Dolls

In 4th grade, my mother got me a fake Cabbage Patch Kid. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want a doll. She made me take it to show and tell. I begged her not to. I wanted to take my new Space Shuttle picture. She said no, take the doll. I walked to the bus stop with the damn thing under my arm. The other kids were relentless. I was called fag and spit at. Someone said they were going to steal the doll. I sarcastically said “Oh no, please don’t do that.” No one stole it from me. I was stuck with my dolly.


It was too big to fit in my desk. I had to keep it out in plain view of everyone. The teasing never let up. I got up for show and tell. I said “This is my doll. I hate it.” I threw it down and walked away. The teacher made me pick it up and go back to my desk. The rest of the school year I was greeted with taunts of “Verne plays with dolls.” None of the boys would play with me after that.

The new school year started. The first thing I heard was “Hey Verne, where’s your baby doll?” 5th grade was not off to a great start.

Nope

The day you told me you wanted me to leave; I stopped caring about what made you mad. I do not owe you any explanation of my plans or what I do in my spare time. When you tell me I need to take the girls on a day I am not scheduled too, I do not have to explain why I can’t do it. Every other time you asked or told me too, I took them. This time I can’t. You do not need to know why. That’s none of your business. I never ask what you do in your personal life. I don’t need to know. You do not have the right to ask me.


We aren’t friends anymore. Were we ever really? I’m sorry I can’t take the girls, but I have plans. I told you three weeks ago when you asked me. It’s not fair to just thrust them upon me. I love them, you know that, and I take them whenever I have the chance.

I have a life outside of you for the first time in ages. I’m happy now. Please don’t get mad and try to bring me back down.

Remember, it was your decision to go our separate ways. I was sad for a long time, but I am much happier since the split. I’m with someone absolutely amazing, and I couldn't be happier.


Cheers,

James

I suppose it's human nature.

If I could stop thinking, I would.

If I could stop feeling, I would.

If I could stop caring, I would.

How can feeling so good make me feel so bad? I over think everything. I automatically assume that when I call someone, they are seeing my name and ignoring me. I have to remind myself that they are probably busy. Not everyone wants to talk on the phone all day.

I need constant reassurance. That’s new. I hate it. I don’t want to be that way. I try not to be, but it doesn’t work. I think after my divorce, I got a little scared. I’m constantly looking for the signs. And that just sucks.

When I’m with her or talking to her, I’m happy, when I’m not, I get sad. I have no food to speak of in my house, but I won’t go buy any. The laundry is piling up, and I’m running out of clothes, but I won’t wash them. No, I’d rather starve and wear dirty clothes.

I need to stop reading into things and just enjoy the time we have together. I need to stop freaking out when we don’t talk.

Easier said than done.

I don’t want to stop feeling.

I don’t want to stop caring.

The thinking I can do without.

Vacation

I need to go somewhere, get out of LA for awhile. I haven’t travelled anywhere in a long time. The city is starting to get to me; work is starting to get to me. I’m making stupid little mistakes at work and getting yelled at. I haven’t taken any time off in ages. It’s not that easy to get time off here. There are only three of us and I’m the only one that knows how to do my job. I’m going crazy looking at the same desk everyday for 9 hours. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. I need to sit in the desert and look at the stars. I want to forget about chemicals, satellites, missiles, radar and hazmat for awhile. Just look at the stars and forget it all.




When I was 15 my father asked if I wanted to go to Seattle with him. I asked my mom. She said no because he planned on taking me to Canada and kidnapping me. Whenever I came home from visiting him, she would examine my body for evidence that he molested me. She would bombard me with questions. Did he touch you? What did you eat? Where did you sleep? Did he wear clothes? Did he jerk off in front of you? Did you watch porn with him? Did he get you drunk? She was obsessed with child molestation news stories. According to her everyone wanted to kidnap and fuck me. She seemed to have forgotten her drunken cuddle time with me.



After the molestation paranoia wore off, she was convinced I was stealing from her to buy drugs. She told me she had hidden microphones all over the house and could hear everything I said. She made the dog sleep in my room because she implanted a microphone under the dog’s skin to keep track of me.



Her room was next to mine. At night I would listen to her cry, calling out to no one. Asking why did Larry leaver her? Why does she have such a horrible son?



Sometimes in the afternoon, she would ask me to sit on the porch with her. She would give me wine coolers and get me drunk. She would put her arm around me. I would get up, go back inside and wait for the yelling or hitting to start. She would come in and say “You think you’re too good for me? You’re just like your father; all he wanted to do was fuck.” She would either just stare at me or throw whatever was closest to her at me. I have to credit her with causing me to have an amazing reaction time and great reflexes.

Selfish

I have never felt so out of my element and so comfortable at the same time. I went to a party. I knew one person. She was busy with hosting duties, so I mostly kept to myself. I made an effort to talk to people and found everyone extremely friendly and interested in who I was and what I do. I turned off my brain and just had a good time for once. I was nervous, but so is everyone when meeting someone new.


My life is changing so drastically now. I’ve met someone who has become very important to me; I’m slowly turning my apartment into a home, I’m eating better and getting some exorcise. Why, because of her. She gave me the kick in the ass I needed. I feel hopeful. I feel good.

I actually feel good about my writing. Hell, I even feel good about myself. I like this feeling. This sense of pride I have when we’re together.



I want to feel this way all of the time.



To the naysayers,

I know you mean well. I know you don’t want me to get hurt. There is a chance things might get weird. I might get hurt. I’ve been hurt before and I’ve bounced back. Stop trying to give me reasons why I shouldn’t be doing this. She makes me happy. I deserve this.

So come on guys, let me have this one.

No lampshades on my head.

A party.

Strangers.

Hand shaking

Small talk

Nervousness

New people.

I’m frightened. I don’t know anyone. I will sit in my corner and keep to myself. They are talking to me. I can’t really relate. They have all known each for years. I am an interloper.

They smile at me, laugh at my jokes, but still, are they really or they being nice. I still find it hard to tell the difference.

I try

Lord knows I’m trying.

I ain't no rat.

A lot of my friends are becoming overly concerned with my social life. I know they mean well, and they are just concerned, but it’s becoming rather annoying. So here is all I’m going to say.




Yes, I am dating someone.

Yes, it’s going well.

No, I will not tell you who she is.

No, I will not tell you what we do.

No, I will not tell you if she’s local or not.

No, I will not tell you how often we talk to each other.

No, I wont tell you if we text each other.

No, I won’t tell you if she has a Facebook page to see.



What we do, who she is, and where she lives are between us.



What we do is secret, our secret.



I have told very few people about us, and I plan on keeping it that way.

All you need to know is that I consider myself lucky to have met her. She made me smile again. She believes in me.



Cheers,



James