On Being Lost or Errant, Whatever Sounds Better

despite my veneer of "i don't give a fuck!",
i'm actually a type A personality.
i just threw up my hands and legs,
got drunk and dunked in artificial
bodies of water and laid prone to stare at stars at night.
i have lived next to graveyards.
at some point
in middle school and high school my plans were fucked with
and therefore my self discipline/self assuredness
in certain things disappeared.

if my mother and father would have invested some time
in raising me, i don't think i'd be so fucked up.
however they are not to blame, it's mostly me. at some
point in middle school i lost God too and now the
higher power is teaching me quite a lesson for
my infidelity/blasphemy.

and now i'm lost in my life.
will be graduated after this semester and have
no idea who to become. guess i can only be me,
but my current self is not doing so hot in the
"making enough money to be comfortable" dept.
working sixty plus hrs and making jack squat
for the rest of my life is in no way appealing.

here are the things that i want in life:

1. Time for myself
2. Time for family
3. Time for friends
4. Time for traveling

The other night my friends and i played a game
called, "Let's Pick Mirina's Future Out of a Hat"
and the most viable careers were:

High School English Teacher
Journalist
Journalist
"Dear Mirina" columnist
Personal Stylist
Megatron

Megatron would be an awesome thing to become,
cause Megatron is big and awesome and a good guy
but i don't know how much Megatron eats or sleeps
or if he even has a family. Plus if i devote
my life to becoming Megatron, i'd have to spend
light years doing interstellar traveling, leaving
me no time to have family/friends. and i am not a robot

my problem is finding the motivation or mojo
to put myself out there. i'm a shy recluse or like
one funny ass bitch said once, " the artist recluse".
however as stated before, i don't feel like being
a big ass loser for the rest of my life. do you know
how long that is? i'm pissed off cause i should have
been dead a long time ago, but nothing
ever goes to plan. and here i am
in some strange purgatory- esque existence.
i can't understand the purpose, greater lesson this pain
is to teach me. maybe my head was getting to big,
maybe i did something heinous in a past/present/future life
or maybe none of this matters or makes sense at all.

On Pain

The last time was at St. Francis (for myself)in
2008 for an exploded ovarian cyst. At the time of rupture,
sitting on a toilet of course, i thought it was the
beginning of my monthly cramps. A few moments later it
was obvious this pain was something different.
As i shuffled out the bathroom with this intense pain,
constantly throbbing, slowly curling me into an upright
fetal position or as i would like to call it-- the grandma
with osteoarthritis- i told my bf to take me to the ER.
Normally he'd be skeptical and annoyed but this time the
"i'm not fucking around" look on my face made him move
pretty quickly.

so i get to the ER and i have to fill out a bunch of paperwork
which sucks but i'm admitted almost immediately because the look
on my face said "i'm not fucking around". A pasty ass face,
dilated eyes and cold sweating cannot be faked. Almost
immediately my nurse asks me, "are you pregnant?" Answer "No."
"Are you sure you're not pregnant?" Emphatically, " No!"
Nurse: We'll take a pregnancy test anyway, I'm going to need
a urine sample." Wait, my head is starting to hurt
"We're gonna take a urine sample?"
She'd better be holding my hand.

So after an hour and a half and my urine sample indeed corroborates
my story that i am not in fact not pregnant, the next line of
query is "Have you been doing any drugs?" Answer, emphatically "NO!"
"Please, we need to know if you've taken anything...blah blah blah"
This is really starting to annoy me. This line of questioning
stops once my blood work comes in an hour later and it's obvious
that i'm just in a lot of pain, something that's causing my
white blood cells to be sky high.

Then comes the 20K question, "How much pain are you in?"
Answer, "UhaA lot of pain?"
Apparently i was to use my non- existent elocution abilities to
describe the pain or perhaps i was to lose a bit of
control and cry like a girl to explain this pain. i could do neither.
So then we played the number game, "On a scale of 1-10, 1 being the least
and 10 being the worst, how much pain are you in?"
Answer, " It's an eight". This number of course means nothing
to my nurse who's probably seen people with broken limbs come in
and say their pain is a five.

My invisible wounds cannot be quantified-- so much for empathy.

Solution: A liter of yellow dye that tastes like lemonade,
four MRI scans that show an explosion by the left ovary,
and lots of painkillers.

So i come to the point of this long ass blog and embarrassing
story to say that i fucking hate being in pain.
Pain is acute, sharp, blunt, dull, stupefying, blinding but mostly
isolating. There are no meters or stress tests to show
how much pain a person is in. Despite the cliché "I feel your pain"
we cannot feel each other's pain. Some people cannot even
begin to fathom or consider another person's feelings much
less "their pain". Platitudes are especially annoying when
one is in pain, "You'll get through this. We've all gone through
it. I know how you're feeling." There's nothing like
physical or mental pain to make you realize how truly lonely you are.

