Alien

“When you were born, I didn’t know you.  And I told the nurse I didn’t know you, and she laughed and said I was silly, of course I didn’t know you because you were just born. She didn’t understand. I knew both of your sisters. As soon as they were placed into my arms, I knew them. But you. You I didn’t know.”

That has haunted me all of my life.

Why the hell would a mother say something like this to her son, even if it were true?

When I was a kid, I used to pretend that I wasn’t really her son. Maybe I was a changeling, and that’s why she didn’t know me. Or some hospital nurse was switching wrist bracelets on the newborns or something.

But as I got older I saw my uncles and my grandfather in my face. I had their stocky, solid build; even when I was slender, I was, somehow, stocky. I had their nose, their jawline.  So I couldn’t keep questioning my genetic heritage, at least.

I’m a genius, too. I’m not boasting when I say that. It’s just the plain and simple truth. I’ve corrected college professors in class. I never graduated from college; I never had the money to. That doesn’t mean anything, though. All a college diploma means is that you had enough money, enough time, and enough patience to sit there and be force-fed whatever “the man” wants you to think. Then you regurgitate it back in the form of exams, essays, projects, whatever. After you’ve taken the approved number of classes and–more importantly–paid the requisite sum of money, you get that piece of paper that says you’re now somebody. I don’t need that piece of paper to tell me I’m somebody.

I’ve written love poems so beautiful that the recipient told me she wanted them to be buried with her.  I’ve written incredible books that far too few people have read. Someday I’ll get a big publisher, and then people will know who I am.

People tell me I’m lazy. They don’t know anything about me. I work hard. I’ve been a security guard, a supervisor over a team of security guards, a long-distance truck driver, and other things they consider unimportant. What they don’t realize is all those “dead-end jobs,” as they call them, give me time to think. Time to dream. Time to imagine.

Some nights when I’m all alone on the interstate, just me in the cab of my truck and the radio buzzing to let me know there are other people out there somewhere, I look out at the earth. And it’s strange to me. I don’t know it. And I can’t help but wonder if somehow my childhood fantasies of being a changeling have some basis in reality. Hell. Maybe I am an alien. Maybe some alien mother didn’t want her son, so she found some pregnant woman on earth and did some alien mojo and there I was, not fitting in anywhere.

Because I don’t, you know. Fit in, I mean. There’s not a place for me. My family doesn’t want me. They say they love me, but they don’t want me around. And I can understand why, I guess. I just want to write, and they want me to work, too. Money. Everything comes down to money, doesn’t it? Anyway, my sisters went to college and graduated. They’re writers, too. And they have their 8-5 kiss-ass jobs, so I guess they think they’re better than me.  They hate it when I brag all the time. I hate it, too, but it just sort of slips out of my mouth. I know they’ve achieved more by the way the world counts success, and I think I have to show them up or something. And then they give each other these looks that they think I don’t see. I see them, all right, and it hurts.  And my big sister gives me this condescending advice. Okay, she probably doesn’t mean to be condescending, but it comes across that way. Get a steady job. Focus on the writing when you get off at the end of the day.  We’d all love to take a year off and have nothing to do but write, but we’ve got to face reality.  Well, you know what I say to that? Fuck reality.

I’ve tried marriage, and that’s never worked out either. Nothing ever seems to work out for me.  What’s the point in tying yourself down to one woman, if that woman can’t be bothered to tie herself down to you?

This world’s a damned lonely place for an alien like me.

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This is some character work I did, based on how I imagine my brother might be feeling a lot of the time.  Regardless of what he thinks, we do love him. I probably do come off sounding like a condescending ass sometimes. I just want what’s best for him. I guess I have to stop and remind myself that each person has to figure out what’s best.

And Pat, wherever you are, I love you. Happy birthday, bro.

Thank you!

I forgot to mention, in my last post, that Soleil was given a CD by the woman who won the auction for the Big Damn Bag. And Soleil very kindly gave it to me!

Yay!

