30 April 2006

How to mend a broken heart: Part 2.

1. Want something real.
2. Be uncomfortable.
3. Have uncontrollable desire.

You want real food. You want ham and peas and mashed potatoes and chow fun with beef. But Dad said you have to eat the food on the tray. He said you have to drink the Hawaiian punch in the pee cup. You know it’s a pee cup, because you remember peeing in one of those cups. And you know there is something wrong with that Hawaiian punch because you saw Mom mashing medicine in it.
Don’t say anything.
Just take it.

Wake up feeling very uncomfortable. You are breathing inside a balloon, it seems like, that’s someone is pushing onto. You see your parents through a glass window. They are blurry so you don’t know how they are feeling.
Feel tired.
Close your eyes.
Open them.
The doctors tuned into Muppets. They are boggling up and down around you.
Look up and see the fluorescent light, then see two black specs in the light.
“That’s your Dad. And that’s your Mom. They’re flying jets with you,” a Muppet said. “We are actually in jets too.”
Look out the window from the operation room. And see the building opening its wings and begin flying.

In bed. There are only two things you want at this moment: to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on television and apple juice.
You can’t move.
You shout. “Please, I’m so bored and I’m so thirsty.”
They give you a videotape of your heroes.
You have already watched this episode several times before but you cannot complain. “She’s not suppose to eat or drink anything for at least 12 hours,” the nurses say.
You look at your Dad.
“But Dad, my mouth is so dry.”
It is super dry.
You feel like you have no saliva glands at all.
Crazy wa la bang bang! You like saying that combination of words.
You take your father’s hands. Put his pointer finger in your mouth. “See, Dad isn’t dry?” He smiles.
“I need apple juice so bad.”
After 2 episodes of Ninja Turtles, they give you apple juice in a test tube.
You drink it in one gulp.
Then you throw up in a chamber pot.

(Disclaimer: This is an actual photo taken after my surgery. I look bloated because of the antibiotics. I'm really not a fat kid. Really.)

23 April 2006

How to mend a broken heart: Part 1.

1. Try to find out why.
2. Be bored with yourself and others.
3. Meet a new pipsqueak.
4. Become hated.

Your heart is broken. Well, more of your heart’s valves won’t close all the way, so they have to fix it. At least that’s what you overheard from your parents. You’re not sure what you are doing in the hospital.
No one told you anything.

“We have to use this big needle, it’s a little risky, but she’ll …”
“What big needle Mom?”
She ignores you.
“What big needle Dad?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

You go to the “Play Pen” so you can stop watching Jeopardy with your parents. You like Wheel of Fortune better because you know how to shout out letters and sometimes you get the right letter, but you can never guess the phrase. You don’t even know what a phrase is. You want to play Lite Brite but pieces and stuff are missng and there’s electricity involved and you just realize this toy is nothing but a big light bulb. Boring. Your parents never understand any of the board games. You tried to teach them how to play Monopoly once, but ended up throwing the money all over the place and yelling, "Pow wow yow yow rocket shoes boom boom!" like you were Scrooge in Ducktails, although he does not shout those words. You wish you could dive into money.

You meet a new friend, but he’s annoying. He’s smaller than you are. He smells. He keeps saying, “Butterfingers! You’re butterfingers!” You’re too shy to respond. You don’t talk. You don’t know how to. You haven’t really interacted with other kids before. Your only friends are Mutant Ninja Turtles and Stacey. And one of them isn’t real.

You don’t feel well. Clowns are going to visit you too.
Be polite. Be amazed as they take a coin out of your ear.
Your stomach is killing you. You just want to lie down. You want to cry. You want to crap all over the place. But they want you to walk around the room. They want you to laugh with the clowns like the other children.
You can’t.
You feel bad.
Which is probably why clowns hate you.

18 April 2006

How to put meaning in your life.

1.Have a special visitor.
2.Pick a name out of a hat.

A special guest was going to come into class today. A real Native American. And she would talk all about Native American things. You are the type that thought if acted extra special… and when you say extra special- you mean extra quiet and polite with a curious face on, that this new adult person would appreciate who you are, especially this spiritual Native American with a higher Native American power.
Sit in a circle with the rest of your classmates.
Pick a piece of paper from the hat that she gives you.
She said which ever you pick, was the name you were meant to be with.
She said she would explain what the names meant.
You are excited.
You know she was going tell everyone that your name meant “Super- Star” or “Pretty- Looking” or at least “The Girl everyone should be friends with because she is cool.”
Open the piece of paper.
Sitting Red Bull.
“Adam has Running Horse, which means he is a fast thinker and he owns freedom.”
Your classmate all gasps.
It’s your turn.
Michael McHansen raises his hand.
“Yes? The boy with the stripped shirt.”
“Are you friends with Pochahontas?”
What? What a stupid question you think.
She answers.
“Okay, next, yeah, let’s see. Sean?”
She skipped you. She totally skipped you.
What the fuck?
You’re not the type that would raise your hand go “hey lady what about me?” And your class definitely is not the type that would go “hey, you forgot about her, go back to her, tell her what her life means!”
Things left uncovered.
You will never know what Sitting Red Bull means…
what you mean.

09 April 2006

How to survive 1st grade.

1. Don’t mess yourself.

If the desire to go to the bathroom hits, you must raise your hand to ask for the bathroom pass and then pick a partner to go to the bathroom with you.
A too complicated process.
You decided to just hold it in.
You are cutting out a Leprechaun mask. Your stomach rumbles. You ignore. You feel like you have to fart. You let out a little.
Uh oh.
It was not a fart.
You levitate a little.
What did you get yourself into?

“The cut around the beard of the leprechaun is the most important, no one can go anywhere.“
You’re in trouble.
You feel something go down a pant leg. You catch it with a tissue before it falls out. This happens two or three times. You cannot completely sit down now or else you’ll smash it.
You wait a bit.
You have to go to the bathroom. You call out to the teacher. You pick whomever.

You slowly get up- you can’t have anything come out. You slowly walk out, holding your behind. You get to the bathroom. You take off your pants and your underwear and just dumped it all in the toilet. Emily senses something is wrong. She swings open the bathroom stall door and looks at your bare butt. You look at her like you do not know what to do and you need her help. She helps you. She helps you wipe your butt. As she’s wiping, you can’t help but like the attention a little.

Last week Tracy Sarantago threw up on herself and Mrs. Fried even gave her new clothes to change into and gave her permission to go home early. Maybe Mrs. Fried will give you new pants. You decided not to wear you underwear because it is badly soiled. You just wear your pants.
You hold up the messy underwear and march into class, a little proud.
Mrs. Fried walks to her closet, pulls out a plastic bag and tells you to put it in.
No new pants.
No going home early.
No special attention.
Just poopie pants.

03 April 2006

How to walk.

1. Can't.
2. Don't.
3. Won't.

Crawling is so easy. So fast. So fun. Why on earth would they want you do to that thing they do… with legs? Walking. You know you have to learn at some point but… do you really? What if you’re the first person who crawls their way to success? That’s quite a title. You think.

Actually, it’s better if you don’t know how to walk at all. For humanity safety. Because when you try to get up and walk, you fall. You knock things over. You hurt. You cry. You annoy the bajeezus out of people.
Exactly. Fuck Walking. Plus you don’t want to get your shoes dirty.

"Angel walk for me, won't you?"
"Don't tell me what to do."
"It's easy... see? let me hold your hand."
"Don't touch me!"
"She's gonna grow up stupid, isn't she?"
"Alright. Alright. I'll walk. You don't have to call me names."
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