mainsqueeze's Diaryland
Diary
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what can the matter be with me?
Hi, ******. I had a conversation tonight that you would have had a field day with. I was speaking to a christian coworker of mine who was telling me all of the fucked-up shit she believes. Like, it doesn't matter if you're a good person or a bad person, as long as you believe in jesus you will be admitted to heaven. And if you don't, you go to hell or satan rejects you and you wander the earth. What??? She's christian, obviously. I have great respect for her as a coworker but the things she said blew me out of the water. I didn't want it to turn into an argument or a debate so I just said "uh huh" a lot and smiled often. After I came home I stumbled across a few online journals written by orthodox jewish woman extolling hatred for christians, but very thinly veiled; instead of coming out and saying "i hate christians" they simply referred to them as stupid or painted pictures of them as drooling idiots. I fucking hate religion. All of it. I wish god had never been invented. I like my idea of god-- god is probably the little old lady down the street who used to be out at 530am watering her flowers when I rode my bike to work, or maybe god is the fly on my windowsill, or maybe god is the space needle in seattle, or maybe god lives in thailand and eats koolaid and cheetos for every meal. Maybe god hasn't been born yet. Maybe god is flipping through a skin mag somewhere in new york city wishing he'd done something more interesting with the human body. I mean, why can't people recognize that their beliefs are just that: BELIEFS. Not facts, not real, not law. Just beliefs. Silly, weightless, meaningless. I don't know. I just don't know if I can deal with being human anymore.
I feel like I'm on the verge of something huge, like something is going to happen inside of me any day now. Have you ever felt like this? Like every thought is a revelation? Maybe I'm just going crazy. Will you send letters to me in the asylum? What about when I die and come back as a snail? Will you pull me off of the sidewalk and set me in the grass? See? CRAZY.
I want to find a quiet place to live, out there, in California. A place with lots of trees and bunnies and flowers and the world making weird noises at night. You can live in the treehouse next door if you want. We'll get an electricity generator for your record player. I want to be alone but not alone. I want to be able to say GOD IS DEFINITELY THIS AND LIFE IS DEFINITELY THIS AND GOD IS DEFINITELY NOT THIS AND LIFE IS DEFINITELY NOT THIS. Mainly I just want these thoughts of past lives and this life and questions and ghosts and mysticism and things we cannot see to be out of my head. I want to know at least one thing for sure and right now every sentence end with a question mark or maybe sometimes an ellipses.
I tracked down a childhood friend on the internet and started crying because now he has a beard and muscles and a deep voice. I want the skinny, squeaky-voiced big-eyed best friend back. I want to skip to the previous track. But instead, I will tell you these memories, and maybe I will post this world-class crazy rambling session in my diary so I can remember this always:
We used to pull all of the cushions off of the sofa and pile them on the floor and jump from the loft into the pillows.
We read the Guiness Book of World Records over and over and tried to find records to break.
We broke into an abandoned house to hold a seance but we got scared within five minutes of stepping inside.
We stayed up all night to sneak out of our houses at three am but all we ended up doing was playing with his hamsters just outside of his bedroom window.
We ditched school and did nothing but ride the bus all over town all day.
And there are other memories, memories I have lost. Maybe they will find me again someday and I can write them down, too.
I'm sorry for this madness. It has been a long day, a long week, a long life and all of it too short. When I learn how to transform myself I will turn into a junebug and fly to see you. --Angela
12:41 a.m. - 2005-10-12
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