So, I’ve finally heard from you!!! It’s been awhile, I was wondering when it would happen XD I’m so glad you’re having fun with your family, and that your travel mate (‘mate’ used in the non-significant way) has been keeping you on your feet. Don’t worry, it’ll make your ass look really good ;) Not that it doesn’t already ;) Not that I’ve been looking ;) …saggy ass.
Ah, I know Shades of Gray XD it’s funny that you say my Mom’s friends would read it, my Mom’s ‘best friend’ came over and told me she heard I was reading a porn novel and asked me if it was Shades of Gray. Everyone’s been talking about that one recently. Ah, but the book I’m reading is ‘Lolita’ and it’s just sorta creepy -_-“
As the headline implies, I’ve been disgusted in every way possible the last couple days. Vomit, fat, and ignorance being the main causes of my disgust. So that makes two forms in the most classic sense of disgusting and one in the more deeply-lodged psychological sense. If that makes…sense XD
I should tell your first that I have decided to only drink Mr. Pibb on special occasions. Never again will I have it casually with my breakfast burrito for breakfast.
So, in my last ‘real’ entry where I wrote a lot, I mentioned something about tomorrow being hell because I had to write a paper that was due the next day? Or something? The next day was a Sunday, and I had a paper due on Monday. So, I of course stayed up pretty late on Sunday night to write this paper and then finally finished in the wee hours of the morning, going to bed feeling sick and getting only a few hours of sleep.
Well, the next morning was rough. I was relieved that I finished my paper, but when I woke up I was still feeling nauseous, like, big time. I showered, puked, finished getting ready for school and then went to print out my paper and leave when as I was printing my paper I saw a message saying class was cancelled because the teacher was sick.
Now, I went and puked again, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Through puking a few times and getting back up to continue putting on my make-up where I had left off, I was going to school, and nothing was going to stop me. I felt like crying and I knew it wasn’t just a stress attack after I wasn’t feeling better by the first puke, but I was gonna turn in that paper, or I was going to die trying. Okay, that one was bred into me. (My mother is the type of person who is very unsympathetic to sick people. It isn’t that she won’t care for you if you’re sick, but if you have school, you go whether you have a fever and must where a facemask or not. I’ve probably told you this before). But I’m glad she’s like that, I wasn’t as grateful in elementary school but I don’t miss class in college, at all, ever. Unless it’s my sister’s decision, cuz for some reason she’s waaay lenient about that type of thing.
Anyways, by time time I saw the message, I felt like someone was was taking a fireplace stoker to my insides and I was like GAWD YES and went and tried to sleep. It was around 8:30 when I first vomited, I continued vomiting every hour or so all day till around 2.
From there it was super nice though, comparatively :) not nearly as horrifying as your brother’s (bless his soul) story. Mom made me toast, Cody bought me some sprite on his way over, and Holly stayed a safe distance away, but I got some pretty golden sympathetic words from her, so it was almost worth throwing up 7 times just for that XD
I finally got to sleep uninterrupted after 2, and I slept till 8 and woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a bus. Went back to bed at 11 and went to school the next day feeling alright, turned in my paper and then everything was better XD
Disgusting thing no.2 really reminded me of something you would freak out about—did I tell you about the fat chick in my English class? Well, it’s generally Holly who rages about fat people, moreso than me. But this chick is special. She wears these super tight shirts that look like they’re made of cami material, ya know? Super stretchy and kinda see-through. It’s like she went out and bought ten sets of them in all different colors, same weird distinctive style of shirt, just with a different pattern or color every day. Tight. Very tight. Enunciates the curves in all the wrong ways. She was in Sis and I’s Earth Science class last semester, and I first noticed how distinctive her nastiness was when I realized that she bought a pack of doughnuts every morning and ate all of them right there in her usual seat in the corner of the room.
And then one morning recently I found myself walking behind her on my way to English and realizing that she’s in my class as well. So we get to the door to the LA building where our class is, and she looks at the doors, then swivels her fat toad head to look for the handicapped button that will open the doors automatically. Locating the button, she pushes it, and realizing that it isn’t working, continues pushing, trying to get the doors open. Waiting behind her, I felt a tragic sense of loss for humanity dripping on me from the pissed-off thundercloud over my head. I stepped in front of her, excusing myself, and opened the doors for her. She thanked me and waddled in.
Now, she’s not like the helpless fat type—in my head there are two types of fatties, the round typed (humans with a general circular shape, massive and pitiable), and the type with normal-ish legs and and upper body that is threatening to overflow (or leap out and attack) if you don’t keep an eye on it. It is this type that isn’t even pitiable, just disgusting. Just like, ‘Why don’t you fix yourself? Why don’t you help yourself?’
This young whale is the greater of the two evils, the second one—the type that still has a chance to fix themselves with only a fair amount of effort, but shows no signs of doing so.
I head up the stairs to where our English class is, but when I don’t hear heavy breathing behind me, I wonder why she isn’t headed to English with me. Did she need to use the restroom first, perhaps?
Oh definitely not. I glanced back onto the main floor, and found her standing before a wall, smashing a finger persistently into the poor button beside an elevator.
Stepping into the classroom as she was no doubt just stepping into the elevator, I asked the class how many of them took the elevator up. None of them. In fact, most of them hadn’t realized there was an elevator up. That’s when it hit me—what must have happened. The Whale had used her underwater sonar to detect the elevator’s presence. Whales have this ability, you know. They always have the most uncanny ability to find the elevator. Always.
