I Was Tagged

January 17, 2012

I was tagged on Facebook the day after arriving in Florida. But because I’ve been avoiding Facebook and emails since my arrival, I didn’t really look at this until recently.

The caption reads: “Young woman circumvents physical and migratory obstacles.”

Tagged

Let me test my translation skills. A better translation would read: “Young woman circumvents obscenely high objects (anything above four feet) and runs a marathon around the crazy legal sytem and its illogical, inhumane immigration laws, and, despite finding herself unable to reach the finish line, continues to run.”

The article below reads: “A hispanic minor dies… shot caused by her cousin.”

Shit! Tragedy. That’s how the news works. One story is about a construction worker saving three dozen kittens from a pipe near his home; the next is about how a three ton pipeline fell, crushing three construction workers and a kitten.

I honestly still haven’t read the article. From what I saw, they added a year to my age. And they know nothing about my mental disorder, so I know I seem more optimistic than I currently am. I skimmed the bit of article that shows in this photo just to block out the name, but otherwise I haven’t. I really should revel more in my accomplishments instead of beating myself up over what I haven’t done or what I cannot do because of my predicament and insecurities. Right, and no “should” statements. Here, I’ll practice what I’ve learned from therapy. It would be good if I reveled more in my accomplishments. There.

So here it is. My moment of revelry–siting in Eloise’s room by myself, sharing this semi-anonymously over the internet. I too have a dream! I too want ice cream!

MLK's Dreamsicle

Dreamsicle

One day, I too will have my dreamsicle! And dammit, it will be tasty!

Until then, I’m going to write. I’m going to write with the furry that’s in me. Also, I’m going to try to finish writing what I had started about Florida tomorrow morning. Eloise (damn I should give my girl a proper introduction before mentioning her so many times) is gone for the night. She’s out with her boyfriend (I’m not fond of him), so I feel free to write until she gets back. I think I have until tomorrow. Shhh.

Otherwise, I cannot write at ease. Every time I get close to being caught blogging, I feel a jolt of anxiety, as if I were shamed, as if I were being caught smoking crack. Whenever I’m on here and she passes by me, I always quickly close the tab the way Kanye West would close a flashing porn site every time his girlfriend passed by.

Two weeks ago she asked me if I had a blog. It went something like this:

“Paula, do you have a blog?”

I stare at her blankly for a moment.

“Yes I do,” I eventually reply.

Then, I say nothing else. I look away and stare at her cat who’s incidentally staring at me as if to say, “You can ses it! You can! You can has too! Yes. Yes! Come on you. Spek!”

And as we sit in awkward silence for a few seconds, I’m fully aware that she’s seeking more information, yet I withhold. She’s waiting for me to tell her about it, but since I’m not yet comfortable with my close friends or relatives reading it, I stall a little longer.

“So are we still going to go to the farmer’s market?” I quickly change the subject hoping she will get the hint. She’s good at getting hints and backs off. We move on. Whew.

I still feel like she knows more though. Why else would she have asked? Was it because I told her I wanted to start a blog? Was it because I’ve been spending half of my time here reading other people’s blogs?

I feel like maybe she’s sneaked into my blog while I’ve left the room and my computer is just lying there open pleading to her, or maybe she quietly opens it while I’m in the bathroom showering or having more trouble with the shitty toilet design. I don’t think she would. I’m not going to defame anyone I care about on here, I hope. Then why am I so hesitant?

While I ponder my avoidance, I’ll leave you with this wonderful quote that I try to live by:

Now you listen to me. While I will admit to a certain cynicism, the fact is I am a naysayer and hatchetman in the fight against violence. I pride myself on taking a punch and I’ll gladly take another because I choose to live my life in the company of Gandhi and King. My concerns are global. I reject absolutely pride, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love. I love you Sheriff Truman.

— Albert Rosenfield to Sheriff Truman, Twin Peaks

Advertisements

Spit it!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: