Morning Sickness: Is it my imagination or am I pregnant?

Just the other morning, something I did really bothered me. It wasn’t one of the normal things that I do, like grabbing the salt shaker instead of my glass of milk, or putting the fly swatter in the fridge. It was what I realized when I woke up- I was wearing a shirt. Yeah yeah. Its not that strange, is it? But it is when you don’t wear one going to bed. There are two logical, well mostly, explanations for this event. One would be this: sometime in the night little green goblins with hair on their toes tried to smother me with a shirt, but failed. Or I woke up in the night, put on a shirt and simply don’t remember it. I asked my parents about it. They didn’t really have much to say about it, like normal. Its not really important to them. But it bothered me. Why couldn’t I remember? I don’t remember a time when I haven’t remembered doing something. Unless I don’t remember remembering a time even though it really happened, but I just don’t remember. (huh?) It wasn’t until I had stood up and starting picking out clothes for the day that I realized that I was wearing a shirt. And possibly the only reason I could even recall specifically not wearing a shirt when I went to bed, was the shirt that I was wearing. It was… a belly shirt. Yes. It was so small and tight, it was hard to breath. After a little breakfast thanks to Tyler (Petel, brutel, something-el) and the energy drink special at Greenway, I had a little time to think about it on my way to work. What else have I done when I am sleeping and unaware? Is there more? I ask myself what kind of person someone would find in my subconscious. Is it possible that I’ve lived an entire day in my subconscious, unaware? Could I function a day not as Ryan, but as THE Ryan, the one underneath and inside? I’ve run through the scenarios. And honestly I don’t know. Maybe my life has been an unconscious “something”. Possibly this train of thought is something my subconscious mind has conjured up. It’ll only last until the real me wakes up and the person typing this becomes imagination. I guess I won’t know if I’m the real deal or I’m the me in my unaware upstairs. Would my being aware of the fact that I’m just a figment of my own imagination render me as real as my counterpart, or would I only still be just the dust in the air? Is my conscious self going to know about this when I wake up? To me, it doesn’t matter. I’ll take it on faith that I’m the real deal. To me, this is as real as it gets, until someday I’ll move past it all and into the realm of the Most High.

A Blanket of Security

I've got a younger brother and I don't mind him. Really. I know it could be hard to believe with all the nagging, the whining and complaining, but I really don't mind him. He's pretty neat. And he's got life pretty easy. I'm not complaining or anything, but who wouldn't want a nice fort to come play in after school? Behind him is his fortress; his own place he made for himself and his favorite things. He constantly is improving it, adding sections by running blankets across the couch and the end table and using pillows and boxes to make walls. He's seems like he enjoys spending time creating something of his own, a place where he can get away from the rest of the family. Its his own little Fortress of Solitude. I would like to have one of those someday. A place where I can go when I feel like the rest of the world is too busy for me. Or when I'm just content to watch a movie in peaceful ambiance. And the best part of Matthew's fort is this... he choose to share it with me.

