ohemgeekelsey

I have bad dreams more often than I have happy ones. I never save an upside down turtle, or push a fish into deeper water so it may swim away. I usually dream that my family is being eaten alive or I’m trapped in a fire or I’m drowning.

Or that I’m not a person at all.

I have dreams that I’m a fish, sometimes. I just swim in a rainbow of other me’s, drifting in the current under a blue sky. But I usually have to duck under some sort of protection, like a coral reef, or a kelp plant that has come loose. That way, I can hide from bigger fish, that just want to eat me.

I dream I’m a dinosaur every once and a while, although not as often as I dream I am a fish. I stop around and rawr, and that’s mostly it. But I always have to fight bigger dinosaurs, which end up eating me because that’s how my dreams go.

Last night I had a dream that my first boyfriend told me he was pregnant. I was afraid he’d eat our baby but instead he said I’d make a good dad and to keep it for him. In my dream I raised my son by introducing him to sports and girls and cars. On Saturdays we still took a tap class together. Our thighs looked great. But then my frist boyfriend came back and said I was a lousy dad and took our son. That was the worst nightmare I ever had, and now I don’t have sex anymore.

Not that I had it often, anyway.

I have never been a healthy weight, nor do I ever think I will be. I’ve lived most of my life as of now, over 45% by my calculations. I have my own apartment in a small sleepy town, no pets, no woman. I have a guy mow my lawn all summer and a woman with a double ‘r’ in her name clean my house. Sometimes she yells about me not showering, or moving from my recliner. But if I moved, I’d be further from the T.V., and that wouldn’t make me happy.

I’ve got more food lying around than ever. Family sized packs of treats become my midmorning snack. I haven’t had an apple since I was six. I don’t think I ever ate a plum or a peach or a pear. P-named fruits are not my forte. Doughnuts, are.

I’m happy with who I am. I don’t wish I was thin or wish I had women. I like working from home and watching T.V. and sleeping in bed on my terms, not hers. I eat what I like to taste and some people say it shows. But who wants to eat dried out vegetables all their lives? Or grains that taste like cardboard, or milk that tastes like water? Who wants to live their lives running from a heavier version of themselves?

Excuse me, it’s Tuesday, which means I have four half priced hamburgers to enjoy.

I didn’t lose anything to him. I willingly had sex, just like I willingly kissed Justin back in seventh grade, or like how I willingly kissed that girl at the conclusion of my last year at the middle school. I willingly do things, but I don’t lose anything. Well, perhaps at most, I lose a couple of hours and some naivety.

I’d like to think that I make my mother proud. I’ve never been arrested, homeless, or fired. I always show up to work and I’ve got healthy realtionships with all of my coworkers. Even outside of the office I have friends and a few scattered boyfriends. I haven’t actually talked to my mother since I invited her to partake in drug abuse with me. She declined, naturally. And naturally, I try to believe that I make her proud.

I’m never going to sleep alone. I used to think that after a boy (whose name I’d already forgotten) had left. Now it’s just installed as a fact. I have two cats which bother me without cause every night. If they aren’t on me, they’re pulling my hair, kneading my hands, or bumping into my jaw with their oh-so-cold noses. For the most part, I’ve trained them to not sleep atop my face. I still wake up gasping for air every once and a while, pushing a bitter, yowling mass of fur from my nose and mouth. I still pet them anyway.