In Sess We Trust by MoonliteCrescndo

One Day at A Time

11/13/97

9:29 p.m.

Anyways--this is an interesting way of putting things. I am very interested in the way things are put, you know. If you have any idea about what I am referring to, please respond by reading on.

My life is full of the crap that everyone goes through and some things that everybody doesn't go through. I am here to tell you about it if you are willing to learn about a fourteen-year-old girl with problems like any other. Or with writing this am I to find a special bond with a million other people with the same problems? Or must I submit to a life knowing that I, Kagome Carlton have no problems whatsoever like the other people on this planet and that anything that I write from here on in is a mystery to all mankind? Maybe people that think they have jobs will even research this, but they really don't and are paid to read literature made by children and evaluate how the teenage mind really works. I am really sick of these books about teenagers that make us seem really stupid or really shallow--yeah, most of us are and I know that--but research some people that aren't, okay?

Excuse me for going into this "research project" in such a rash way. I, the not shallow spokesperson for the 11.5 people in the world who aren't shallow like the rest of the population would therefore like to dedicate this to the shallow ones. Without their meandering experiences and stupid mishaps, where would this .000000000000127% of the population be now? I mean, that is why we were born now, right? To have all the stupid people make the mistakes for us.

Want to know about me? Lets start out from the beginning--no, not that beginning-the one that I am actually a part of. Well, in the beginning--that is a good place to start, is it not? Now the story of a not shallow life of a child who is now the most perfect human being on the face of this earth and so on and so on. I'm just kidding--but for those of you that think so--just keep on thinking it!

4/9/99

6:38 p.m.

I have had this saved on my computer for some time now. It's the kind of thing that you want to do, but it just kind of sits there and you look at it a couple times and read it a couple times to remind yourself you really are a crazy lunatic and this is your proof.

Well, the whole theory about the life of me started way back before I was even around. People got together, the last of the not shallow kind and they decided that they should produce offspring that could maybe herd the young people of today into noble and not shallow people of tomorrow. But of course this plan failed and here I am!!!!!!!

Ha ha, no really. My parents after being happily married for twelve years decided to have a child and here she is, throwing them into a whirlpool of new ways and living styles that you can only experience when you have a child like me. I have no idea if my parents were prepared for the creative genius that their child really is, but I think that in the back of their minds, they planned it that way.

Have you ever listened to books on tapes? I mean, I love people like Dave Barry and other creative geniuses such as myself but I can't believe they pick the weirdest people to read their books on tape. And then the readers even have enough nerve to act like they wrote this stuff by saying "my son" and "my wife" and things like that. I mean, come on! If you don't like your voice--live with it! It's yours, so oh well. I would rather listen to Dave Barry's voice than this weird guy on one of his tapes. I was truly amazed about how shallow these people can be...or is it not shallowness but the true form of human beings--not to be happy about us in any way? Maybe that is why models were created--I mean, why not--they got here somehow didn't they? I wonder how one raises a model. Do they farm them on a farm? Or is it just they way they were born--ready to walk on the runway with seven inch heels? No, I will not convince myself that these extremely "perfect" people were one of us, the "normal" bunch before all their stardom. I won't believe it for a second!

Anyway, back to the creation of me, the genius of the entire world. Yes, I am very humble. See...I can even read minds now, kinda freaky, huh? Yeah, my friend Kenneth made that one up. Yes, I can read minds and that whole bit. Yeah, kinda dumb, sorry Ken.

8/22/00

10:27 p.m.

Well, it's been a while since I have written here. Did you know what I titled this section? "Me Me Me." Fascinating. I believe I have lost the flair of my younger self, I was quite young then, and I knew not what the world was really about. I was still naive and innocent, well more innocent than now, however innocent I still remain. I am the most unshallow person that I know; did you know that in high school I am the only girl that refuses to wear make-up? I am quite a little amusement to the newspapers; my name keeps cropping up in places that I don't know where they came from. People find this like a sight to see. They actually have tour guides that camp outside my house, to show people around and stuff. I have a crowd awaiting my every move, seeing if I will corrupt myself or something.

