Grazed Knees

I'm really too tired to be doing this right now, but when has that stopped me?

As you can see there's a new feel to my blog, there are a few reasons behind this: I'm about to have a change in my life, i thought it appropriate, I was bored with the old look, and I'm finally getting a hang of this blogger in beta thing.

El Veneno mentioned in his comment that I've changed the title to my blog quite a bit, I left it last night as, "This dance is mine," referring to a line in Ani DiFranco's song, Jukebox, which is one of my favorites. Although, I assumed most people wouldnt catch that I decided to change it to something a little more self explanitory, hence Attemptingthepath.

I woke up today feeling numb, I slept sufficiently but I was still tired inside. I got through the day--went to my nieces gymnastics performance, which was adorable. I hate to say it, but I like her more than my other nieces and nephews. I think it's because she seems out of place in her family, much like me.

After her little performance my parents stopped by to get gas for my mom's car. The pump next to us was occupied by our next door neighbor, who happens to also be my uncle. My dad was out pumping the gas, and my uncle got out, my dad is overweight, but my uncle can't wear normal pants he's so large. I couldn't say anything to my mom except, "Are you sure you didn't sleep with someone... how can I be related to them?"

Large people scare me.

My mom quickly changed the conversation over to the fact that my grandma has abandoned shopping at Wal-Mart because they apparently push the gay-agenda. This little tidbit of information really irked me. Mostly because i have a general disdain for the woman who raised my mom. There are a lot of things about her that make me really angry, she's a manipulative life ruiner. I'll share two examples, mostly because I want to vent....wait, make that three.

1. When my brother knocked up his girlfriend, my grandmother wrote a 6 page letter with scriptural references on all the commandments they had broken, and why God was angry with them.
2. WHen i was four, she took me to an anti-abortion rally in Salt Lake. There's actually a picture of me in Time Magazine holding a sign. But 25 years earlier she did everything in her power to try to miscarry three of her children--I wish I could compartmentalize my beliefs as well as she did. To this day she justifies her attempts, saying she didn't feel like she was in the wrong. I. don't. freaking. get. it.
3. And the worst offense of all, she cannot make chocolate chip cookies for the life of her. They're dreadful. They're so bad that I think she isn't a real grandma, that she's some sort space alien, or robot.

I got home, grabbed some nasty pizza, and started talking to Samantha. She asked something along the lines of, "What is it you want?" My gut reaction was terrifying, "to not exist"

I've never let that out before. I'm scared, I'm tired, and I don't want to do this anymore. There's a lot of conflict going on inside of me right now I don't even want to think about.

I texted a friend from the Queerosphere who asked about my day, (this is an edited version, since my text messages rarely make sense. "I'm beginning to realize that I'm not as hapy as I tell myself."

Honesty, and bringing down walls. I think I'm getting better at it.