Mana

i ka olelo no ke ola
i ka olelo no ke make

in words there is life,
in words there is death.

once i asked you in a drunken stupor if you had great mana.
you paused as if you didn't know how to answer my question
and then you answered, "Yes, i could say i have a lot of mana."
this was one of many lies you gave life to.

bernadette mayer spoof

Whole Lotta Crap

I am sleeping ~~~
Awake!
There are cashiers ringing,
Supervisors singing or squealing
My hands are blurring lines of flour on countertops
And counting bills, making change and bagging
Things I will touch once or twice but will be eaten,
Like the Pink/ Green Tipped- Dragon fruit that became the Emperor and Empress of Japan’s Breakfast, or the yellow soft brie that will be
Eaten their lunch. No Panic, Go Organic!
Next to me is the best/worst coworker,
She/He likes to ring things real slowly,
Always making long conversations and ringing and packing
really slowly,
If only, She or He would ring a little bit faster,
I would be less stressed out when I come home to my Mom, my Dad and my two sisters, friends, barbecues and ice creams…. Yummy Tahitian Vanilla, SHIT!
You are now staring at me,
I’m very sorry,
I forgot to push that little button, and now there is a line,
That forms and winds all along the isles,
You, Sir or Ma’am I am very sorry, I did not take your change
Or credit card, and I blanked out in the middle
Of The Transaction, You asked me a question
Like “How are you” like you cared about my well being,
And I stared at you
stupid,
Like “I hate small talk” and “You’re being way too personal”
I glare at you,
Like “I hate going through these motions”.
Sometimes In these situations,
I wonder if I have Aspergers or some other kinda disorder,
I really dislike, FUCK! I hate looking people in the eye,
It makes me uncomfortable and gives me the willies,
Like Banjo Pluckin, Swamp Rat- Hillbillies, and now
You are ANGRY because
I’ve been smiling but not paying attention,
Like I should be licking your face while I ring up your groceries and be your surrogate
Mother, who came with you free but unwilling.
Would you like to sample some chocolate?
Too many words, and not enough substance is being
exchanged here
Money is really dirty,
My God, is it really only three thirty? I get off of work in only twelve hours. People here are afraid of Canola and Corn,
They think it will give them cancer,
They do not like when their fruits touch the register belt, but they
Pay in cashes EBT checks in Express there’s nothing
Express about the elderly.
Would you like to purchase a reusable plastic bag
to forget in your car home trunk backseat other car?
You ask “How do they treat you here?”
I say “Very well Sir or Maam.” We’re all about team member empowerment here.

April was Oppressive

there's a student housing facility adjacent to my place
with really rowdy college knumbskulls and titas.
the sprinklers are always on, making me feel
liberal guilt for gallons and gallons of water wasted.
six a.m. shoes get wet,
ten a.m shoes get wet. when do my shoes not get wet?

i want to call somebody sometimes to
tell him that somewhere a whale is missing his
swimming pool. i saw the cutest thing last night on my way home.
the usual Nic ticks were not sitting on benches smoking cheap cigs
at the student housing facility.

behind the limey foliage, were a boy and a girl. they smelled like
freshmen: thin, fresh faced, smiling. boy was teaching girl to skateboard.
it was almost surreal. the air was super chilly,
they were back lit by harsh lighting and they were laughing
really softly. lots of smiles, including mine.

Sometimes i Procrastinate

Definition Poem that was due for P. Schultz a month ago.

Home as Defined by a Nerd+ the American Heritage Dictionary

Home (hōm) n.
The Milky Way Galaxy,
Just the right spot, the sweet spot,
Home: Planet Earth, the Pacific Ocean, Hawaiian Islands, Oahu—
the gathering place.
Home is in my head, so I’m home no matter where I am.
I felt at home in NY, all the crabby cabbies and cops.
I felt at home in San Diego, gaslamps and comic cons.
I felt at home in LA, little Asiantowns and hobos,
Everywhere Golden Retrievers and mini marts.

1. Honolulu, HI
2. Varsity Ave.
3. Coolidge St.
4a. Glazers as a Sanctuary
4b. Seoul, my heart and soul, Queen of Hearts, My Mother Tongue Tied Motherland.

A Home can be where someone is cared for.
I made a home for my sisters,
my mother, my father can repose.
A place to return to, I would cook for you.
For Me a bed,
lazy sofa or tub tile floor lying.
The year I moved out was the year I surrendered and decided to thrive.
And now, I too am alive in my own place, my own space, my home.

hw assignments to face humanity

Da Numbah One

Some sit, Some stand while waiting for the #1
Across Kahala Mall,
two boys make a mad run for it, weaving in and
out of traffic. i learned long time ago
never run for it, it's not worth it. Monster Beats
on my headset blaring, Geto Boys, "Damn it Feels to be a Gangsta"
i see Fasi's Limo, but i don't run, "Cuz real gangsta ass niggaz don't run for shit,
Cuz real gangsta ass niggaz can't run fast."

TheBus pulls up and picks us up.
TheBus is half full not half empty (Not for Long).
We sit, Some chat, some contemplate, i reflect,
loose my space. My eyes wander to ads spotty,
City Bus placards MIA (i remember stealing in my youth)

THIS IS A PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT: THIS AD WILL NOT STOP CRACK USE,
WIFE ABUSE, ABORTION OR SMOKING--
THAT IS ALL, RETURN TO YOUR PATHETIC LIVES PEONS.

My eyes move down to scarred windows,
Large and Rustycrusty Roaches, crawl, critter.
Mucus, Food, Gum Wrapper, Gum, litter, in this vehicle we are
all headed in the same general direction.

i see mouths move but can't hear a sound.

Thank You, Noise Cancellation Headphones.
i choose the music and pollution, the soundtrack to this scene.
Besides, strangers are best seen and not heard, especially adults,
interrupting my desire to be alone.
Long is Waialae. TheBus is full by Tamura's and the bodies hum.
Chitchat cell phones texting Clockstars and College kids in repose,
We're resting against plastic,
scarred windows, Sacred Hearts McDonald's and St. Louis Cigarettes
Litter the street. Two Public Storage Wastelands,
Welcome to Your Future Home, on top of King,
a Humane Society,

theBus in decline, hug the curve of him--
Get off on King and University. Walk up to Glazers.