youbwere just like... listeningtongospel music so lous that you didnt jhear itr.
IT beignge... these kind of turths you have to understand.
"I CAN'T BELEIEVE THAT HAPPENED" YOU tell; youreself... but you ar4 not sur[prised.
OK.
So an earlier transcript, from1992 read:L "they still havent come to take me home. I just turned 11. I don't understqnd what II am supposed to be doung yet. I just wish that someone would understand me, or they will at least take me home to where I belong. This circular planet is so strange from the one I had known... and I am just not ready for this mission."
But... ok.. they never came. I graduated the 6th grade and I watxhed the sky.
Someone bought me a telescope that year, but it did't help me understand myself at all/ My brother was really good at using it.
I guess I knew that I wasn't seeng what I had hoped.
You just get older.. and older... and older... and it seems like it might make more sense, but really... you are only adapting to the nonsense.
I love myself, the way I was, when I was 4. When I was 6, When I was 8. When I was 9.
I've lost my way. We've all lost our way.
There is no way,
Remember how we thoughtb our grandfather was communicating with space, from his little room in the basement, long after he'd retired from NASA? I thought I was meant for that. I touched his plaque for "x years at NASA" and I thougt that it had an energy that would pass onto me, and that he would explain things to me that would help me become a egnius too, and a jeopardy winner, and an olympic swimmer, and maybe something like a Cross,b but even better.
But then I started watching ther sky. I had this little clasped purse of plastixc beads. I said that they were jewels in my home planet. I never told anyone at all. I wrote diplomatic letters about how wqe don't favor war, and our languar==-age is like sylabbles compared to english and spanish.
No oe has learned my language yet.
I'm so sorry.
I;m so sorry that you just can't figure out the basucs.
I have some old home movies of myself (and Angie) when I was around 6 or 7. Just about every time the camera is on me I'm flipping around wildly, singing some bizarre made up song, flailing my body parts in a dramatic semi-seizure, talking a bunch of nonsense, and usually pleading with the camera-person (my father in most cases) to PLEASE keep the camera on ME.
In one particular scene, outside of my uncle's apartment complex, the camera is focused on the buildings and parking lot but you can hear me screaming in the background "I AM GONNA DO SOMETHING!!! I AM GONNA DO...SOMETHING! I'm going to do something!!!! PLEASE LOOK AT ME I'M GONNA DOOO SOMETTTTHING!!"
Despite the fact that these videos are from nearly 20 years ago I have realized and I guess always known that I am not that much different. Perhaps there is more eloquence in my demand for attention but to put it simply: I am a big ol' HAM.
This paradoxically clashes with the fact that I'm a very shy person. I sometimes wonder if the whole social anxiety shit didn't get in the way of my affairs and the way I interact with people, if I could do all the things I have inside me to do.
Last night at the annual holiday office party I went up and sang two karaoke songs. I got suckered in to doing "I will survive" with some other girls from the classifieds department. Afterwards me and the guys from team reception did "Don't go breakin' my heart" and I loved every damned second of it.
Ah! I feel like I have split personalities or something. I hate that the shy girls wins. I feel like 7 year old Carla is totally pissed that I let her take over. "Dammit! This is not what I had planned for us!"
I also hate that I have a throbbing headache and have already puked up tequila. Wah. I didn't win the lampshade award for the night but if there was a Diva award I probably should have won that.
(I've been thinking about actually printing these out to put on people's windshields. Would that be a total dick move?)
To the people who park in front of the Starbucks at the Six Corners, usually, it appears, on their way to work:
I wonder what makes you think you're so important that you can't find a parking spot like everyone else? I realize that it's less convenient, but you are not just blocking a major intersection, you are blocking a bus stop. Especially in a neighborhood with ample independent coffee shops, it seems bizarre to hold up traffic for the five or ten minutes it takes you to get your foofy coffee drink at a chain that has a bazillion locations all over the city.
