A dark patch on a rainy day.

Today, I am void of emotion. I have no energy, no will to do anything. I don't want to be awake. I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want to be. I don't want to...not be. I don't know. Everything feels wrong today. It's like a dream, where I'm standing in a fog and feeling uneasy, not knowing if it's supposed to be a nightmare. Maybe a drink will help me feel something, jump start my soul. I feel like a shell, a husk. A...husky husk. Oh, that was mildly funny.

Nothing I write feels sincere enough. This is the way I am today, in the words that I know, but the words that accurately describe my mind today have not been invented. I will read this tomorrow and it will seem like a lie. Like a melodramatic whine. I write these things down because I want to let myself know how bad it can feel. Because when I'm feeling good, I can't remember what bad feels like. When I actually have the energy and will to do something about it, I block it out and my mind pretends that everything's fine. Reading these words once I bounce out of a dark patch, they don't describe it well enough. I'll think, I couldn't have been feeling THAT down, I was just being silly.

Shut your lip, bitch.

Aaaaah, so fucking sick of humans. They have a way of tearing me down to bring themselves up. Not cool, assholes. Not cool. Just everyone, try leaving me alone and letting me be myself. Without all your snide, selfish, petty, pseudo-intellectual, hipster, pretentious, hateful and self-absorbed MOTHER FUCKING BULLSHIT.

Tunes. I like them.

I'm floating above myself as I run on my treadmill. I drive to and from work in another world. When I shower, I do so in a karaoke bar. Know why? Music. Because I'm either blasting it or singing, I am not inside my skin anymore. Or I am all skin, a ball of nerve endings and breath. I simply exist in the ether, connected to everything.  Sometimes I don't know what the fuck is happening afterward. I inject the audio and trip balls. Of course I didn't hear you, my headphones were making sweet, sweet love to my ears. I'm not driving unless the bass is vibrating my bones, stirring me up, mimicking my soul (or vice versa). It drowns out the thoughts of others. I am not me, I am anyone, I am the color red or a wild animal.

But...but...I wanna go too.

I need to get out. My brother is taking Dave to a death metal show in Luray this weekend and it seems probable I'll have to stay home with Lucy. Dammit. I love my daughter, but sometimes I just need out. When Dave was little, I just brought him with me to parties and such (nothing too wild, and he always had proper supervision, I'm not a terrible mother) and I was so free. It felt delicious. I'm pretty goddamn stuck lately.

Sending up my Bat Signal

I hate those nights where I feel like I'm the only one alive. The only one aware and listening. Only one with human emotions. In overdrive. Like...now. Somebody?

Looking up

I should be kept away from blogger when I'm feeling down. The stupidest shit gets written. I cringe at how angry and pathetic I sound sometimes. Today is a nice day. It's warm. I went outside barefoot and blew bubbles with Lucy, which felt good (aside from the apparent wasp problem we have around our front door, that's rather shitty). I'm losing weight. Lots of it, actually. I'm finally starting to feel good in my own skin. I just need to drop a little more weight and BOOM, I will finally fit into my Mr Bubble pajama pants, and that will be glorious, my friends.

My mom's been in and out of the hospital. I was seriously worried for awhile, because she had to undergo three operations (she had to have her gallbladder removed, then had some sort of nasty bile leakage that needed to be fixed after that) and then still had to go back after all that with pancreatitis. It had me a little crazy, I guess, because I'm very close with my mom. But now it looks like she's in the clear and will probably go home tomorrow. Whew.

I've been getting my stomach aches again. Every morning. Sometimes at night now. Fuck, I think this has been an issue now since at least high school, but it's been just about daily the last 12 years or so, since the birth of my oldest. I don't think I'll see the doctor about it, because I've done that and the medication they had me on made me too drowsy to drive. Fuck that, man. Both doctors I'd seen attributed it to stress. I thought maybe it was IBS. Thought maybe drinking was making it worse, too, but I stopped drinking for awhile and there was no change. Still have no idea, also can't afford a doctor visit. No damn insurance.

But anyway, bitches, I'm feeling happy today.

High / Low

My highs and lows are becoming unpredictable. One minute I want to throw things, scream, sometimes I feel like curling up and dying, and then I'll be so happy that my face hurts from smiling (random RHPS reference, "Even smiling makes my face ache!") and all's I want to do is robot dance. When there is none of these extremes, there is numb. I hope that getting regular exercise and eating better helps my moods, but they seem to be getting worse these past few months. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

Right now I'm in a shitty angry mood. I was fine while I was running the treadmill, I could just daydream and think and listen to my music and everyone left me the fuck alone. I need a punching bag. I need to hibernate. I need time for myself where I don't have to be mom for awhile. I want to fucking be ME sometimes, not what everyone else needs me to be. AAAUGH, HULK SMASH!

Just not my night.

