(no subject)
It's been amazing to see how quickly everything has happened in the past few weeks. So fast that one might conclude that nothing happened at all. But with as much certainty as I can muster, I will tell you, oh fair reader, of the circumstances I find myself in now.
It started back in the beginning of July, quietly. There were jokes about the state I was in, light-hearted pokes and prods, attempts to keep my unstable mind at ease. I already knew, as they did, and I tried my best not to dwell and worry the case into oblivion. Technically, that ill-fated occurance could happen to anyone who was brave enough. It could have been my boyfriend, or my father, or even that little, hairy metalhead from the Deli. Like most things tragic in life though, it was me.
You see, dear reader, there was a day, somewhere near Independance day, that I went out for a walk around the city. Just a careless stroll through Goodale, through the stone garden, up and around Nationwide Arena. Typical, you can see why it could have been anybody. I started the trek back, opting to work the maze of alleys rather than the direct Number Two COTA, just to see if there were any new throw ups or old couches and oddities to pick up. Somewhere near Third and Gay a rather attractive man was leaning near an open door, smoking a cigarette. Instantly my hormones raged and I tried my best to look cool while approaching. He noticed me, looked away, then made the usual double take. I smiled at the double take and kept walking, figuring that it would just be another run in, me leaving him to watch my ass as I walked away, never to be seen again. Instead though, he stood up straight and took two steps to block my path. I started, looked up frantically, and tried to laugh and brush past. He took another step, blocked my path, and offered his hand.
Now, I said he was attractive earlier, before he was standing over me. Now in full, intimidating stance, I nearly came while standing and looking at his face. I took his hand and offered my name. I asked where I was taking his hand to and he just laughed and said "The best place you've ever been." Now here is where I know your disbelief is kicking in, fair reader, and trust me when I say that every happening since I began has been true. The hand, the face, the still burning cigarette, they were as real as your blood and your boners. We only wish they were make believe.
So, to quicken this ever growing account and get to where I am now a little faster, I followed him through the door and saw the best place I've ever been. The people you strive to be were probably born in this place, thats how beautiful it was. I sat down, wondering why the hell I was there and who the hell I was going to talk to. The man walked to a different room and I sat there, feeling ugly and awkward. Some girl with pretty hair and smoking body came up to me and asked me if I wanted to try some sort of new recipe they made. I said sure, why not. It's best to please your host, isn't it? Especially if you're so far gone in a place you've never been.
She wrote something down in a notebook handy on the table and gave me a sort of watermelon candy. After five minutes, I felt a tiny body change and my eyes, specifically, felt clearer and healthier. I told her it was great and she smiled and thanked me. She wrote down one more thing and then led me to the door. I asked where that guy went and she told me he was a jerk, he's probably whacking off in another room. She said it while laughing, to assure me it was personal bitterness, not a bit of honesty. I didn't really care. I wanted to get back to my side of town and enjoy whatever high from whatever drug they gave me.
I left. I went home. I felt great. I had, and have, no fucking clue what she gave me. Something of the candy sort, fucking tasty. In the beginning, things began to change about my appearance. Like I said, everyone tried to keep me from panicking, tried to make it seem as if it were of my own accord, but I knew as soon as things started it was that damn candy. Every morning, I looked in the mirror and watched as my eyebrows became shaped and filled in, as my brown freckle in my left eye was consumed by the blue color surrounding it. Every day, something was fixed. My eyeliner was perfectly placed when I woke up and there were new tattoos, almost daily. I didn't wake up with bed-head anymore, my pubic hair hadn't grown back since my last trim and, this is the most horrific and amazing part of it all, dear readers, my breasts settled into a stable, full, size A cup. Though, unfortunately, it seemed as though that weight were taken from my ass, which had become quite flat and normal looking.
It wasn't just my physical appearence that changed either. Suddenly I had jeans that were skinny around the ankles and my jackets were all American Apperal. My underwear matched and I couldn't find my favorite Gap tank. I had ballet flats and converse shoes, a mountain clip and no longer a wallet. My flimsy, poop brown bag turned into a bright multicolored biking bag, clipped across my chest. My knit cap was gone and only a newsboy cap could be found.Going to find my old Schwinn to get work, I found a pink fixed gear bike with those little feet harnesses instead. My copy of Nausea turned into Invisible Monsters and there were equality stickers, Consider Biking stickers, Think Green stickers and so on plastered all over the damn place.
Most of my friends pat me on the back and ask how I'm doing now and days. They look a little sad when I arrive at night with forties and I've noticed a distinct lack in callls. I am a mutant now, i guess. My condition is in it's prime, fully fucking inflamed. My mother calls daily to see if there is any progress and the treatments seemingly have a small effect. I'm getting real sick of the doctors office though, real sick of those fucking needles and crazy machines.