Madame Maniana

HA! When I sat down tonight, I had this great idea- lets figure out where the hell I’m going for college. It was a great idea. Instead of procrastinating, like normal, I might actually get something done. Take today for example. Besides going to church and getting an earful of whatever Eric was talking about, I did very little. Mom was nagging me about how much of a failure I am, not taking my ACT(again), not cleaning my room, not helping her, not doing this not doing that. Don’t get me wrong- I did help her. But she, like every day since I was born, is “I’m disgusted with you Ryan.” I think it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to, which is good because otherwise I’d have gone all Bates Motel a long time ago. Anyway, I thought I’d Google a few colleges and maybe write down some useless stuff. But then again, I could just write about it and I’d feel better. I honestly don’t know what school I should party at. Not to worry, I do have some direction to my life. I do know what I’m interested in. And not interested in (underwater basket weaving) I can see myself with a four year degree in biochemistry, biotechnology, or just plain biology. I could also see myself going on to graduate school to be a vet, like mi padre. I know I know, the whole following the footsteps thing, but I really do like animals. I’d not really prefer to work with pigs, since they piss in your boots. Actually I hate pigs, so I’m staying away from the large animal side. I’d focus on small animals. I would either go into research, finding new medicines, or find a practice somewhere to join. Being a senior this Tuesday has really had me thinking lately. I’ve thought about my future, and the millions of ways it can unravel. Although I hate to admit this, I actually want to get married and live happily ever after. Maybe even have a couple kids, as much as I hate that idea, I think I would. I even started a list titled Why Not to Have Kids. I just want a good paying job that has decent hours. A nice house that I can call home, with a garden big enough to feed my wife and I. Maybe a kid or two, and a dog. And plenty of cats. I’d have a separate shed where I might have a shop. I don’t really like mechanical work or wood work, but I’d have it anyway just to keep it neat and organized. I’d have trees to plant, lawn to mow, weeds to pull, maybe some horses. And my wife would help me cook in the shiny clean kitchen, using the fresh vegetables from the garden. I know the males in my generation would castrate me for saying this, but my wife wouldn’t even have to be perfect. Just as long as she loves me for who I am and has a “good heart” as my little brother would say. Wow, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Hehehe isn’t that funny, I probably sound like some desperate mortician with a social deficiency. Well my point is, its likely that won’t happen. Although I would like for my future to depend on that “special someone” but you just can’t count on it. So I’m plowing ahead with my own plans. Whether that be living the simple life in the mountains, backpacking in , ranching Down Under , or monkin’ it in a monastery, I’m ready for anything that comes this way. I just wish I knew what it was, like Madame Maniana the Mystic Cat.

Facial Deception

While I'm typing this, my head pulsates with pain. Yes, pulsates. I bet your wondering your why, or maybe your not, I really don't care. Its bad enough that I am typing with my eyes closed so I don't have to feel the light off the screen burning holes into the back of my skull. Its not so much of a surface pain, or even an early stage migraine pain. Its a late stage, after the loss of vision, after you take your meds and after you lay down. Its the nauseating stuff, the kind that, when you look away too quickly or you turn on the lights, a wave of nausea hits you, and you struggle to push down the pressure built up in your throat. I am contemplating whether to hope I can reach the toilet in time or pray that it passes. I went with the latter. The back of my throat screams "no" to the burn it feels every time my body wretches out dry heaves. I can feel my eyes roll back in their sockets when a wall of pressure attacks my mind. I sometimes wonder what triggers this. Was it the cookie dough, the ignorance, the corn dogs? My nose is whispering corn dogs, but all it "nose" is peach. Hahaha. Another one of my self-flogging failures- humor. Oh, I crack one here or there. But they really aren't that great. You laugh and say, "oh, about time you had a good one" but they aren't any good. Maybe I try too hard without realizing it. And that could possibly apply to all of my life. I've tried to slip into the background. It hasn't really worked. I realized a while ago that the spotlight isn't the best place to be. I've tried to hide some pain behind a smile. Thats just a quick fix. Behind closed doors the mask comes off. I've alway hoped that there was someone that would help me take it off. Now I'm not so sure there is. I mean, I take it off because it should feel good. No one likes to breath the same air. You run out of oxygen that way. And your face gets hot. So it feel good to take it off. But then you realize why its on. Its on so that you aren't reminded of things you forgot. Or things you don't remember. Or even of who you are. I used to think that once someone helped me take it off, they would like the face under the veil. But now I'm not so sure. I'm scared that they'll see something they didn't expect. I am scared they won't know I wear one. I'm scared that I'll become a part of me. The masks leaves you without air, without light, and in the end: empty.

When you wear a mask, you can't feel the breeze.

Meaning of Life, on paper

I Don't Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist by Norman Geisler and Frank Turek
(great book so far, its a lot better and deeper than other similar books)