Storytelling

12/14/09




I don’t know what the fuck is happening. I woke up at five this morning with the urge to end everything. I’m not going to. I just felt like I should. Maybe it’s time to go back on the meds. I don’t really want to do that either, but at least it might the highs and lows. I am tired of being extremely depressed or extremely happy. There has to be a middle ground.

I really don’t feel like being here today. I really don’t feel like being at the apartment. One more week of work then its vacation time, with the exception of one day, I will be spending the week alone, another drawback to living far away from your friends.

Last Thursday my kids had a choir concert. I went to it and sat next to Dawn, we talked and played nice, we joked around and it was like old times. It killed me a little, pretending to be happy, showing her that I can be a friend. The truth is I was miserable. You would smile at me, I’d smile back. I told you I missed you. You said I know. I put my head on your shoulder and you leaned you head on mine. We took a picture. Our last picture together. The concert was over. We hugged and went our separate ways. Our last embrace. I’m going to remember that moment forever.







1985



I had to do a book report in Mrs. Perez’s English class. I was supposed to make a poster showing my interpretation of the story. I bought the poster board. That’s as far as I went. The night before it was due I drew a boy leaning against a palm tree on it. I drew clouds and rain. I wrote across the top “Billy at Sea.” I made up an authors name. On the back we were supposed to write a summary of the story. I wrote. “Billy falls off a boat swims to an island. He makes it”

I had to get up in front of the class and give a presentation to the class on my report. I made up the story as I went along. I told them how Billy was tossed overboard for being a stowaway. How he swan to shore avoiding sharks. He collected wood and made a shelter. How he lived off crab and coconuts. He was rescued by a French fishing boat that had stopped on the island to get water. Billy got back to California and wrote his story and became a hero.

Everybody in the class loved it. They complimented my drawing. They told me that that book sounded awesome. I didn’t bother t tell anyone that I made the whole damn thing up. I got an A.

This wasn’t the first time I did this. In fifth grade I made up a book called “Driving” by Alan Zworn. I took a shoe box, painted mountains on the bottom of it. Turned the box on its side, stuck a model car in it and I had a diorama. I made up a story about driving through the Alps. I got an A.



I’m such a liar.