Gagillioned

Gagillion. That’s how much I have on my mind today. Or is it gazillion? Gazillion is the actual word. Maybe quadrillion. A thousand trillions. Or it’s just gagillion: like I want it to be. A word to describe a number that exdeeds normal description and has no known origin because it’s not a word. It’s more like a feeling. An action? I am gagillioned today. Exceeding normal descriptions.

There are people that groom? Maybe groom is the wrong word. Why does it mean the opposite of bride and also to manicure? They are completely different. Anyway they maintain themselves to the point of injecting things into their bodies to make them fuller. Less wrinkled. Bigger. Less aged. Give them pouty lips forever. Intentionally use needles for no good medical reason. This is just something I didn’t know actually happens with real people who aren’t celebrity people. Who are real people even though they play other people, but they maybe are not nearly as real, full of injected things to make them less real but more full. So they can be other people. Pretend people. Less aged and more anti aged. Just not them. But real.

I know a lot of things but there are a lot of things I don’t know. I would surprise you with what I do know and what I don’t know. I would surprise you just no matter what. I may not like surprises but I love to surprise. How can you know so much about trees but not know about injecting products into lips to make them have a permanent pout? Again, some people know some things and some don’t. I know what I know and I don’t know what I don’t know.

So now I’m worried I’m too wrinkled and have some simply just average not kissable non pouty lips. I can’t pout. It’s not just a motion with a mouth it’s a behavior with the mind and body. I can stomp a foot and demand my way like a child not getting my way but I don’t pout. It isn’t becoming of me. Neither is stomping a foot like a child but when I want straight plant rows I want straight plant rows. We want what we want when we want it. I’m just not going to pout if it doesn’t happen. I don’t have pouty lips. Just average ones.

I can’t even move my face and my average lips right now. I bought 6 anti-aging masks. I put on two. Two has to better than one. 6 is even more or at least 3 days of 2 is better than one. It says it will reduce the appearance of fine lines. I have more like hard lines. Real deep canyons from years of squinting in the sun, wind, rain, snow.

Why does this happen? Why does weather cause wrinkles? Why do they stress does? Why do we have to get wrinkles anyway? Can’t we evolve again into something way cooler than what we are? Or are we evolving right now and we won’t know until a million years from now. Meaning I won’t know. Im not evolving I am aging. I have allowed years of dirt and grime to fill these canyons and never thought once about needing to reduce their appearance or even clean them good. Until now. Because I thought of pouty lips which lead me to think of less wrinkles which lead me to think of just anyone but me.

It won’t work. I wasted 6 dollars, time and thought and made a huge mess to try and reduce fine lines. I have done nothing but fill the canyons with a weird honey crud that is going to do nothing to them other than fill them with more crud and I will have to work harder to clean them out. I’m overly concerned with my looks all of a sudden. I feel like I never tried or made an effort to dress nice or look nice and even clean. I once was asked out and left from work. Covered in paint, dirt and marker. I was told to at least change my clothes but I didn’t have time. I didn’t see this man again. I was not surprised. I made sure I wouldn’t be.

I am who I am? Right? I can clean up but I am always going to end up not cleaned up. So why bother. Because I like him? Is that a thing? Do we dress up for our men? When I dress up I do it for me. Which is why I don’t for him. I don’t need me to be dressed up since I know I will end up not dressed up. Mess finds me and me it. I’m usually a dressed up mess and dressed up I will become a mess.

I opened my jaw really wide and cracked my mask. I can’t move my really simple average not full lips to drink my half glass of wine and am certain I will have reduced my fine lines to nothing more than the fine lines that they already were. Fine lines waiting for more gagillioned years of squinting to make them less fine. Fine lines are just fine.

I cried over a dead caterpillar for too long. I took it really hard. I was really likely crying to cry. It wasn’t about the caterpillar. I moved a beautiful caterpillar to a place I thought was better than where he somehow ended up. I intervened in the natural yet also unnatural process. He didn’t belong anywhere where he was. Now he is dead. I am afraid he ate the plant I put him on and it poisoned him. It was a tropical banana. Google won’t tell me if this is true no matter how long I looked. It tells me bananas aren’t poisonous. It tells me to keep googling and looking but never once tells me to quite getting involved. Never tells me to quit googling what happens when we try to control the world. I finally told myself to let go and let the natural order of the world happen. Don’t intervene.

