Circus peanuts, rancid milk, and breaking up a fistfight with a Jesse lookalike

I bought these ‘circus peanuts’ at Sheetz because I remembered them from my childhood and wanted to taste them again, for nostalgia. It’s these big, weird, bright orange candies made out of some kind of soft, squishy material, sort of like a marshmallow. I tasted one of them, and I was like, ‘Eww! These are disgusting!’ I used to LOVE those things. Now, they taste like chemicals. I am used to eating an all natural healthy diet with no artificial flavors or colors, and often, organic food. I can probably live without that particular piece of nostalgia. I’m not missing out on much.

I think I found out where the rancid fat came from which is giving me charlie horses. I am occasionally buying small red bottles of whole milk at the store, and it’s factory farm milk, because there aren’t any organic milks or grassfed milks in small single serving bottles at these particular stores. Horizon Organic makes single serving milks but they are not here. I brought one home and drank it this morning, then took a nap and woke up with charlie horses. I’m drinking bottles of milk to help me quit coffee, because part of the craving for coffee is also a craving for milk products.

Amazingly, I am still caffeine free and I haven’t been taunted by cravings yet, not very badly. I think sometimes I have been mind controlled in the past to decide to get coffee after several days without it. But maybe this time was different because I thought I was pregnant, so I had a really good reason not to drink the slightest bit of caffeine. Even a single cup of coffee each day will make your baby extremely underweight, so it is malformed.

I’m still at risk, though. Now that I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant, I might not care about drinking caffeine, especially if I start to believe that I will never have sex with him again in the future. I wasn’t able to stop drinking caffeine even though I knew it was contributing to bone loss in my hips. I couldn’t stop it if only for myself.

It was last night after work. I was sitting and waiting for the VN bus. Across the street, some people started fighting. A few more people joined in trying to break them apart, but couldn’t. Someone said, ‘He won’t let go of him!’ It went on for several seconds as I watched, and it wasn’t stopping. ‘Come on! We’re leaving! We’re going home!’ some of the friends shouted, but the guys kept fighting.

I have this fascination with breaking up fights. I did it in the workplace many years ago at Kentucky Fried Chicken. One coworker was scheduled to take his lunch break, but then another guy jumped in and said he was going to take his break at that time instead. It was some kind of misunderstanding – the other guy didn’t know the one guy was supposed to go on break, or something. The one guy was hungry, irritable, and wanted a cigarette, if I recall correctly, and he started pushing the other guy around and shouting at him. I physically walked in between them and put my hand on each of their chests, which stopped them from fighting. One guy walked away, and then I had a talk with the other guy to ask him what the problem was.

People almost always don’t want to hit a girl. The only men who will punch a girl are people who are on so many drugs that they just don’t know what’s happening anymore, like people using bath salts, or else a man who is angry at that particular woman because he is having a fight that directly is with her. In other countries, people throw acid onto women’s faces, which is something different. There are places where violence against women is much more common. (Electronic weapon attacks against women are very common here, however.)

So, I suddenly walked across the street into this group of people who were all grabbing the guys and trying to pull them apart. One guy had his arms around the other guy and was holding him in place and not letting him run away. His arms were around the guy’s neck, but the guy was able to talk so he wasn’t quite strangling him yet. All these people reaching in and grabbing them were not able to wrench his arms open to make him let the guy go.

I had no idea what happened and no idea who was at fault. I crouched down and started gently petting the guy who was holding onto the other guy and I said quietly, ‘hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s all right, it’s okay,’ while petting him. His eyes were staring blankly up into space with an expression of shock, not because of me but because of the fight, and he had blood in his mouth and a broken tooth. His facial expression, I cannot describe. He looked lost and confused somehow, badly shaken, traumatized.

I suddenly realized that his face looked exactly like my boyfriend Jesse in the army. I felt like I was comforting a fallen soldier. He looked like Jesse, except he was much larger and much heavier, a very big, tall, muscular guy. The face was distorted but still
recognizable as Jesse.

I kept on petting him and quietly muttering to him, just comforting nonsense, it’s okay, it’s okay. Some guy in the group said, ‘Who are you?’ and pushed on me a little bit. He sounded like, this is not supposed to be happening, where does this fit in, you’re not allowed to be doing this, this is breaking the rules. But he didn’t push me away, and I didn’t answer him, I just went back to petting the guy, and if I recall the guy said, ‘Yeah, who are you???’