Don't worry about me though, my readers, I will bounce back. I think I might put myself on bedrest and just wait it all out. If eight year olds can beat cancer, I think Ican beat a mean case of Hip.
It started back in the beginning of July, quietly. There were jokes about the state I was in, light-hearted pokes and prods, attempts to keep my unstable mind at ease. I already knew, as they did, and I tried my best not to dwell and worry the case into oblivion. Technically, that ill-fated occurance could happen to anyone who was brave enough. It could have been my boyfriend, or my father, or even that little, hairy metalhead from the Deli. Like most things tragic in life though, it was me.
You see, dear reader, there was a day, somewhere near Independance day, that I went out for a walk around the city. Just a careless stroll through Goodale, through the stone garden, up and around Nationwide Arena. Typical, you can see why it could have been anybody. I started the trek back, opting to work the maze of alleys rather than the direct Number Two COTA, just to see if there were any new throw ups or old couches and oddities to pick up. Somewhere near Third and Gay a rather attractive man was leaning near an open door, smoking a cigarette. Instantly my hormones raged and I tried my best to look cool while approaching. He noticed me, looked away, then made the usual double take. I smiled at the double take and kept walking, figuring that it would just be another run in, me leaving him to watch my ass as I walked away, never to be seen again. Instead though, he stood up straight and took two steps to block my path. I started, looked up frantically, and tried to laugh and brush past. He took another step, blocked my path, and offered his hand.
Now, I said he was attractive earlier, before he was standing over me. Now in full, intimidating stance, I nearly came while standing and looking at his face. I took his hand and offered my name. I asked where I was taking his hand to and he just laughed and said "The best place you've ever been." Now here is where I know your disbelief is kicking in, fair reader, and trust me when I say that every happening since I began has been true. The hand, the face, the still burning cigarette, they were as real as your blood and your boners. We only wish they were make believe.
So, to quicken this ever growing account and get to where I am now a little faster, I followed him through the door and saw the best place I've ever been. The people you strive to be were probably born in this place, thats how beautiful it was. I sat down, wondering why the hell I was there and who the hell I was going to talk to. The man walked to a different room and I sat there, feeling ugly and awkward. Some girl with pretty hair and smoking body came up to me and asked me if I wanted to try some sort of new recipe they made. I said sure, why not. It's best to please your host, isn't it? Especially if you're so far gone in a place you've never been.
She wrote something down in a notebook handy on the table and gave me a sort of watermelon candy. After five minutes, I felt a tiny body change and my eyes, specifically, felt clearer and healthier. I told her it was great and she smiled and thanked me. She wrote down one more thing and then led me to the door. I asked where that guy went and she told me he was a jerk, he's probably whacking off in another room. She said it while laughing, to assure me it was personal bitterness, not a bit of honesty. I didn't really care. I wanted to get back to my side of town and enjoy whatever high from whatever drug they gave me.
I left. I went home. I felt great. I had, and have, no fucking clue what she gave me. Something of the candy sort, fucking tasty. In the beginning, things began to change about my appearance. Like I said, everyone tried to keep me from panicking, tried to make it seem as if it were of my own accord, but I knew as soon as things started it was that damn candy. Every morning, I looked in the mirror and watched as my eyebrows became shaped and filled in, as my brown freckle in my left eye was consumed by the blue color surrounding it. Every day, something was fixed. My eyeliner was perfectly placed when I woke up and there were new tattoos, almost daily. I didn't wake up with bed-head anymore, my pubic hair hadn't grown back since my last trim and, this is the most horrific and amazing part of it all, dear readers, my breasts settled into a stable, full, size A cup. Though, unfortunately, it seemed as though that weight were taken from my ass, which had become quite flat and normal looking.
It wasn't just my physical appearence that changed either. Suddenly I had jeans that were skinny around the ankles and my jackets were all American Apperal. My underwear matched and I couldn't find my favorite Gap tank. I had ballet flats and converse shoes, a mountain clip and no longer a wallet. My flimsy, poop brown bag turned into a bright multicolored biking bag, clipped across my chest. My knit cap was gone and only a newsboy cap could be found.Going to find my old Schwinn to get work, I found a pink fixed gear bike with those little feet harnesses instead. My copy of Nausea turned into Invisible Monsters and there were equality stickers, Consider Biking stickers, Think Green stickers and so on plastered all over the damn place.
Most of my friends pat me on the back and ask how I'm doing now and days. They look a little sad when I arrive at night with forties and I've noticed a distinct lack in callls. I am a mutant now, i guess. My condition is in it's prime, fully fucking inflamed. My mother calls daily to see if there is any progress and the treatments seemingly have a small effect. I'm getting real sick of the doctors office though, real sick of those fucking needles and crazy machines.
Don't worry about me though, my readers, I will bounce back. I think I might put myself on bedrest and just wait it all out. If eight year olds can beat cancer, I think Ican beat a mean case of Hip.