Oh, to be in So Cal.

Weird to be back here after nearly a year away. I hadn't seen my family (except my mom) in nearly a year, and I hadn't seen mountains in nearly a year. My parents' house is like the Winchester Mystery House.... always under construction. It's strange that it has always metamorphosed somewhat between my increasingly rarer visits. It's hard to see the house in which I grew up anymore. So much of that has been lost in the addition of new rooms, new decor, new furniture and carpet, even new toilets. This perpetual state of construction has been going on for nearly five years with no signs of slowing or stopping. It's frightening.
I'm not going to lie; I love my family and I love seeing them, but I hate being here. All of my demons are here, and it's always a fight in my head to be here. This is really and truly no longer my home, and it's weird to hear my parents tell me I should move closer to home, as my home is now Chicago, where I live.

Demon #1

Being in suburban Southern California, where I grew up, reminds me tremendously of the demons I tried to escape in college, and later the greater expanse of the country. I was literally running away from shit; tragically obvious, I know. But what else could I do? I was too cowardly then (and now) to face certain of those issues, those demons that even now haunt me in the night. Running away where they couldn't find me was preferable.
There is a person who used to live in town (don't know if this is still the case, hope fervently it's not) who I am very afraid of running into. You never want to revisit the people who damaged you a bit. I like to pretend that I'm a strong woman, but i might just crumple if I run into this person. It would be a combination of anger, rage, fear, bile: an overload. I've been dreading it ever since I found a note on my car two and a half years ago, taunting me, "Why aren't we frends enymore?" There was more but I'm seeing red recalling it. And yes, I spelled that verbatim. There is so much wrong with this statement, and no, I'm not sharing more than that with some strange large man in his underpants chillin' on the 'net at 3am in Kansas... if you really wanna know, get me drunk and ask me. Very simple.

Demon #2

Some people seem to find it funny that I once had acrylic nails and rarely left the house without some sort of makeup on. This is truly a reflection of where I come from. In my natural state, I soooo don't belong here. Took my sister shopping for a dress for her senior Homecoming dance today and remembered all this anew. Firstly, I just don't bother with makeup. I tell people it's because Bil's totally stuck with me anyway, so why bother, but it's a pain in the ass, it totally fucks up my skin, and I'd much rather apply makeup to someone else's face that I can see, than struggle to see my own face in a mirror sans glasses. Also, I'd rather leave that run-on sentence than repair it. So we go to this really high-end, expensive boutique with pushy salesladies who try to pretend that they're younger than they really are. So lame. They kept trying to get M. into these fancy (and pricey...like my half of the rent pricey) ill-begotten halter dresses. I'd try to help her tie the dress, and Pushy Saleslady Susan would push me out of the way in her efforts to make a sale. Had I been in $200 jeans, and a faux-vintage T instead of my fave Guster concert T and a pair of $4 thrift store Gap jeans, maybe she would have been nicer to me, but really I have the credit card, and the car keys... my sister can't get the $$$$ dress without me, no matter how much she begs.
There's a huge emphasis placed on appearance in this town. Nails, pores, hair, clothing. It seeps in and takes control of what might otherwise be perfectly lovely human beings. It turns them into catty horrible fashion robots who don't understand that wide-legged cropped pants make their short, fat legs look shorter and fatter. (I, too, have my catty moments.) I hate that people judge me this way. Mostly, I don't like being judged by people I don't really even know, and secondly, I dislike being judged based on such shallow grounds. It hardly seems kind or fair to me. Yes, I am an awkward, short, pimply twenty-something who hides behind my giant glasses. What's it to you? If you talked to me, I could explain to you that the '70's disco look did not, in fact involve tie-dye. At all. Really. I promise. Sigh. It's really OK. I'm quietly judging you back.

Demon #3

Early mornings and an order of sudden adult-onset ADD, with a side of narcolepsy, please! It's part of the process of cutting off the stimulants from my system. I have no attention span and worse, I am perpetually on the verge of napping wherever I go. I'm so tired that I'm actually nearly slurring my words. It's a bit like being drunk without the fun side effects. This, people, is the real reason that I have never successfully quit before. Because I'm deathly afraid of driving without the influence of my favorite stimulant on my body. No amount of caffeine can compete with my exhaustion. I get halfway through a story and get distracted and cannot for the life of me remember where to go from there... or even what I was just saying. It's disappointing.
My family believes that travel just makes me extremely weary. Little do they know.

Demon #4

oh, crap.... I'm two hours into the writing of this stupid little blog and I just realized that I still need to check all the doors (all 7 of them) and lock them..... be right back.......................
OK. I'm back. And i can't remember what I was going to write. But, god, I'm tired..... off to bed.

Also, FYI, in my dozing state, I have plenty of time to consider Taylor Hicks, which is decidedly a good thing.

That is all.