He was starting to notice that something else existed other than this guy he was grabbing onto. I continued petting him, which was causing a lot of confusion. He let go of the guy, who dashed off across the street into the darkness. At that moment, I stood up, clapped my hands together once and said, ‘Okay,’ and then I walked back across the street to where I had been sitting before, picked up my apple juice, and started drinking it.

The crowd of people drifted away. I heard one of the friends say, ‘SOmebody’s lost a tooth!’ Then some guy was explaining to somebody else what happened. I think he was explaining it to a manager of the bar that they were in front of, or something. It wasn’t a police officer. A few minutes later an ambulance came and I think a police car came. The ambulance parked in a nearby lot and I don’t know who actually went into the ambulance.

I got on the bus and went home, but started crying when the bus was almost at my stop. I then started crying and crying, bawling my eyes out, as I rode my bike home and as I walked the bike up the last hill to my house. I go through a little neighborhood because there is a curve in the road there that is extremely dangerous and a bike rider got killed there – people come around the curve and they can’t see someone walking or biking on the side of the road there, and they come in really close to the edge of the road. So I go through ‘Hemlock Hill’ or something like that, I forget, the little neighborhood, just before that curve.

I was crying the whole time after I got off the bus, crying really hard, because that guy’s face looked exactly like Jesse. It wasn’t merely because I saw someone who looked like Jesse, it was Jesse in a state of shock, injured, beaten up, confused, lying on the ground staring up into space with blood in his mouth. I tried to remember if I had ever seen such an expression on Jesse’s face. I was with Jesse during a few times when he was traumatized, but I don’t remember him ever looking like that.

Then I started wondering about the consequences of what had happened. I had no idea about the fight. The voices in my head started suggesting that maybe I had made things worse, maybe I should have let him kill the guy. He really hadn’t seemed like he was killing the guy, he seemed like he was holding onto him and not letting him go, maybe for a purpose. The voices said, maybe he wanted to hold onto the guy and not let him escape, so that he could get the police to arrest the guy for breaking his tooth. Maybe I ruined that by distracting him so that he would let go.

Then the voices were portraying the guy and acting like he said, ‘an angel saved me from killing someone.’ I don’t know if that’s what he really thought or not – the guy wasn’t being strangled, just firmly held around the neck and body so he couldn’t get away. He actually said something, he said, ‘I’m still able to talk,’ right when I was first arriving over there.

I wondered if they went someplace else, if they got away, if any of them got arrested. Maybe I gave them a chance to escape so that nobody got arrested and nobody got in trouble with the police. But I wonder who went to the ambulance?

I don’t know the consequences of what I did, and I don’t know what would have happened if I had just watched it and ignored it like all the hundreds of other people walking down the sidewalk. Some girls had shouted at them to stop fighting, but then kept on walking. I think the police would have come to them while they were fighting and maybe he would have successfully gotten the other guy arrested for breaking his tooth. I probably really did ruin that plan by distracting him.

My fascination with fights: doing strange things that nobody else will do makes me feel like I am a special person, a ‘larger-than-life’ character or some kind of a saint. I actually enjoy doing strange things that violate social norms, and this was DEFINITELY violating a social norm. It’s kind of like when you’re a teenager and you have a crush on someone and you fantasize that it’s the apocalypse so that you have some method of getting you and that person together holding each other and comforting each other. I had that kind of fantasy – something I was too scared to do in normal life, I will do in an emergency when social norms are no longer important.

Jesse called me on the phone while I was walking home crying. He doesn’t call very often, and we don’t usually have a lot to say on the phone. He was calling from in the car with his girlfriend. She was talking too, on the speakerphone, but I couldn’t hear much of what she said. At one point she got on the phone so I could hear her. The dynamic of the conversation was slightly difficult and awkward, not merely because ‘she’s Jesse’s girlfriend so therefore I hate her,’ which is not true, but rather, because of her personality type. I decided she must be an LIE-ENTj, my supervisee and Jesse’s activator. She said things that I just had no answer to, things that were surprising and odd. She said a bunch of insults about Jesse, like he was a wombat-looking something something something. How do they even think of this stuff? A wombat? What is a wombat, even? I tried to talk to her for a few seconds. She wasn’t on for very long. It’s possible she’s his dual, too (ILI-INTp). I’m not sure.