Ha, they barely know me. That is why I am making this personal narrative, so I can have the world know me as I really am. The world needs a little culture and sincerity from the world's most unshallow person in the whole world. Hey, I said I was unshallow, not immodest, which...no, it does not mean the same thing, okay? And to think that I actually do not own mirrors in my house. I don't think I even watch TV that often although my face is there a lot.

I dunno, I think the sight of myself is kind of scary.

9/17/02

9:52 p.m.

I was looking through the archives of some of my old forgotten lore and I stumbled across this little nugget, surprisingly, I was quite intelligent when I was younger, contrary to the popular belief of others. I think it was the rumors the jealous people spread about me. They suck. I don't believe they have discovered that mean people suck and all go off and reproduce and make more mean people. Goodness, get over it people and just like me for me. Yes, you can never be like me, but hey, its something we all just have to live with, except me, of course. Thus ending this version of me, me, me narrative for now, until I stumble across this again.

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It started the same every summer. My mother would proclaim it "the summer of changes" and we were supposed to loose weight, exercise and eat less. It would last a couple of weeks, where I would ride my bike on some dusty road about three times a week and just eat barely anything and loose about ten pounds. My mother would simply go on some diet and then break it and then go back on it to only break it again. Inevitably she would end the summer crying softly in her room--still overweight--cursing my father for dying and leaving us as such.

I would then be left to contemplate the summer alone in my room. I would sit on the edge of my bed and wonder why we had to loose weight at all. After many struggles with myself...attempted suicides, anorexia and bulimia (both which never worked), I accepted myself and the way I was. My mother desperately clung onto her young adult years with the violent fervor of passing age. She wanted to be that twenty-three year old woman who broke hearts and could wear anything to do so. She wanted to be young and forced those ideals on me. It was from a health standpoint, she would always say. Don't you want to be healthy?

I, on the other hand, being seventeen at the time, not having her life experience to think back on and fully and willingly expressing the traditional apathy of that extraordinary age--didn't care. I liked food. It was whom I went to when I was hurt from the outside world. It comforted me where no boyfriend would and it would never grow tired of you. Food wouldn't hurt your feelings or insult you. I knew those insults. I knew them well. Perhaps too well at too young of an age. But can't children be cruel?

I wasn't outrageously fat, however. I just had that extra little bit that successfully excluded me from the most popular clicks and tank-top wearing, midriff-showing crowd in high school and therefore from the guy's radar in general. We live in a time of ideals. And I didn't fit the ideal of our time. You know, the skinny, simpering model with fake breasts and artificial everything because she was most likely airbrushed in the studio. So, I cut myself off from relationships and from people. It would hurt me less in the long run, I assured my usual sunny disposition.

On the outside, I was my normal self: happy and excited for the day to come. On the inside I didn't understand why the world had to be so cruel. I became numb because all that I now cared about was the belief of beauty that we see in beauty magazines. Yes, I had accepted my body. But, when it comes to my body, there has always been a hole; a missing piece to the puzzle that can't be found and I think that even if I did loose weight I still wouldn't be able to find it.

But I guess that was when it all started. When I met the person that would change my life dramatically and is still affecting me to this day. I sometimes joke that if I hadn't met him I would be a sad repeat on the Jerry Springer show with the theme "Women who can't keep men because they secretly suck out their souls at night" or something to that extent. I thought boys were perhaps the root of all my problems.

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I have long ago discovered the stupidity of boys. Not men, per say, but the boy, the teenage self. The awkward stage as Britney stated so well, not a boy, yet not a man. Well, in her case, it was, well, you know what I mean. I have often pondered the thoughts of a teenage boy, and it has become a hobby of mine to figure them out. I have thus discovered there are types of this interesting creature. There is the sex driven, which is the typical guy, ranging from 12-to say, 40 (in some cases it never ends). We all know the details, we all saw American Pie (an unfortunate movie that yes, Americans paid to see. Even sadder that yes, I'm sure this actually happens) another type is the player. Now, this guy is sex-driven, but as the name entails, he actually gets some. Then there are the nerds, generally known as honor students or band members. It's a real shame when you are in both. And finally, the regular Joe Smoes. The guys you usually end up dating in high school. The legendary "Leave it to Beaver" type girls just absolutely fawn over. Too bad all these guys are taken and if they aren't they are always looking for someone older and not you. Unless you aren't a wallflower and should be banished from the face of the earth.

