when does it become appropriate to tell a whole group of people you thought you knew to just fuck off, seriously?

aw, while numbness sets in and i twirl my dances alone, it seems everyone wants to replace my grass fields with stages highlighted by obnoxious, tungsten theatre lights, reflective black floors

point at me and laugh, cry, put hand to mouth and force a thought bubble

oh, gee, it’s so romantic, it’s so interesting, she’s so “awesome”

what the hell?  when did people stop being people and when did stereotypes replace understanding anyway?  when did televised attention format reality?

i hate being put in their “understandable” boxes, conveniently tucked away when questioned, too immature to learn and too arrogant to swallow …

warning: similar rants like these to follow until my ego is justly sated for having been burned so badly and so easily …

i give my mother’s wit some credit for once: “Emotions, thoughts, feelings? You can just hang those with your coats.  yes, don’t you get it? we’re all aloof here.”
 and my father with his narled work hands and knowing laugh, swinging back in his chair and pipe and whistle, “i told you so.”

it’s all right.  at the very least, i think i respect and trust both my parents now, and that has been two decades in the making.

i was reminded of my ground.  i spoke to my dear jackie, who grounds me in her sharp way with words, unsolicited truisms from the mouth of one easily dismissed by society: a two time teenage mother with a live-in boyfriend, two time felon.  neither of them deserve the labels, but this is how they are known.  she is 19, and i learn more from her than any school book thrown carelessly open to some random bullshit.
 i understand: my mother is still a child at 45 and my father is still a marked man for pot growing.  my brother’s a talented angry teenage boy trapped in a man’s body and by the borders of a small town, family dysfunction, and cowardly confusions of justifying why his sister can talk to his dad while he cannot. me, well, let’s just say my mind never once gives me rest, ever, and my feet follow this and only this.  we all have our run-ins with American hypocrasy.  those that cannot quite accept what is given, or were never allowed to rest, even as children.

i am beginning to think silver spoons feed decay.
jackie agrees, when i pointed to the chair and said, “why must we constantly be concerned with having something to show for the work we do in these objects? a chair is useful, you sit in it. that’s it.  it’s not who you are, it’s not a measuring stick. everyone’s so concerned with one-upping everyone else. it’s all meaningless. i’d rather make my own chair, dammit.”