What if I had started my anti aging masks at like 11? Why would I? Why would we even teach our kids that’s something to do? If I start anti aging now it’s too late. I am not 11. What is anti-aging? Why is this a thing and a hyphenated word. Anti means opposed. Aging means we are not as young as we once were. So why are we opposed to aging? Why am I all of a sudden? Is it his age? To me it’s not. Maybe I’m worried or is to him, I’m worried a gagillion it is.

Im about to get personal. I mean real personal. I cut my hair. Not on my head. Below my head. Not my beard since I don’t have one. I just have hard canyon like lines full of honey anti aging cream and still fine lines. Farther south, down. Not belly hair. Although I still don’t know why some people have belly hair and others don’t. Also why some people are fat that try so hard not to be. Genetics? Really? That’s our answer? So below the belly is less hairy. I panicked this was also something to do. Man scaping is a thing. Not a word but a thing. They sell tools and rules and videos and commercials about it. So is woman scaping? Or are we just grooming? Why are we grooming? Can we also briding? That’s not a word but grooming is? What is all this hair in the way of? Does it really make swimmers swim faster? Are people just weighed down with hair?

It’s going to look weird to me. But I’m curious. I did it once. A lady waxed me. All of it. I didn’t prepare for it to be such a painful experience. For what? I was curious if I would swim faster. I had no one to impress. Which is this a thing? We impress others with a painstaking process of hair removal in a place that actually is supposed to so we don’t get things down there. It’s there to protect us. So why did I remove it? I remember when my ex did. Or when I noticed he started to. I questioned it. Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t care I was curious. Then later when more truths surfaced he tells me that she liked it. That was it. I was crushed. I never said I didn’t like it I just knew deep down it had nothing to do with me and him.

So I have now written two paragraphs, (I don’t know that paragraph is even right. I use no format and follow no rules about writing, correct grammar and sometimes spelling except I don’t like seeing the red lines) about down there hair removal. It’s a thing. It’s a thing we do for no reason, for some reasons and also the wrong ones. I’m doing it for my reasons. I want to know if when I’m done I feel like it was all about me. And maybe I will swim super fast. But I don’t want to swim fast. I want to swim period. I have to download an app, open an account and remember a password and then make an appointment to swim. Even though for years I am usually the only one who swims at this place. I miss the methodical moves and the bubbles and counting tile. It’s the one place I feel not calm but I feel like I’m swimming and not thinking of not swimming. When my mind is too leaky I like to take it to the water and let it overflow there and fill back up with something like how many tile or how many bubbles or just how many strokes to the end. Anything but the leaky brain thoughts I am over full of.

What are we all doing? For someone else? I did it out of fear. Best reason ever to do anything. I’m afraid, so I did it. It’s just a step. I want it all gone. Just not yet. I cut skin. I used dangerous scissors and don’t cut places on me ever and I cut an entire chunk of skin. I bleed for an hour. Cried a small tear. Sucked it up and pushed through my fear to be someone I am not. So I can be someone I am not to see if it’s someone I want to be and can be but not be for someone else. No way to know unless I try. Even if I’m afraid. I’m just going to be someone else afraid. A real afraid groomed not bride.

I woke to a man laying sideways on me. On. He slept like a toddler having bad dreams. I tried to comfort him. It was not like comforting a toddler. It was like comforting a bomb, or a tornado. How can you calm a storm? You can’t. You ride it out. Watch it. Take a little cover from it. I had to duck twice from something startling him. Maybe it was me? But being there after the storm? Is that what matters? I want him to know that not everyone that touches him is someone who he thinks shouldn’t be. So I keep looking for places and ways that won’t.

I don’t have any specific doubts of my looks and worth. Is this something you do for someone or for your self? Is it the same? My face feels really dry. I took all the years of things off in one face masking times 2. I removed necessary moisture hidden in the canyons of years of work and life. They probably look more there. I’m not going to look. I don’t look at me. I see me and not what people say they see. Now I will see someone who tries to be not me. The real someone.

