I'm still dreaming

I can feel it. I see the wires. I see the wires I severed, the wires I disconnected sparking wildly and begging to be put back. I see the wires I plugged in powerless, unable to make the connection, as I thought they would. I'm still asleep.
You always play and it's always their game.
I keep repeating it aloud: "He doesn't love me;" "He won't love me;" "He doesn't care about me;" "He just wants to use me." I'm reaching for the wire. Where is it? There are so many plugged in; there are so many just laying here. I say it louder. I hear the wire pulse like a heartbeat, my hand was so close to it the whole time. I take it in my hand, and I tug. I'm still dreaming.
I think it's the romanticism...
My head is reeling. There's a connection after all. I was connected to a fantasy. I pull at the wire, which is throbbing in my hands. The connection is stronger than I thought. Why can't I let go? I'm sleeping.
Because you're doing something you love, and I want to help you...
I'm screaming now. The disconnected wires on the floor spark and hiss, threatening burn me, threatening to self-destruct. The wires of past connections are hurting me. It's familiar. I remember. I remember pulling out these wires. I remember why I pulled them out and how long it took to do so. I'm determined to pull this one out quickly, before I'm hurt again, before I'm hurt worse. The wire throbs in my hands inhumanly, ordering me not to touch it, demanding its false connection. I pull as hard as I can, bellowing my mantras: "I won't be hurt again; "I won't be used again." Reality is fading in and out. I don't think I'm asleep anymore. I'm not sure.
You're special...you're different from others...
The wire moves. It is stubborn, reluctant to allow me reality. Its plug clings to the socket, hanging halfway out. It throbs still, and sparks fly out at me, singeing my heart. There's that pain again, brought back anew. I can't touch that wire anymore, but I know reality has shifted enough to normalize. My vision is blurred, but I know what I'm seeing. Where are those wires I tried to sever earlier? I didn't cut all the way through, did I? I feel around blindly, reaching for a memory wire, but I can't find a good one. I'm still dreaming.
I just like her more. We're still friends...
I turn around, and there are his blue eyes; there is his smile. Reality is here, but I am still dreaming. What was I thinking, trying to make that new connection? I forgot what I'd leave behind. I find that wire I was searching for, and the connection is still there, and it's real...it's not what I thought I'd want, but it's there, and it's real. I repair it, and my heart soars again to hear his voice. But I'm still dreaming.
And the man I marry is going to be gentle and kind; he'll have hands as big as dinner plates and arms that reach all the way around me.
I can't touch that false connection yet. It's still throbbing too violently, it'll hurt me too much. I leave it there, half-bemused, as though I'm saving it as an opportunity for later. My heart hurts at that thought. There are his blue eyes again, there is that sadness I know he'd feel if I ever did what I thought. Wires lay all around me, sparking and mocking me with past misdoings. I am sad, though I am mostly repaired. I take the false connection wire in my hand, and each throb makes me feel more shame. Why can't I pull it out? I'm still dreaming. Please wake up...you know reality...you know it's sad, but it's real...please wake up. Wake up.
Wake up.

If you want me for anything, you'll have to love me more than I love you. And that will require some effort on your part. I won't be hurt again.

Wake up.

A heartbreak's worth a thousand slaps.

It always seems to a be a while before I get the nerve or obligation up to say anything. I keep thinking I don't have an audience and it won't matter, but everytime I check for comments, and I see the date not changing and getting farther and farther from the current date, I know something should go up.

I don't guarantee the "goodness" of this post. I outlined the stuff I want to touch on, just in case I get lost in my own self-pity again, so it may seem a little more rigid and to the point.

First up, I left T-Mobile.
Gasp, shock, oh my god. I'm a terrible person and a horrible failure and what the fuck are you going to do about it? (ooh, look at me, pretending to have a backbone.) See, here's the thing: I hated the job. I hated the namby pamby brainwashing; the taking the blame for the company's or other people's fuckups; being yelled at by complete strangers and told I'm stupid and inadequate and inept and unfit for the position;

(I'll go on in a moment, but let me just interrupt this sentence to touch on that subject. Who the fuck are you, T-mobile customers, to tell anybody on the other end of that phone call to customer service that they are stupid? Fuck you! You know what, America said it best in the song "Riverside": "I said the world don't owe me no living...no, no the world don't owe me no living." The world don't owe you no livin', and by god, neither do those poor people you're berating on the fucking telephone. Even if it hadn't been me getting that abuse, it's fucking ridiculous...sure they're supposed to be customer service, but when they tell you they can only do this much for you, WHY THE FUCK do you insist that they do ten times more just because you fucking say so? You know what? You're fucking dumb. I hate you, T-Mobile customers. May your phones rot your brains till they fall out of your gaping, unwarranted vitriol-spewing, verbal diarrhea belching, skewed idea pushing, asshole mouths. FUCK YOU. I would tell you to think of how it makes the other person feel, but gosh, that whole thinking thing is obviously so hard for you.)

I hated the cellphones; I hated the hours; I hated the rules; I hated my bosses and trainers; I hated what I was becoming. An empty, empty person. It's so fucking stupid to have freaked out that badly over the whole experience, but I felt like, "God, I'll NEVER get out of here. I'm so tired, I'll never get anything done and I'll just be stuck here forever."

