember why she would have been there, so I might have imagined her. 

“-Hold my hand!” I said hurriedly, and we walked past, politely trying to stay out of their way. He had his hand stuck in his pocket and I’m sure the bank officers saw through it. Peter laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, and I found myself hoping we never ended up somewhere where he had to keep a straight face, or have a pretense of any sort. 

I worried about Jessica when we got to my car. What if she’d walked into something awful after I saw her turn that last corner? But then I found something else to say, something bitchy and snarky, and I forgot I used to be the kind of person who would’ve walked her home even if I hated her, which I still don’t. 

I drove Christopher Rabbit home, and I made him show me where he *really* lived. He was quiet for a second, and then he said he felt guilty for having 3 vehicles in the driveway while kids were starving in Ethiopia. It didn’t sound cheesy or stupid, though. He just said it. It was just something you might say if you were drunk and confused and yet certain of your own shit being total shit at 4:30 AM and therefore important. 

We hugged, and he kissed my neck. It was sort of a peck- he’d told me he sees demons, and I asked him what they looked like, so we were sort of friends now, anyway- and less intimate than a proper kiss. He might’ve been leaning in for a proper kiss, but I’m good at awkward moments. He’d also told me he was gay, or at least on the spectrum of- like that really means anything. But he’d said it, and I was holding him to it.

I have the name he called himself and a pre-approved friend request on Facebook. I have a dead phone, and the hope that I’m a better person than Julie was. I also have a boyfriend, who’ll wonder what sorts of things I’ve been up to when I tell him he wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had, and who’ll fear the worst no matter how honest I am. Besides, he knows me a little, so he’ll probably believe me. I wish things like that happened when he was around. He always thinks I’m exaggerating when I tell him where I was.

4:20 AM, and I'm only writing this to myself, I swear.

Hooray! I found my blog, and it let me back in. Blah blah I'm so awful at blogging blah me me me. I'm not sorry. I'm a terrible writer, in most senses of the word. But- I have things to say that are worth the exercise of writing them down, and I swear none of them are very important. 

I'm going to re-do this blog thing. I used to be terrified to post anything online that wasn't significant and meaningful and hilariously witty. Let's pretend I ran out of all that shit to say, and now I'm going to talk about boring things in a boring way and maybe bitch about things in my life that suck, and probably give myself verbal high-fives when something I do goes mostly like I meant it to. I'm not going to try and write a certain number of posts per week, because I already hold myself to pretty high standards and I don't need any more personal disappointment. I might post pictures, if they're of me and if they look like someone hot from the internet. 

I'm a vain motherfucker. 

I'm also sort of a different person than the one who blogged here before. You'll see.

You, blog. Because even though I'd like to think the entire internet will read this and see how very deep I've become and will want to be my very best friend, it's probably better they don't. For one thing, I'm terrible at keeping friends. My ex-friends know this. There are an awful lot of them. Because I'm a good person. 

Hair? But... hair. Yes.

Wigs are fucking awesome. 

That moment when...

I've added two resolutions for this year. I can't remember what brought them on- various substances bring various mind states, and various degrees of self-realization- but just after I realized how much clarity a well-timed cigarette can bring, I had some pretty clear thoughts. 

1. Find someone whom I can relate to, at my worst. I need to know who my people are, no matter how embarrassing, shameful, or downright terrifying they might be. 

2. Buy a goddamned fucking watch. And never take it off. 

Not that I'm begging or anything...

I'm writing this on my boyfriend's laptop while he's sleeping. Originally I was going to look up a music video to show him, but since I have no idea who the artist is or what the video is called, or anything else that would help me find it, I ended up googling things like "singer in forest with a drum and she ends up in a mirror tent-raft in the middle of al lake somewhere+sounds like Feist," until I bored him unconscious.

Also, if anyone knows what that song is called, I will write a 1000 word essay on why you win at life, and I will send it to the editorial section of whichever newspaper is your favorite. Or I'll put it up on the internet somewhere, and that shit's eternal. In 500 years, people will still know how awesome you are. I am totally serious, because I fucking LOVE that music video.

AND sleep.

Huzzah for self-confidence!

*I wrote this when I was in Nottingham, and incredibly homesick. I was in a very antisocial and destructive period in my life, and I was so afraid of my friends finding out how very badly I was handling everything that I stopped talking to them completely. 

Anyway, after some intense self-pity, and the realization that no one really knew anything about me at all, I decided to write down a few things I knew were true about myself. 

I think I might have submitted this to a student zine, and I think it might have gotten published- I can't remember, but I miss the girl who put out that zine. The zine was called Artemis, and I think her name was Cathleen. I do remember she had blue hair, and was an amazing musician/singer. I definitely had a bit of a girl-crush, but she intimidated the hell out of me because she was so damn cool. An English singer/songwriter who dyed her hair blue and published her own student magazine? Who the hell was I?

I'm not gay, bisexual, or even bi-curious (I am, however, open to suggestions after the proper amount of alcohol), but I'd like to think I've gained enough self-confidence that if I met her again, I'd buy her a drink or two just for being fucking awesome.

And if she happens to read this, Cathleen, you probably have no idea who I am, but you're still one of my role models, and I wish I'd asked you more about Artemis and your music. I hope you've had a fucking awesome life so far, and that it just keeps getting better ;)*

***

The Things We Lie About

***

I’m not antisocial. People frighten me.

No, I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I’m   terrified of money. I haven’t checked my bank statements for 5 months.

I wish I could start over again with my mum.

****

I finally learned how to stand up for myself two weeks ago.

If I had more confidence, I think I could make a really good Goth.

I think skinny jeans are the worst thing to happen to women since Hugh Hefner.

I feel incredibly shallow sometimes, and I can’t help it.

Yes, I am afraid of dying alone.

***

I envy people in relationships.

I’m afraid of commitment.

I think the only way changing room mirrors could be more depressing is if someone had written a list of your personal failures, your weight, and your student debt down the side before you stepped in front of it.

I’m afraid of being the least successful person at my high school reunion.

I hate it when people ask me if I’m okay, because I know they don’t want to hear I've just finished crying over something stupid, or that I really miss my parents.

I miss my parents.