A super serious, fantastical Blog from a station o

I am of course, bored witless and after many hours of looking up funny videos, scrolling through profiles and in the interim bottle feeding a beastly hungry kitten, I have turned to blogging.
My mind seems to be teeming with activity. Static brained, loony tune alert.
There is however, a common denominator in this tyrannical traffic of thought.
I am starting to feel slightly uneasy in my own skin. Something of which, I am not too familiar with.
It doesn’t have to do with any other one person, or even a mass of people.
Now if you’re thinking “What a self indulgent whiny, whorey chestnut…” then I really don’t blame you. I am generally one of those annoying hyper active people, that you assume to be either on Uppers or just not all there.
Since I was around 4, when God didn’t answer my prayers by presenting a horse outside my bedroom window, I began philosophising. Sitting on a swing made of twisted bailer twine, legs crossed, scraped knees, an odd home haircut courtesy of myself, 4 year old Hessy began to break the world down. There were good people. There were bad. Somewhere in the middle, there were good people who sometimes did bad things. The further end of the spectrum were bad people who never wanted to do good. My summation was that I was always going to be a good person. In my over active mind, I conjured a life of school, being grown up, falling in love with a very handsome man resembling my Ken Doll. Although he’d be a fairly useless man if he had the same anatomy or rather lack of it as a Ken Doll. But 4 year old Hessy was not wise in the true way of the world, or was she aware that Ken was the oddest type of trans-something ever mass produced as a children’s toy. One does ponder what Barbie had seen in him all down through the years.
All was good and going well until the night of my 15th birthday. It was this very beautiful August evening, that I first encountered the only thing to remain constant in my life to this day. Heineken. Sacred, blessed Heineken. What a sucky calf I was! 6 bottles, in less than an hour. I could still walk and talk, but the feeling was so liberating. I had no worries, no angst, just sheer and utter confidence and a warmth in my cheeks like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I didn’t puke, I never do. I think I purge myself when my head gets filled up and I have to write something, anything, even if it’s just random sentence after sentence (don’t you dare say, like now). It was this very night, that a long haired, guitar playing, joint smoking adolescent had his wicked way with me. It was very consensual, I was drunk and fearless.
It lasted exactly the length of the song that was playing, Coldplay’s yellow. It was unpleasant and I passed out asleep, a drunken, dead slumber.
I don’t think 4 year old Hessy would have foreseen such a torrid affair.
That relationship ended, then two more L.T.R's ensued. I had kissed others, lied, told selective, self-serving truths. I was too young, obviously but although a lot was done to me, I’d be untrue to the Hessy I am today to say that I was a victim. I was not, everything I did, I got back three fold. Unfortunately, I’ve found that I seem to be keep Karma as my constant bedfellow.
So then, I made a promise that I would always be honest and tell the truth and that I would be myself for myself and that this is what good people do. The good people long ago categorized by an almost mullet headed little girl.
It’s what I have been doing for the past year. But lately, I seem to think that being me isn’t appealing to others. I am sociable, smart, affectionate, loud and proud. None of these things are contrived, I am not pretentious. I’ll be the first to admit, I am incredibly un-ambitious and the most unrealistic realist there ever was. Oxymoron? I doth define it.