Jesse was talking to me and I told him the story of what happened. The girlfriend – did he say her name was ‘Anastasia’ or something? was telling him to be nice to me because I was such a sweet person. He said maybe that guy was really him, from the future, which made me laugh – time traveling. Jesse gets really big, heavy, and muscular in the future.

At the end of the conversation he asked me if anything was happening with me. At that moment, I realized, something very odd had indeed happened to me recently – I had unplanned, unprotected sex with an underage Guatemalan short guy and thought I was pregnant for a day or two but then realized the ovum was too many days old and it was dead. But I didn’t mention any of that to him.

Today, I have decide what I am going to do. I will try to write it down so that I don’t forget it. I have to think of various scenarios about where I will live.

The voices in my head are PUSHING AND PUSHING AND PUSHING ME and nagging me constantly to write paper notes to GERBER, not just Agustin. They insist over and over again that I have to do something with Gerber. I like Gerber as a friend. He makes me laugh and I learn things from him. I learn words from him sometimes and I watch what he’s doing. I don’t feel sexually attracted to him, just fondness, warmth, and affection. The voices in my head have REALLY been pestering me about him lately.

There is something about the Guatemalans where the voices in my head have an opinion about it, and I agree with the voices. The voices are telling me that the Guatemalans, and other similar people from foreign countries, are all entering the United States and getting jobs here, only to find that they become these small, undervalued slaves who cannot find wives, cannot fall in love, cannot even easily find prostitutes, and they become slaves to money, always earning money forever but never finding love, and being neglected, abused, ignored, and isolated in a cold society where no one touches anyone and no one reaches out to them to make friends with them or learn their language.

I agree that this is happening. It is indeed a tragedy. I feel terrible for all of the people that this is happening to. They are so far from home, and they came from a world where people touch each other, people fall in love, people marry each other, people have kids, people socialize and have friends. Then, they come to this slave country, where you have no choice but to work, and work, and work, and work, with no time to socialize, no one who cares about you, no one who touches you, no one who even knows you exist, no one who speaks your language, no one wanting to marry you, no one wanting to have sex, no one wanting to have children, forever and ever to be alone working as a slave.

Are they earning enough money for it to be worthwhile? Are they able to send even a couple dollars home to Guatemala once in a while? It costs so much to live here that almost every penny they earn has to pay the rent. They don’t even have enough time to spend studying and learning how to speak the language. I know that it’s really hard for me to try to learn Spanish while also working at this job and having no free time and no sleep. It’s hard for them to learn English. And English is weird – it’s never pronounced the way it’s spelled, so if you hear a word, you can’t look it up to figure out what it is, because if you look up what it sounds like, you won’t find it (sort of like me being fascinated with the mysterious word, ‘werwu’ and ‘werwos’ and other variations, which must not be spelled the way it sounds, but which I think is something egg-related, huevo, based on what a web page said about South American slang). So I imagine they can’t spend a lot of time learning English.

I get the impression that all of them are able to speak a little bit of English, and are also able to understand it, but maybe not if the person is speaking really fast, and not if someone is impatiently rushing them to hurry up and say what they have to say. I’m able to speak a little Spanish but haven’t felt like there is a NEED for me to speak it. If I absolutely had to speak it for a life-or-death purpose I might be able to start learning quickly.

I do hear them speaking bits and pieces of English and it always surprises me and catches my attention. They say random things out of nowhere, sort of like the way I wander around quietly mumbling Spanish to myself (last night I was singing ‘Cerramos, cerramos, te amo, cerramos, you’re only una hora away,’ to the tune of ‘Tomorrow’ from the movie Annie – we’re closing, we’re closing, I love you [the fact that] we’re closing. I was really, really tired and couldn’t wait to close down the store and go home. Surely I sound weird wandering around quietly mumbling ‘cerramos’ in a monotone, over and over, to practice the word, and mumbling ‘cerrar’ when I’m closing the door on the dishwasher, and so on.

I’ll finish this up. I need to do my thinking and planning and I don’t think it will be easy. I have to decide where I will live and what schedule I will work, if I change my schedule, and decide what I will do about money.


2 Responses to “Circus peanuts, rancid milk, and breaking up a fistfight with a Jesse lookalike”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    I have to decide where I will live and what schedule I will work, if I change my schedule, and decide what I will do about money.


  2. Nicole Says:

    Lol, my entire life is already fucked.

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