Scrolling through my Facebook feed, my eyes tend to roll back into my head every few minutes each time I pass certain family members' ignorant posts meant to make the nonreligious of us feel ashamed. They all know I'm an atheist. The last one was a "shame on you," type jab to those who don't agree that god is good. I don't understand people. Why emerse yourselves in an oppressive fairy tale? And why make me out to be evil for simply using my fucking brain and stating the obvious? How can my otherwise sane and loving family members have this COMPLETELY FUCKING MENTAL side to them? I need a drink.
Thoughts, Nonsense, Neurosis, Boom
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Yes. I realize this would be a very boring film.
It would need a great soundtrack.
Tuesday, September 02, 2014
I also saw numbers as young or old. For example, 1 was a mischevious baby boy, 2 was a tidy British schoolboy of about 8 years old. Each consecutive number was a little older, with 9 being a woman of a motherly age, maybe in her 40's. 9's personality was similar to Morticia Addams. I'm not even going to go into the personalities of the letters, but they all have them. Every last one. All unique.
I only now, this very morning, decided to google this phenomenon to see if this was a thing that other people did. And voila! It appears that I have ordinal linguistic personification, which is a form of synesthesia. This is actually a thing. I have this thing in common with other humans. I don't feel completely unbalanced now. This is a perfectly ordinary and accepted form of crazy.
BOOM! I can go back to bed now.
My family members always seem to die on holidays. My PawPaw died on Independence Day when I was 16. My aunt died on Christmas Eve. Nanny died on Columbus Day. I get nervous when a holiday approaches. I think if I had to pick a holiday to die on, it would be April Fools. Anyway, today is a holiday. Labor Day.
I bring this up because...
My grandpa died this morning. I hadn't been terribly close to him, my dad's side of the family have never lived close enough to me to establish a strong bond. I'm not devastated, as he was 91 and I had known that his health was failing fast. The whole family seemed prepared for it. I haven't cried yet, so of course that makes me feel like a monster. I cry for no reason on the drive home from Walmart, for fuck's sake, why can't I cry in a relevant situation?
I know this will definitely fall under the category of TOO SOON, and would also not have been found humorous by my late grandpa, but...yeah, I think it's pretty damn funny. So. My grandparents had given my parents a hinged double photo frame years ago. On one side is a photo of my grandma, on the other side is my grandpa's picture. It's the sort of frame that has a voice recorder built in so that you can record and save a message. There is a button on each side, and a message for my parents from each of my grandparents. I honesty can't remember what grandma recorded, but when you press the button under grandpa's photo, his voice says, "If I could get out of here, I'd join you for a cup of coffee!" Would that not be PERFECT on his tombstone? Yeah? Huh?
I figure, if I can't cry, I'll try and laugh instead.
It is now 4 in the A M. Charlie's alarm will go off in about 15 minutes for him to get up for work, and I will be sneaking into bed, trying to play off that I had been there the whole time. But, yeah, he never buys that. Damn you, brain. Damn you, internets. Good night.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
I'm totally wasting valuable time sitting around in bed, propped up on my elbows, Facebooking until my pinkies go numb. It's after noon. Kids are in school. Charlie's at work. I got the kids on the bus this morning, ate a donut and went back to bed. I'm a lazy turd.
I start classes Monday. I took a huge break from school, but now it's time to pick back up with it. Or else my family will assume I've given up (not that I haven't thought about doing that), in which case they will pester the fuck out of me.
I really have nothing more to say.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Friday, August 15, 2014
I feel stupid and fragile. I'd like to just not give a fuck. I'd like to sleep soundly and wake up normal. I want the dreams back that used to play out happy fantasies.
On another note, I found out this evening that my grandpa is dying. Probably quite soon. I haven't seen him in something like 12 years. It makes me feel shitty.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Sunday, August 10, 2014
In those days, for reasons I have long since forgotten, I wanted to be called Robin, although I was instead dubbed "Roy," which has stuck with me to this day. We were all young and ready to reinvent ourselves, and then the next week we would re-reinvent ourselves. Because we still could.
We were waiting for one of our mothers (not mine) to come pick us all up and cart us to one of our houses (also not mine) where we would babble to each other and listen to records. None of us drove yet, as were all Freshmen in high school. Sitting on that curb, smoking, waiting for my favorite people in the world to join me, after sifting through vintage toys, books, and records and deciding not be buy anything (because I probably had no money)...I felt perfect. It was one of those rare moments in my life where I felt no worry, just love and contentment. All was right. I was with the few people in the world who understood me.
Sunday, July 06, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Saturday, June 21, 2014
I overreact whenever my body does something unexpected. The older I get, the more surprise aches and pains I get. I google symptoms and find the worst possible scenario, then I start picturing my funeral. Never once do I entertain the idea of seeing a doctor. I'm hopeless.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
Pffft. I actually made that noise. With my mouth. So yeah, that was sincere.
This is the second or third time now I've slept through thrash morning. I heard the truck coming as I was waking up, groaned and fell back into bed (notices the amazing typo I just made and leaves it -- but I would totally wake the fuck up for THRASH MORNING). *ahem* Trash morning. I find myself ridiculously amusing sometimes. Anyhow, now I feel guilty. The garbage is piling up by the side of the house. I said I'd do it. But instead, I had blissful dreams about Christmas and doorways. Was re-entering the dream after the kids left for school worth missing the trash truck? Yeah, I'd say so.
I'm in an okay mood, aside from the garbage mishap. I hopped up on the scale upon waking to find I have now officially lost *drum roll please* 35 lbs. I like this. I have more to lose, but damn, that's a nice number. So how am I celebrating? By...not...exercising. That's probably a bad idea, but I slept late and I work soon, so I am going to spend the afternoon drinking coffee and daydreaming.
I miss a lot of things this morning (well, this afternoon...I slept through "morning"). I miss the way my brain would conjure great things and fixate intently on them. Unfortunately, this would also trigger the bad feelings, so it's odd to miss that. But today I am feeling good. Not particularly deep, but peaceful. Why can't I have the deep emotions and the peaceful feelings at the same time? I think whenever I let myself feel something too deeply, it hurts a little. And sometimes I want it to hurt a little. But right now, I'm okay just whistling and enjoying my coffee, so fuggit.
And Boom. Just because.
Thursday, May 08, 2014
Those who haven't experienced it sometimes want to listen. Mostly not. Most pretend to be interested, ask if I'm really okay or what's bothering me, but then get uncomfortable and tune out when I start to describe my Blah. And when they do listen, they sometimes want to "fix" me. Get more exercise. Read a book. Go out in nature. Spend time with your family. Just get out of the house more. *sigh* I know they mean well, and those are all great things to do. But none of that will cure me. I'm not a sulking teenager. I don't just snap out of it. When I am down and go for a walk, I am still down when I come home. The chirping birds mock me.
Then there are those who have experienced depression and anxiety to varying degrees, from seasonal to chronic to debilitating. I feel for them all, yet again, I don't share my feelings with a lot of them. There are those who seem to want to turn it into a Who's More Depressed contest. I'm not trying to win anything, I just thought, I don't know, maybe a little empathy? I'm not looking for pity, goddammit, and I'm certainly not about to give any out. People want to be listened to and understood, not outdone.
This. This is why I just write it here. Hardly anyone comments. Just reads, or clicks away. But if someone reads this horribly depressing blog and relates...*hug*