xxXBroken GlassesXxx

I hate (right now) ...

I hate amazon. I hate how they more than the rise of the super book/cafe/multimedia store have really contributed to the demise of the small corner book store. I hate how they over charge and over charge for shipping. Today, I hate how I was promised a package I ordered days ago and was due to arrived and suddenly I got an email that suddenly said my order was on back order *wtf… you’re like fucking walmart* and would not arrive until May 29.

I also hate how my Student Loan people claim that i had an arrangement and then all of a sudden - blah - I got some menacing notice. UGH get your shit together people!

I also hate falling asleep on the bus and I hate that my grandfather is sick, some sort of cancer *allegedly* and blah blah no news and my bitchy aunts don’t call back and my mom does understand what’s going on. I don’t particularly like my grandfather, but it’s stressing me and it’s annoying.

I also hate  shadYness. Bitches throwing some shade. Bitches being two faced and lying and using others and then lording over their fucking privelege.

I think I’m done with hate. Maybe I just needed to vent….

Spiders

Apparently not only is the world contending with a swine flu pandemic. (LEVEL 5!!!)

My apartment is dealing with an spider epidemic.

My insomnia is further aggravated by the thought of spiders crawling all over me.

The Bathing Suit

My cousin committed suicide a few weeks ago. Death in such an extended family, as mine, is a peculiar thing. Perhaps, in a way I can attribute the pecularity of such an extreme incident to my own process of dealing and the manner in which I process extreme situations. Usually, I let it take me over. However, in this case, so much was going on in Miami and Colombia. Add in a mixture of unclear details and my cousins’ extreme grief. It was not immediate that I came to a point, where I myself analyzed how I felt.

I don’t know what the actual process of grief is supposed to look like. I know how the darkness takes over, being in extreme situation with my mother and her illnesses. I guess, at core, I am a story teller. I try to weave in stories of my life and analyze them, most often to myself, but sometimes to a poor victim.

I started remembering her. Her scent, her outfits, how she applied make up - she taught me how -, how she lost Gina once when she live with us. Her many suitors here in the US and how they had that crazy look for her (I’ve only seen this look in Gina’s boyfriends) and her nonchalant manner of avoiding them or brushing them off. Most memorably, there was David, a “cowboy” (my family called him that) from Davie, FL. He owned a ranch with cattle and horses (this confused me, since it was FL). He came from a good family, my family adored him, yet Adriana (my cousin’s name) saw him as a distraction and a momentary play thing. He proposed 3 times, until finaly with a broken heart he realized that she didn’t really want to be tamed by him. She had wild hair down to her lower back and a raspy voice that reminded me of the old movies I used to watch. There was that one time she was drinking something in the car and had a injury with a straw (it somehow lodged into her throat or something like that).

Then my sister told my about the bathing suit. I had been content at remembering this person through my own perspective and through my own experiences, but the bathing suit shocked me into reality. In an apparent odd move and without anyone’s knowledge, brought back the bathing suit my cousin killed herself in. Not only that she also brought back the close she had in her hotel room-where she killed herself-and had left with her 4 page note.

It is important for me to note that when I was intially given details of the suicide, I was told that she had overdosed on some sort of medication, it was then heard that she had in fact slit her wrists, finally (a fact proven by numerous newpaper articles from Colombia) it was confirmed that she had hung herself in her hotel room. One of the most expensive hotel rooms in the coast, with a beautiful view of the Atlantic meeting the Gulf.

The detail my sister shared that most affected me was the part where it was determined she hung herself with enough room to possibly save herself. She didn’t.

She was at a four star resort and hung herself wearing a bathing suit when she killed herself.

All I could think of is how she planned it. This was her fourth attempt at ending her life. She was going through a bitter divorce with a philandering, abusive, and alcoholic husband. Yet she was probably not going to get custody of her young child.

Was she laying by the pool or by the ocean while she wrote the letter. My cousin said all of her clothes smelled of her perfume. Did she hang out at the bar and plan the best way to do it? Or was it a spontaneous move decided after a swim in the ocean? The note could of been the same she used on previous attempts (I don’t have much details on any of this). Did the darkness she feel become that overwhelming and cloud her mind that she was desperately finding any way out?

I know these are answers I’ll never know, but I can help but wonder…

Being an adult

Being an adult bites. I remember watching Reality Bites and being obsessed with that infamous (at least in my mind) quote “welcome to the winter of our discontent”. I guess, my thoughts were that my winter of discontent was I don’t know phasing into Spring. However, similar to this tricky Chicago weather where it is 60 something one day and then dips back down into the 40’s during alleged Spring, my life has yet to fully phase into Spring.

Health shit aside, I thought, “hey, I’ve got a decent seemingly recession proof job. Health care. Free tuition for when I get my shit together and go back to school.” But then, jobs suck. There’s stuff like reviews and appraisals and bosses that tell you to be “proactive” when they get in trouble for not doing their fucking job. Dress codes (I don’t even bother with that and will continue to ignore it until I am told otherwise). All this bullshit. Perhaps like ML pointed so diplomatically out a few months ago, it is because I am not working a real career but in a pretend world where I am someone’s assistant. I mean, that someone is actually 24 faculty members and technically I do more than “pretend” to be a secretary.

However, it is what it is.

Maybe I can just be more proactive.

blogging

I always forget what I wanted to say.