Which leads me to my reason for not drinking Mr. Pibb for breakfast. This morning in class I was having my Pibb when I glanced over and saw the Whale drinking one. I know, I just know she’s seen me drinking mine in class every day and got all hot and jealous because she thought I’d out-fat her. Ohoho, dude. I was so shocked, so completely turned off that I nearly barfed right there in class. Oh gross, never again. OH GROSS.
I’ve never been so disgusted with a fat person in my life. Not even the Cuckoo.
Ignorance is the third and last disgusting thing I’m going to talk about. Tonight at 10pm, my Mom and I went out to the park to re-release some ferals that we trapped and had fixed.
I’ll back up—On Monday night, Mom and Holly and Jill (my mother’s friend from The Cat People) went out to the park around 9pm and set out six different traps. That was the night I was sick, and I wasn’t able to join them as planned. They waited for two hours, then went back and found that they caught two young females. Mom and Holly took them both home, got up at 6 the next morning to take them in, dropped them at the vet and came home in time for me to get the durango from them to take it to school. We picked them up around four that evening, and I continually slid food and water bowls into their cages for the rest of the night and all the next day to keep them hydrated. They needed to stay in their cages until they were done being sick and were healthy enough to move around, so we couldn’t release them till tonight, Wednesday night.
Mom and I and the two cats went back to the park at 10, hoping there wouldn’t be many people. We took the cats out of the car and put their cages on the ground in the grass so they could smell the outside and get a grip on where they were. We keep a sheet over the cages so that they don’t have to see us tromping around them, scaring them to death. Then we did our usual feeding so that they food would already be set out when we released them. As we were finishing putting down the food, we were approached by two women. One of them approached us, the other went to our cages and pulled the sheets off. I felt like exploding—you ever get so angry that everything in the world speeds up to a million miles per hour and and you feel like your whole body becomes something else? Like your skin is bubbling off of your arms and you pull an Alice in Wonderland and grow bigger than the room you’re standing in? For a minute, that happened. But then, the women in our face started talking.
“Are those cats yours? I just want to say how much I dislike what you’r doing here,” she starts. “I’ve worked here 18 years and I’ve never seen such a cat problem. I work around children. Do you know what kind of disgusting diseases cats carry? You guys are the problem, feeding out here and look what’s happened.”
And then, just like everything sped up, it all slowed way down. And I got really cold inside, and then I knew exactly what I wanted to tell this woman.
My mother began speaking, shaking her head and telling her that we’re with “The Cat People” and we trapped those cats and fixed them, and were re-releasing them.
The woman says, “I come out here and see these bowls and I’m like, ‘What do they think they’re doing?’ I work with children and cats carry disease, and do you think the rats and other animals don’t eat this food, too?”
“This is a park,” I cut in between them. The woman at the cages has turned tail and left. “You don’t think the rats don’t get enough food from the trash and food from humans to begin with? And these cats are feral. They would not get near your kids. Not to mention the cats we catch have been to the vet, are healthy, and are not going to continue having kittens. You say you’ve never seen such a cat problem? You say we shouldn’t be feeding out here? The cats are not here because we leave food out for them. We leave food out for them because they are here. This last winter, we trapped two tame cats out here. Normal housecats people have dumped, not neutered. We fixed them and found them homes. You ask me why the cats are here? That’s why. A few months after that, we trapped 5 more feral cats, fixed them, and even gave them a home at our own house where they will live their lives.” She tried to cut in with some remark, but I continued, “We don’t enjoy doing this. My family spends their own money to get the cats fixed, to give them whatever life they can possibly have. You should be thanking us, because you know what, we absolutely agree with you. Every complaint you have is valid. The population is too big. But you know what, we do something about it.”
I was tall and angry and proud. I hadn’t stuttered or hesitated or gotten flustered like I do in so many crucial situations. This was something I refused to be challenged about, one thing in my life that I know is right no matter what else goes wrong.
The lady quickly became agreeable. She even thanked us for our hard work, as she was trying to back out and leave. I saw her start to walk away without apologizing to my mother I, and I stopped her. I said, “Also, I’m sorry for being rude to you.”
I think I embarrassed her, because I could see she knew she had been the one who had openly begun angrily and rudely attacking us. She apologized and then left.
My mother was flabbergasted the whole way home. She said she couldn’t have done that. She said she was proud of me and couldn’t believe how “eloquently” and “articulately” I had shut that lady off. But I remembered that grueling three-day process, that was painful to our hearts and painful for those poor and no doubt confused feral cats and I felt insulted and most of all disgusted. My mother least of all should have to deal with people’s attitudes and scoffs. My mother has not done a single thing to feel guilty about, to be called ‘crazy’ about. She does what no one else bothers to do and everyone complains about.
I certainly talked big, but I cried out of anger when I got home, about the injustice of this whole fucking thing and for mom and for those cats.
And now here I am, three hours afterwards, feeling like a kid in grade school who gets good grades and gets made fun and called names by all the other kids because she’s doing the right thing. Like how the girl who won’t spread her legs is a prude, and how the one who won’t drink underage is a sober sally, how the smart one is a nerd, how the ones who have the most tender hearts are ‘crazy cat people’.
I don’t understand this world, man.
Goodnight Sunscreen, continue being a part of the world I can understand, and another part that I don’t mind not understanding XD