I put it in my car’s CD player while I was out at lunch today, and lemme tell ya, if I had a voice, I’d have been singing along. The Bedlam Bards are quite entertaining, and this CD is songs and music inspired by Firefly/Serenity. It was a wonderful gift, and I will truly enjoy it.  Merci beaucoup, mon amie!

Oh, and “gorram it!” is now my cussword of choice when I’m getting edged off the freeway or can’t get onto my exit because some turd’s need to exactly pace me is greater, apparently, than any other force in the ‘verse. I’m cool with that. The choice of cussword, I mean, not the other.

Another Bloomin’ Monday!!

Nyquil gives me really funky dreams. I awoke on Friday morning with the hazy consciousness that the person with whom I was having an inappropriately intimate relationship (not sexual . . . at least, not by the time I woke up) was the only one to realize my true ambition: TO BE A FASHION DESIGNER! By the time the dream haze wore off and I had called in sick, I was giggling between coughs at the ridiculousness of that dream. But then as I slept all day Friday, much of Saturday and most of Sunday, I recall being a personal assistant to Miss Betty Buckley and having her run me ragged as we attempted to gather up Dumbledore’s Army so we could help defeat Voldemort once and for all. And Ginny Weasley wasn’t really a Weasley; she was the illegitimate daughter of a maid and a Death-Eater, and was placed in the Weasley family and everyone was given artificial memories (shades of Buffy Season 4, anyone?) to make her think that she’d been a Weasley all along. And then her birth mother was begging her to go with her, and we were all staring at Ginny, wondering what she would do. And she said, eyes blazing fiercely (teehee), “I’m going with my mother, and my father, and my brothers!” because as it turned out it was all a giant hoax and she really was a Weasley after all.  And Nathan Fillion was in there somewhere, looking all fine in his tight pants, and Wash was still alive, and I was River, which was really kick-ass cool.

So yeah. I had some funky dreams.

Can’t Stop the Serenity was really fun on Saturday night. I’d have had a much better time had I not been sick, but even so, I’m glad we went. Liz and I picked up Soleil, and we went early to get the tickets from will call. We spent a pleasant hour or two with some cold drinks and fervent discussion as to what will happen next with Harry Potter. Much debate ensued as to Snape’s nature. Right now I’m on the good side, and with the exception of one brief week where I was firmly of the opinion that he was evil through and through, I’ve pretty much been in the Snape is good camp for over a month now. That’s a record. And just think, in a few short weeks, we’ll know. All the speculation will be over.

What will we talk about?

Anyway, back to the Can’t Stop the Serenity. We got back to the theatre about 8:30, and camped in line. We were very close to the front of the line, which was excellent. It meant that despite having to sit in line for 2 hours, we had our choice of seats when we got into the theatre. Vanessa and Chris joined us around 10ish, so they got there in time. And it’s one of those Studio Grill places, so we got to order food when we got seated. There were plenty of folks there in brown coats, etc. The couple in line just behind us were dressed like Zoe and Wash, and looked really great. And a woman in the line next to us was dressed like Kaylee. 

The entertainment included half of the Bedlam Bards, and a wonderful Q&A session with Jane Espenson. She is very personable. I greatly enjoyed getting to hear her speak. And there were drawings for door prizes and a fun auction of a “big damn bag” that included incredible yummy Serenity-related and other assorted items. Our group was rooting for a cute woman behind us; Liz and Soleil kicked in some money to help her win. She was almost out of the running, but at the last moment, another person kicked in another $100, and she got the bag. Despite my hoarseness and sore throat, I was cheering as loudly as possible. It was tres cool.   And it was fantastic to see Serenity on the big screen again.

Over $5000 was raised on Saturday night for Equality Now. I’m definitely planning on going again next year, and will be in costume (sorry, Izzybella. You may commence the rolling of the eyes. But I’ll bet Soleil will join me.), and hope to goodness that I won’t be sick next time.

I’d really rather not be at work today. But my voice is sporadically back (I could hardly talk at all yesterday), and it is the last week of the month. So I dutifully got up and came in. Besides, with Joe home, it’s not like I’d have gotten a lot of rest anyway. He means well, truly he does, but he’d have been in bugging me all the time.