No matter, just remember when you are out with Jock Johnny that you'll get bags under your eyes before I do. Something about kissing and the effect it has on your body...You'll see it in nine months when it spits on your tube top sister!

You may be thinking, "bitter much?" But who needs guys? My friend Kim and I have this idea going. What if men were locked up in huge dome structures kept there for eternity, and they were only used for breeding purposes? What do ya say?

Yeah, you're right. Then our world would cycle together and have enormous bitch weeks where we would kill the men or worse, each other! And our movies would be overrun with the sob story of little Susie Nobody that falls in love with Jack from Dome 11 and smuggles him out dressed as a woman. (In conclusion, they will live on a secluded island off the coast of Normandy and adopt the names of Helga and Olga Pataki, becoming life partners and breeding pugs for profit. Furthermore, Olga (once Jack from Dome 11) will strike out on his own after a tiff with Helga (once Susie Nobody) including a razor and a very unsuspecting pug. Lets just say we're not quite sure if Helga made it. Olga will become a traveling act, entertaining audiences everywhere like a current Hedwig and the Angry Inch or whatever.)

So life without guys won't work. Also, in contemplation, we won't have the eternal scapegoat to blame everything on if we don't have boys. I hate it when its that kind of "can't live with them, can't live without them" thing. Damn U2 and their astute findings. And so Kim and I figured this and thought up another plan. What about the whole "It's raining men" theory? Why can't we just ask Mother Nature to rain men, like some twisted "Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs" happenstance? ("Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs" by the way is a great book for kids) After you clean up the spit from your tube top you can read it to them.

Anyway, raining men is a wonderful concept.

But again, you're right. We would get the random woman's activist who is probably a lesbian (stereotypical-right?) asking Mother Nature why the heck there aren't any women falling from the sky too, if this whole thing was supposed to appease women? Then Mother Nature would get sued and well, that would be the end of that. Kim and I also thought about the whole lesbianship thing but then opted for our most brilliant plan yet.

Forget the boys. Who needs boys? Boys are practice, boys are stupid, as I previously stated. Who are boys practice for? You got it.

Men.

Men are wonderful, intellectual, not penis driven and SEXY!

Well, you think that until you figure out all men were boys at one time and with the whole dogma "you can't teach a dog new tricks" and we're back to square one: I have long ago discovered the stupidity of boys.

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So it was ironic that I met him during the summer of my seventeenth year when all these realizations were brewing around inside me, percolating in my mind. I would be turning eighteen soon--a thought I didn't enjoy quite as much as I hoped--and I was currently sitting on the bench outside some grocery store sipping an iced tea. It was mid afternoon and dangerously hot. I had stupidly walked there enjoying the exercise and alone time.

My mother had recently broken her ankle and now it was just a matter of time before I exploded because being a good girl full time didn't suit me as well as it used to. She would at least cry seven times a day, cussing and cursing her luck. She never cursed her klutzy-ness, something that I inherited, and being the true reason she fell in the first place. She came home after a particularly refreshing weekend at her friend's beach house that I was coincidentally not invited to. I was left at home to fend for myself until she came back with an ankle swollen to the size of Nebraska. Which let me tell you, was no mean feat. We went to the doctors and the rest, as they say, is history.

And that left me at the grocery store bench sipping iced tea. I was currently scuffing my shoe on the pavement and minding my own business when it happened. When I saw him it was love at first sight. Definitely. I fell hard and fast--both metaphorically and literally. The iced tea slipped from my hands and the glass bottle shattered over my sandal-clad feet. Bleeding, I stood, and collapsed when some glass pierced my skin where it had somehow wedged itself into my shoe. Well, I would have collapsed if the gorgeous man didn't catch me, that is. I felt light headed--which could have been the loss of blood--but I attributed it to the concerned face of the man I had fallen madly in love with in mere seconds.

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Which was insane especially from the whole rant I just had about the stupidity of boys. And men, coincidentally. Now, I must own to you that I have thought about man for the future. In contemplating certain traits in which I would like to find in my mate, I came across a certain, --delicately put--quality, in which I could not tolerate in any circumstance. Give me an insensitive jerk anytime! Bring on a lad with a bad temper! Don't forget to include unattractive in the looks department as well. Any of these are tolerable-but a lack of intelligence--never. It's horrific. It's insane. It's bloody well intolerable.