The South Pacific is full of people. How did they even get there? There are islands there and I can’t figure out how it is habitated like it is. Who was the first person on that island? It would have had to have been more than one. To make more than one. Full of people who wear Nike clothes and fish using octopus as bait for fish and then bite their heads off. Can you imagine teaching your child this? Can just imagine doing this? How did they know to use octopus legs? Do they bite them off too? Can’t they make a tool or send for one when there Nike clothes come?

I woke to being told good morning beautiful girl. Did he mean to say it? He said things all night long in his sleep. I listened. He meant it. I believe it so it must be true. Their are giant crabs on these islands that eat coconuts. They are the only animal or creature that can naturally open one. They claw at it and remove its husk to expose lots of protein which crabs need apparently. It takes them hours. Coconut crabs. I wonder if they taste like coconut like how shrimp does when we coat it with coconut?

There are a gagillion other things there. In this South Pacific. How did I not know about this place? And about lip filling and about wrinkles and grooming. The world is full. Maybe too full.

People also use the dead to have them tattooed into them. The dead people ashes. So do they also have the dead injected into fuller lips and places? What else can we use the dead for besides being dead? I don’t picture wanting to take my dad all burnt up and into a dust and doing any such things or any such thing with him. I don’t even want him mailed to us. I don’t want him to come back at all in any pieces. I don’t want to see the container holding what used to be the man who held me for the first time.

I dated a guy who lost his wife to cancer and the first date I am taken back to his place and his wife is there. In a little container surrounded by dead and dried up flowers from the service still. I struggled not to pick up flower petals and clean the area up. Put her away. She is in there in a gazillion dust particles waiting for what? The dead don’t wait for anything? We just keep them in containers until we are done waiting for something .

He then tells me after three dates I can keep clothes there in a drawer and opens one up containing still his dead wife’s clothes. He says he wants to spend every minute with me, every weekend. I couldn’t breath and saw all my backpack trips go away. He isn’t someone I would want to take and until a someone finally came, which they did, I didn’t want an anyone.

I panicked and left, never saw him again. I didn’t talk to him for a few days and he text me to say since he didn’t hear from me for a few days he figured I didn’t like him. I did. I just wanted him to text me and ask where I went. Maybe call. Maybe try. Ask If I was ok. Not take all my time. Not want me so much. I wanted to know what was wrong with him that he needed me so much. Just me only. I wanted to know why he his wife was still there. He needed more people than me and I can just be one. Just one real person. I just couldn’t be around the gazillion pieces of her still there. She wasn’t real anymore.

Thé gagillioned feeling is less after a day of work but now I have a dry face, less skin in my space that dangerous scissors aren’t supposed to be and I want to go to the South Pacific to see penguins and these crabs that contain the power to open coconut. To ask the fish head biting off people how they get there name brand clothes and the money for them. And why they don’t use knives instead of their teeth? Do they have dentists? Do they have domestic cats or are they wild cats if they live somewhere so wild that we bite heads off of fish? Or are they domestic if they are just that? Domestic. It is their home. Do they love nike clothes? There “just do it”motto means something totally different in the South Pacific than it does to me. I just do it to run and they just do it to bite fish heads so they can feed their brides and kids and maybe cats.

I need less zillions of things going on in my head when I should be asleep but was awake with a man who was asleep with a gagillion things in his head too. But then I would have nothing going on if I had less zillions going on. I would be what? Who? Not less wrinkled or any younger. I am anti what? What is opposite of aging? I am anti anti aging. I am young. Because I’m not as old as I could be yet. I am younger than anyone older and older than anyone younger who wishes they were older but once they are will be anti aging. or anti anti aging. Just aging.

I am so exhausted not knowing so much and knowing too much but not quite enough. I’ve never felt so tired. I can’t describe it. Other than a made up word of gagillioned. Too much to describe. Exceeding normal description. But not a real word. I will stay a real person. Full of just me. No one else. Not always groomed or brided or maintained?. Not dressed up. Sometimes a little messed up. Sometimes a little dressed up. But really me.