On This Day, I….

“Isn’t there a description of the type of person who records days of their lives?” Would this be an act of forgetfulness, but fully aware of what you’re doing?  A lot of thought is placed on the recording person to notate some-type of code that could recall that day, within seconds. Whether there was just rain, snow, or a cloudless sky, an indicator is placed in ink preferably to signify the day in question.  Oddly enough, a very short explanation sums up an event, such as:  Fair with daughter, a restaurant name, an activity.  It’s easy,  and as I have recently found very useful in times where a series of coincidences become relevant.

Who could “proof,” my information and provide some honest, trustworthy explanation.  “Somedays, or Mostdays,” I feel severely wronged, “there’s no-way that this is happening?” But it is.  I know, what I know, it just is, exactly that. A bubble seems plausible, but not quite enough, it is far bigger than a small, round, rubbery circle.  I actually picture a bubble, that is huge enough for a whole adult person. “Strange,” is not even close to thinking you live in an actual bubble, it is an irrational term that is awfully rational.

I summarize this bubble-living investigation in a very simple format — what sounds odd, is in fact, odd and will be considered bubbly.  Or better known to me as, “play house, puppets, mind-screw, or the proverbial plastic bubble.” I’ve used all to describe this current stream of coincidences, occurrences, and just plain creepy, unnecessary, nerve-jolting waves of pleasure for someone…I have yet to solve case number 001, although daily, I am naturely forced to deal with it.  Some days, I want relief so bad that I think of ways to disconnect with any and everyone who I know playing along.  Its not cool to be a protaganist in a play you didn’t sign up for — no contract, no interviews, nothing.  “You find that you’re definitely into scenes, actors’ reciting lines, and there you sit, vulnerable, being toyed with.” A grown-up, a parent, that had made adult plans is a “target for jokes,” yet you know, “these wanna be actors are being targeted, too.”  I smile, laugh in their face as they do me.  “Your game, is also my game.”  A big F U fest, for everyone involved.

As I make an appointment there’s repeated, “can you hold,” as stated from the repesentative.  More game play?  Or is this the new 21st Century, “customer service etiquette?”  I’ve been tbrough the cut-offs so often that I now expect to be disconnected by elevator music or entirely hung up, on.  if the call runs tbrough as planned, with no added fun stuff, I am frustrated that a point has come where I can no longer tell, what is real vs unreal.  Which sounds similar to a host of Mental Health symptoms, but I  know what I know, and I’M definitely not experiencing an unhealthy mental breakdown.  Testing that statement is not even worth mentioning, but for those who may believe “this is too bazaar,” it is though.  I do not know much about how paranoia works, but if each time you leave your residence at different hours of the day and the same bright yellow Camaro pulls up next door, well that’s kinda strange.  If the phone rings simultaneously when you open your eyes from sleeping, once again, on a scale of 0 – 60, that’s a 60; too coincidental and definitely not paranoia.  Oh, these are not once in a while happenings, they’re frequent, subsiding when I orally bring attention to the factors, “how in the world, would anyone know, when I’m leaving, waking up,” unless there’s cams, located in the apartment both inside and outside. 

Concerning the high-tech industry, apparently we’ve moved too fast, peeking into the private lives of random people, just because they can.  Who is they, though?  I do not have a boyfriend, I’ve been divorced for over 15 years, which leads to no useful avenue to explore.  To my knowledge, I have kept “enemies at bay.”  I know who my haters are/were, I choose to keep distance for valid reasons.  An example of a true hater, “they bow their head to avoid seeing your happiness.” No, not once, nor twice, not even three times, “over and over, there’s not an ounce of joy,” to share in a time, where a long road of despair turns into something positive.  As a sly fox, you watch, wait, remain calm, patient, then without fail, “block, ghost, shut them out.” A person such as this, does not expect your callousness, in their mind “they thought, they knew you well.” I imagine, they assumed far too much.  But, what can you expect from someone that cannot be happy for another person, where they’re so blind to see you, as a person.  I feel nothing for them, after the “blocking” point; outta bounds had went off the map, into dangerous territory.  Zilch, no pain, no gain, less mess, means No Stress!

I have pages of Notes & Facts, as backup, for those who choose unfamiliar terms, such as, delusions, overthinking, paranoid.  Many years ago, I was out galavanting around the town, in a twist of tongue a person squealed to me, “remember this term, Perception.” Good thing, memory has not failed to serve me, since this term appears to be a piece of the complex riddle.  If a train were carrying passengers, one is harmed during the ride, where speaking has been slighted, they mutter a single-word, exclaiming “fowl.”  The audience mesmorized, staring blankly, wanting more information, but nothing else came-out this poor, shocked, persons mouth. Hence, a man had been the only diner on-board to order chicken, during mealtime. Anyway, “perception is my fowl,” and I utilize the hell out of it, to make sense of this madness.  Whether my perception is on or off, it’s my perogative to explain, the “myriad list of unjustified happenings.”

Other terms have been related to me, as well, which are relevant, in this case. Fortunately, and I use fortunate loosely, “each term, helps me come closer, to solving this undeserved internal battering.” Like a good batterer, they’re careful to keep bruising underneath public eyes.  Only the best batterer knows where to hit, to cause pain, yet scars and bruises are concealed.  He is united with his pro-controller group, in that, a white undershirt referred as “wife beater,” is their Motto of We Men, Expect You Whores To Have Sex, Raise Our Kids, Cook, Clean, and in return We Can Beat Yo Ass, if we want to.  An emotional batterer is clever as a raccoon, researching everywhere to find the best spots to aim at.  He is cunning, hones his skill, charismatic, yet really know’s very little about an adult woman’s mind.  These types are confusing.

Like any good writer, I learn new things everyday.  “My Diary,” is a treasure chest of factual story-telling, where only a few could understand it and that’d be only if they heard me discuss a certain event.  I don’t scrawl in hard-to-read circles on scrap paper.  By year, month, day, there’s uniform organization, a look thru “provokes a story.”  Some stories, are sad and could be construed as attempted….nothing, surprises me.  When you deal with haters, they hate.

 

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