Coming to this conclusion has come from many personal experiences with the intelligent deficient. Now, I must clarify. When I use this term I do not in anyway mean the mentally disabled. I am speaking of those annoyingly smart people who have no common sense or real intelligence. Intelligence, to me, by definition is: Knowing something, whether from books or other areas, understanding the information, allowing time to process the information, able to make coherent thoughts about the information, able to make coherent thoughts that are not simply a rehash of the teacher's/book's/information source's lecture, and able to apply this newly acquired knowledge to your own life and experiences in a straightforward and un-arrogant manner. My definition explained, I believe that being unintelligent by no definition means you aren't smart. I have met many smart people who were unable to intelligently form their own opinions and shape their own worldview. I also find that this particular trait leads to most of the other intolerable traits such as: arrogant/self-centered, greedy/materialistic, selfish, shallow, close-minded etc.

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So if I believed this with every fiber of my being, how could I fall in love with this man without even knowing if he possessed these qualities? As he gracefully picked me up and drove me to the hospital I knew in my heart that he couldn't not be 'The One.' Little was said because without his arms around me my brain was now processing the pain. I was bleeding horrendously all over his car--a Lexus I dully noted. But he didn't seem to mind much even though my nose was tickling with the wonderful scent of the new car smell. He would occasionally smile at me and touch my hand in a reassuring gesture.

I swooned.

Which wasn't exactly what I should have done at the moment for I groaned when pain lanced through my feet again. When we got to the hospital he picked me up again--though god knows how for I probably weighed more than he did--and he didn't put me down until got to a bed in ER. Since I didn't have any identification on me he used his own insurance card for me. Which, in my right state of mind, would have thoroughly confused me because the nurses and doctors suddenly seemed more than willingly to helping any way possible. I was treated immediately and the man stayed by me the whole time, holding my hand in a way that both melted my heart and warmed my soul.

I went to sleep dreaming of his golden eyes and long, white hair. Which was an amazing feat because I was and still am deathly afraid of hospitals in every sense of the word.

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Periodically, I think about death. I think of where I am going to go, how it's going to feel, if I will know if there is a God, if life is really worth living if we are going to die anyway. What do we have to look forward to? Afterlife? Eternal life? Eternal damnation? Nothingness? Why is death so scary? Is it because death is simply the unknown? Because it is something we all dread, the ending of our lives on earth? Whatever death brings, it brings us with it, silencing even those who speak the loudest.

Everything was so old and worn out. It was sunken in and in some places it was completely swollen and bruised. I could hardly see what I desperately wanted and needed to see: my grandmother's face. My cousins lifelessly fed her ice cream that didn't go in her mouth but dribbled down her lips. I cried as I clung to my mother, too young to understand what was going on, yet old enough to understand that something was happening. When I left her it would be the last time that I would ever see my grandmother again. That night my mother received a phone call. And that night, in my mother's arms, my grandmother died. I was six.

6/27/95

2:43 a.m.

It hurts so much. So much pain. So much heartache. I want to rip out my chest and hold my heart in my hands to see it dying there. Doesn't anyone care? Doesn't anyone understand what I am feeling? He is gone, damn it! He's gone! My father, my rock, the person who I rely on the most is gone. Forever. My best friend. My everything that I wanted to emulate and become when I grew up. Taken from me before his time, before my time was up with him! He can't leave me when I haven't learned to drive with him yet. I haven't had him interview a potential boyfriend or walk me down the isle. Why did I have to see him in his weakest state, lying on the pristine sheets where I had just fed him breakfast the day before? He had looked better. He was smiling again. Was he just being brave for me? Why did you leave me? Why did you go? I take it back. My heart is ripped out and it is in my hand as I watch it die. As I watched you die.

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In the morning I awoke to an empty room, well, no people but numerous flowers rested around on any available space. The nearest one had a card, it read:

I'll be back around 10:30. I'm bringing some iced tea (plastic bottle) and a few magazines, books and whatever for you. Wait up for me,

Love,

Inuyasha

Inuyasha. So that was his name. Love Inuyasha. I certainly did love him.

