Untitled.

I always figured my story was best told backwards, the problem is I can't tell were to start and were to stop. I could dramatize it. I could be a only child, abused from birth, maternal mother killed by my father. I could live on the streets, beg, prostitute myself. Hell, if I'm feeling particularly frisky I could be a wereleopard entranced in forbidden love by a vampire. I'd be a best seller, fo' cereal.

The problem being, I'm none of the above.

I was born a semi-boring little girl, lived in a semi-boring suburbia with my semi-boring father, he drove a semi-boring car, worked a semi-boring job. I guess the best starting point would be to psycho-analysis my mother, maybe go into depth about her semi-boring divorce with my semi-boring father. She left him for another woman, you know. I can't really blame her for escaping the semi-boringness of it all.

She isn't my story though. She isn't the reason. “Hey, no hard feelings love.”

Right mom, remember that?

By the way, that never happened. The whole 'hey, no hard feelings' thing, but I imagine that if she was on speaking terms with me, that would be what she would say.

Anyway, that is past. Fast forward in time with me a bit. I guess I'm not a semi-boring little girl anymore, at least, thats what my doctor tells me to tell myself when I get in my 'moods'. I'm a 21 year old high school drop-out with no future and no present, trying to look back on the past to see what the hell I did with my life.

I live with my mother now (see, no abandonment issues) and her Life Partner and their adopted son from some country I couldn't find on a well marked map. She never really expected her daughter to live with her, so the room I'm residing in is the cramped computer room, which I figure is putting a serious damper on their son's porn life.

By the way, just to clean up the air, he isn't my brother. Not blood, not mine.

I've just moved in about 2 months before and yeah, I haven't lived at home with a parent since I skipped out on my dad when I was 15, so I guess you can say this is kinda stressful for everyone. Maybe he is the one with abandonment issue? I don't know. I don't talk to the dillweed.

You're probably wondering why I've moved in with my mother after going 6 years, flying solo. I guess thats were my story gets confusing, its sorta the whole reason I've sat in my mom's computer room turned temporary bedroom for the past 2 months. This is the point were, in a session with my doctor, I choke up, get clammy, turn my motor off. I mean, you don't survive 6 years without parental advisory by spewing out your emotions and dwelling on them.

I'm guess I'm what you call a hermit or recluse. It's driving my mom's partner crazy, that's for sure. I usual hear her, in her annoyingly bass toned voice, pretending to whisper, chewing my mother out for letting me sit in the damn room and fill her damn house up with cigarette smoke, only coming out to piss, see the good old doc', and to make a quick run down to the drugstore to pick up Pabst or Heineken. Sometimes both, once again, if I'm feeling frisky.

Sometimes I imagine my mother taking a theatrical gasp with her hand to her chest, then winding back for a good old bitch slap across the pie hole. Of course, the crack never comes, and the gasp is never heard. My mother I guess got all her theatrics out of her when she left my dad, so all she says, in the same trying-to-whisper-but-not-really voice, “Just give her some time, Martha.” She always attaches names to the end of sentences in her way of jabbing one to the gut.

Yeah, I don't understand it either. I'd just hit a bitch.

I can't help it though, between being drunk and sleeping, I just don't have the time to do the pretty little things like socializing and cooking and knitting by the fire. I'd probably be more tempted to jump into the fire.

You see what I mean, no were to begin. No were to end. Honestly, my body is shutting down. My mind has been long gone but my body is failing me. I guess it saddens me, I mean, who isn't sad when they know they are dying. Am I afraid? Nahh, I've been bored for so long, it just always seemed like the next step. Maybe this is my panic mode. Maybe some people panic silently, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes until their throats are course and raw and their breath taste like curdled milk. I guess I'm self-searching for some answers, replaying events until they become jumbled and skewed and my mind doesn't know which is rewind and which is fast forward. This could just be the beer talking.

I'm pretty sure someone is beating on the door right now. The door that marks me as a recluse, as a hermit, as a drunk. I'm not quite sure whats happening anymore. See, I've gotten to the point were I sometimes imagine things that aren't there...so I don't answer. I never answer, always lie, just tell them “No ones home.” Because really, who is their right mind is?

I don't have a clock in here within sight from my lethargic position on the mattress so I couldn't tell you what time it is, or when I fell asleep, but I am awaken, because my body jumps and my anger rises when I hear their son yelling. “She is doing it again! MOM! She is doing it again, make her stop!”

Of course the little brat has broken the silence in the house (or maybe it was my head) and there are feet running and Martha's unwanted commenting. It a big to do about nothing. I'd imagine that a preening bird feels this way sometimes, rushed and confused, I've never really understood it. Where do the bird go after the clean their feathers? I once had a bird, back, I don't remember when, who I guess felt rushed and unclean all the time and simply preened all day until my dad got concerned and took her to the vet because she had plucked a bald spot. They never figured what it was and soon she plucked all her feathers out. Just preening and preening...all dressed up and no where to go right?

She died too.

I stretched myself out on the bed, like the bird did in the bottom of her cage. I guess this is my metaphorical plucking of my feathers, always feeling rushed, lethargic, and cracked out, so I just pluck my feathers out.

A/N: This is just an idea thats been bouncing around in my head for over a year, but I honestly need some feedback. I've re-written it about 6 or 7 different times and can't seem to get it to covey itself like I want it to. I'm also vaguely ADD and dyslexic so sometimes my sentences don't make sense so any suggestions, ideas, or offer for beta-reading would be great, or if you just have a simple "OMG, next chapter, PLZZZ" that would be mega-sweet. :D