I was getting sick every morning, too. I would dry heave and get dizzy and cry and just fucking break down before work. Then I started to get actually puke. I have never been so stressed. I knew I just had to get out somehow...I couldn't wait on finding another job. I called Burkettville up while I was at work on the 18th and begged for my job back. Missy took me back with open arms, and I was more than grateful.

Dave wasn't happy with me. In fact, he was pissed. For about three days, he hardly talked to me. "What part of we can't pay our bills means leaving a ten dollar an hour job for a seven dollar an hour job to you?" he asked. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was selfish and thoughtless, but it was done, and I didn't regret it that much. I just...I feel so useless. I know I let him down. I know I did some very bad, very selfish things. What was I supposed to do? I'm twenty-fucking-one...I've got to make some bad decisions sometime. I know where he's coming from...I know it's hard, and I know he resents the fact that I took that opportunity, when it wasn't available to him, but...I don't know. This has all been so hard and I just feel like I have no soft place to fall. I called my mom one more before going into work and I broke down to her, just like I did to everyone else during that time...and she just listened and understood and loved me, and it meant so much. Now I just feel like the world's biggest fuckup. What the fuck's the point? I'm getting all teary and depressed now. He's just going to have to deal with me, that's all. At least the store took me back. A little money is better than none. I'm looking for a closer job, but I'm skeptical of everything right now. I don't want to jump into something that's like or worse than T-Mobile.

We've had some crazy-ass weather lately, or at least the midcoast has. At work on Tuesday, there was a hurricane or tornado or some shit...anyway...it rained like hell, and the wind knocked over trees everywhere. The local sap yard lost 20, count em, 20 maples. Crazy. We stood at the door at work and just watched a huge tree sway in the wind till it fell over and took a power line with it. It was a huge mess just getting home. The road wasn't gray...it was green and brown...completely green and brown...from all the leaves and twigs. 28,000 subscribers lost power from Rockland to Augusta...the store was running on 4 generators. Luckily, we got the power back the next day at 4. The projected date had been rumored as Friday...good lord. It was hectic. The rain and the heat are intense lately.

I don't think I'll be going back to either family reunion too soon. We have the Grinnell and the Upham reunions each year...and both are losing ground in the fun arena fast. The Grinnell reunion was an alright affair, up until the annual auction. There was just too much stuff...I brought too much with me. No one would buy anything. The kicker, though, were the comments made on the garments I had in a box of clothes. "A t-shirt," cried the auctioneer in full dramatic swing, "...a HUGE t-shirt! Look, you could share it with your sister!" I was walking up the hill to put my things in my car when I caught that. I decided to ignore it. I was leaving anyway. But when I came back to say my goodbyes, the entire family had decided that the remaining items were up for grabs, as nobody really seemed to want to pay for them. This included the remainder of my box of clothes. A couple of aunts held up old pajamas and jeans that I still thought were adorable, but I couldn't fit in if I tried. They giggled and guffawed as they splayed them out by the arms and legs. "Why, you could fit all of your kids in this!" they laughed. An otherwise nice time had been essentially ruined. My own family is so thoughtless. The worst part is that these are clothes I wish I could still fit in. They better count their blessings they'll never know the horrors of 200+ pounds.

The Uphams have lost touch, I think. Well, it's not so much the Uphams in charge now, as it is the Ripleys and the Brooks. They ought to just have their own reunion, I think. Leave me out of it. First, they changed the date from the third Sunday of July, as it was traditionally, to the second sunday. This pissed me off because I'd already made plans so far ahead. I was able to just squeeze by to get the time off. When we got there, the lunch was already in full swing, and it was only noon. There wasn't much food at all...a real disappointment for the fat side of the family. The raffles and door prizes were held much too late, and there was far too much self-congratulation on the parts of the officers. Yes, Ripleys and Brooks...we know you're very, very proud of yourselves, now get over yourselves and let others have a good time, please. We didn't even stick around for the auction. It was a poor affair that I wish I hadn't wasted a day on. Oh...and I must note before closing...this shit runs in my gene pool. Please don't breed with me. They had decided on a theme this year and were just so very fucking pleased with themselves, it was just SUCH a good idea (red white and blue. god, what an imagination stretch), that they figured they ought to do it again next year, but with a different theme. "What about Hawaiian?" someone piped up. "Oh, that would be a cute idea," was the general consensus. "We could wear hawaiian shirts and shorts...oh! And we could give out flower leis." To which Dave snickered. "Shut up," I warned. "Come to the family reunion," he quipped with a grin, "and get 'lei'd'." Goddamnit. I'm glad I got the smart genes.

The comic plods along...by my own pace, certainly not Jon's. He knows what the fuck he's doing, and I feel like I'm in the dust...holding him back. He's so patient about it all, I really appreciate it...but I feel so...unready for the real responsibility of it. How am I going to get to a point where I do this on my own? I feel like maybe I should take some more art classes...but...let's not waste money. I'm trying to be patient and just continue at my own pace....maybe this is what he was planning from the beginning...it's all just part of the scheme. I don't know. He does some fantastic composition work, though.

My name is Erin and I'm addicted to comic books. It's becoming a problem. They're too..."cheap", and I think it won't matter much if I just get a couple. I've been so worried about how to pay for my car insurance, and I just dropped 57 dollars in new comic books this week. I have a problem...at least it really does make me happy.

My mom says I look like I lost weight....she needs to eat something and get her senses back. I fucking wish.

Ta ya'll...I'm writing this with my eyes closed right now. It's bedtime.