At 10:29 he strolled into my room with enough treats to feed an army of sick patients and more magazines and books than I would ever need. When we started talking like old friends over certain movies, celebrities and general gossip I should have known. I should have known when he knew exactly what to bring to make any girl feel better. But I didn't. I was too in love with this seemingly perfect man to even begin to process this information. He was funny, sweet, warm and caring. He reminded me of a summer breeze; always there at the right moment to stave the heat, but the breeze still left you warm and comfortable. When he got up to leave he kissed the side of my mouth in a gentle and compassionate kiss. He would be back tomorrow.

We had talked for so long I hadn't noticed it was almost two o'clock. Blast! My mother must be so worried. I called her and she clucked around me like the mother hen she was. I told her of my savior, Inuyasha, and she was delighted. She couldn't drive over to visit me because she had her cast on the right foot, but I told her I would be back tomorrow afternoon.

When I did go back home, Inuyasha was more than helpful, he was a godsend. Oh, how I loved that man. He brought us groceries and helped my mother and I around the house since we were both invalids now. And even after I had fully recovered he became a regular fixture in our living room, his white hair splayed across the black couch making a beautiful contrast. With Inuyasha, our home was a happy home and he always seemed to have his head thrown back in a fit of laughter. My mother wouldn't sniffle or cry anymore. She gave up on the plan for loosing weight and she didn't seem to mind so much. I was happy.

And Inuyasha had his cold moments too. There would be times he would storm into the house and sit and brood for hours at a time. Neither Mother nor I could get him to talk about it and we figured it might be something at home that was bothering him. Other times where he would become passionate about a subject and once we argued until past midnight, my mother sporadically banging on the wall from her bedroom if we got too loud. I was more in love with him than ever and it never crossed my mind why he seemed to always come over to my house when he never even spoke of his. College was swiftly approaching and the growing urgency to tell Inuyasha of my love was getting stronger.

A week before I was to leave we were walking along some path near my house. It was night and since it was still summer, not too cool out either. We were walking hand in hand as we usually did, just enjoying each other's company and the refreshing night air. My heart thudded painfully in my chest and I knew my perfect moment had come. The perfect moment to express our love to each other and share our first kiss. My first kiss ever, too.

"I love you," I whispered as I turned to him. He chuckled, squeezing my hand.

"I love you too." Platonically, he was saying. I had another go.

"No, I really love you." His golden eyes were locked into mine. But instead of a deep, everlasting love I wanted to see, I only saw a hurt and a sadness.

"I know," he whispered back. I waited for him to return the sentiments but he continued walking, rubbing his thumb up and down my hand.

"Inuyasha...?" I wanted to cry. Had I read him wrong? Was he going to hurt me like all the other men? Why was he doing this to me?

"Kagome, I do love you. As much as I can. But it can't be anything more than friendship, I'm sorry."

"Is it another woman?" He chuckled again and brought his lips to my hand, kissing it gently.

"Sometimes I wish it was."

I wasn't stupid, although my previous actions seemed to mark me as stupid. I had found my perfect man, sweet, caring and intelligent and I was head over heels in love with him--hell, my mother loved him and I didn't remember Murphy's Law.

Of course he was gay.

"Then can we find our perfect men together? I don't want to be without you."

He smiled and gave me a glorious hug. My heart fluttered and I still loved him utterly but there was nothing either of us could do about it.

"Of course," he whispered against my hair and kissed my forehead.

The rest of the week I busied myself with packing and last minute shopping sprees for my mother couldn't go with me. Her cast was to come off soon, so Inuyasha helped me arrange everything. But my heart still ached for him. The night before I left Inuyasha invited me to a dinner t his house to meet his family. I dressed in a nice black dress that was supposed to accentuate my bosom and lessen my waist, neither of which I was to believe it did but I wore it anyway. As the cab pulled up to the house, or mansion, rather, I succumbed to the feeling of dread in my stomach. His family knew of his sexual orientation, but I still didn't feel right being there. I was an overweight normal girl from the suburbs that just happened to hurt herself at the right time. Why did I have to be thrown in the mix with these people I barely knew and probably hated me already? Inuyasha had told me very little except that it was just him, his older brother and his father that lived in this beautiful house.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said after paying the taxi and our heated argument over him doing so. However, humble was nothing close to it and I laughed at the sad attempt at normalcy. But my laugh was shaky and Inu gave me a swift kiss on the cheek before I went inside. He led me through numerous halls of expensive artifacts until we finally arrived at an ornate dining room where a jovial looking older man sat deep in conversation with a disgruntled younger man. Inuyasha smiled and squeezed my hand before he cleared his throat. But before he could say anything, the younger man--obviously Inu's older brother, spoke.

"You're late" he sneered.

I blushed and almost stammered an apology but Inu beat me to it.

"Don't mind him, he's an ass." The younger man dragged his eyes over my body before it obviously displeased him and went on with his sneering. "This is Kagome Carlton, father. Kagome this is my father, and my brother, Sesshomaru."

The older man got up from his seat and gave me a short and comforting hug. What a nice man. Obviously he doesn't care about the social class difference.

"What a nice friend, Inuyasha."

Sesshomaru simply nodded dismissively in my direction and began to eat his dinner. So much for thinking that the comforting atmosphere extended to the whole family. What a strange fellow...

Dinner went surprisingly well and I felt myself fall in love with Inuyasha all over again as I saw him in his own environment for the first time. It was obvious, however, that Sesshomaru was the favored son. But Mr. Kingston handled them well. Where warmth and emotion was what he used with Inuyasha, simultaneously he used strategy and a stoic business-like manner with Sesshomaru. It was interesting to watch the family dynamic that had sunk into a sort of unimportant habit and tradition of this bachelor pad. Sesshomaru didn't stay for dessert, mumbled an excuse and a gruff apology and left us alone. I didn't really mind at all. He didn't participate much in the conversation anyway.

Finally I went home. I laid awake in bed thinking about all the things I was going to miss at college. My eighteenth birthday had come and gone without a second thought and I hardly wanted the extra responsibility of being an adult in the eyes of the law. I wished for the carefree days of childhood, when I could simply play away the hours without the nonsense that plagued my thoughts now. All I longed for at the moment was the past--and Inuyasha. We had become closer but I still loved him. Perhaps college would do me some good, distract me from him. Get me away from this unrequited love.

Sighing, I tried to sleep with the jumble of emotions rolling around in my stomach. Would I fit in? Would I make friends? Would I be hurt? Would anyone care for me?

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10/3/02

12:33 a.m.

No one cares. This is a surprising statement to finally understand as a teenager. We are all wrapped up in our own little worlds to be concerned with anybody else. It's quite amazing how marriages don't dissipate more often. They already do enough. No one is truly interested, truly concerned with each other's lives. They have their family, and that is all they need. Is that true? In America, where we are the richest in the world, not care about each other? Sometimes it is hard to tell. But I think they do. There are those who have a genuine concern for others. I wish to emulate these people. It's easy to get caught up in our meaningless, consumer-driven lives. It's easy. It's simple. It's hard to have depth. Hard to have meaning. Hard to not seek reassurance. Hard to be your own person. It's hard to live. Life is not easy no matter who you are. Life is complex. Life is harsh. Life is beautiful. And no one cares. Everyone is so busy to even stop and realize life. People forget to live. And when we all become fertilizer, we will have regrets. Maybe you didn't play with your kids. Maybe you cheated on your husband or maybe you worked too much. Whatever it was, the reason is because you didn't get life. You could be so much more than this. Live.

"The figures around me weren't people, but shop dummies, painted to resemble people and propped up in attitudes counterfeiting life" (Plath 116).

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So many unanswered questions. I wish I could believe people cared. But it was too hard. College scared me. Even if I was only over the hill and about forty-five minutes away, I would miss the comfort and security of home, my own little world.

I mean, I wanted to move on and grow up. But another part of me didn't want to step away from that zone of childhood. I didn't want to jump into that dark abyss. I didn't want to loose myself. Hugging the sheets closer I tried not to ponder too much about the fact that I wouldn't be sleeping in my bed anymore.

Inuyasha's face swam into my view and I finally dropped off into a dreamless sleep. I had my whole life ahead of me. But all I could do now was rest, and let one day come at a time.

One day at a time...