I can't form a fucking thought with this kid constantly talking and jumping around. I just want some time to myself where I don't have to listen to a four year old's stream of thought or have someone bugging me to look at this, look at this, looooooook. My patience is wearing VERY FUCKING THIN.

I just need time to think. I get time to do that on the treadmill, which is why I treasure my time on it. That or in the shower or car -- no one interrupting my thoughts. I feel selfish. I'm a mom, I'm supposed to put my kids before myself.

I just want my writing back. I write a little, but not nearly everything that I need to. When I have something like a feeling/poem that needs to get out, but I'm not in a situation where I feel like I can write, it's like being constipated.  I can't write until everyone in this family is in bed, I'm just completely uninspired until then. I need to drink to get all this tension out, all this anger I have about...life.

I thought I would quit drinking (it's hell for trying to lose weight), but I can't. When I'm sober, I feel that sort of numb, much like when I was on Celexa but none of the calm. I couldn't write then, either. I want to cry and scream and throw things and curl up into a ball and escape from the world.

time passes...

Nevermind. Kids in bed, amazing smiles now. Drink is good. Laughs to be had. Whooda thunk. It's turning into a better night.

Southern Comfort and Soul Stuff.

"Can't stop what's coming, can't stop what is on it's way..." Just another intoxication. It certainly makes my obsessions clearer. And I speak in very cryptic and obscure sentences. Because for some reason, when I drink, I convince myself that I am plugged into some collective conciousness and those relevant minds hear me. I am however, merely drunk. Still, it would be neat if my mind was really broadcasting this. I suppose blogging it is as close as I'm going to get. Nobody really even reads this. I'm just a drunk girl with stupid theories, talking to herself.

Listening to Peter Murphy. I really like it. I think I've had almost enough Southern Comfort to...I dunno, actually, I've almost finished the bottle. Drinking makes me feel lonlier sometimes. It's almost as if my brain is disappointed that it doesn't get a response when drunk, even though I have no one to talk to but myself. I feel...not all there. But not in an insane way. I feel...partial. Is that normal? Do I make sense, or am I really further gone than I thought?

I think...this is really me. I need to drink and get over all the outward jumble to show my soul. If the soul is really...real. Too bad it's always late and when I'm alone. It makes me love me even more, I am fucking AWESOME. Anyone who disagrees, you are what is wrong with the world. I feel like the bright center of everything. Kiss me, I'm Irish. Or whatever, yeah, I am quite drunk.

My thoughts on country music. It's shit.

This job wouldn't be near as bad if the same mind-numbing country songs weren't played over and over from my bosses offices. Really, if given the choice (which I never am) between country music or none at all, I would pick silence. And there's nothing that makes me feel more irritable and unpatriotic than hearing the shitty twang of a country music rendition of the Star Spangled Banner played every day at noon. Way to ruin the national anthem, people, it sounds like you're singing it out of your assholes.

After Christmas Shittiness

Had a nice holiday, though so many of the family were sick (myself included). Now to tackle the feat of making it through the rest of winter. The endless stretch of cold and dark. After Christmas, all I want to do is curl up in bed or drink. Or curl up in bed AND drink. I've got kids constantly yakking in my ear so I can't form a fucking thought. I used to write poetry when I was down. It was depressing and angsty poetry, but it felt good to create something that represented the shit that I was feeling. Hell if I can do that with Spongebob Fucking Squarepants blasting on the TV.

All I want is Southern Comfort and nachos and to watch back to back episodes of Sherlock by myself. Followed by typing out drunken poetry while listening to the Doors. Maybe light some incense. The only way I get over depression is by wallowing in it. Roboting through it all and pretending it's all okay is not helping. I want to open the front door and scream.

Christmas

"I'm looking forward to Christmas, though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus..."

This sums up the holiday nicely for me. I love the tradition of celebrating togetherness and watching goofy movies. Giving surprises to people I love. Spending time and eating cookies and drinking (well, okay, the drinking is done year-round) with a big fucking sparkly tree in the living room. I don't believe in any of the religious aspects of Christmas. But I still really like it.



Happy Holidays. Whatever holiday you celebrate. And if you don't celebrate, you should at least drink heavily and overeat. Because hey, look, we're halfway through the dark. *hug*

Stuff.

I like using "language." Like shitfuckmutherfuckercocksuckingfuckbagWANKER and maybe I'll offend someone (if I have offended you, you're welcome). I like expressing myself in the language I actually think in, and I often scream FUCK in my head for no reason. It just feels right.

Anyways, I just got back from a week-long vacation at the beach. I started said vacation healing from the blisters of the hand-foot-mouth disease given to me by my children...only to have blisters covering my back from a massive sunburn a week later (now...a week later is right the fuck now). Why can't I just TAN?? I mean, I normally like to stay a palish gray color most of the time, but when i DO go in the sun for an extended amount of time, no amount of sunscreen can protect me anymore. SPF 50 and I am still fried. Fuck. Me.

Glad to be done with my summer classes (in which I aced both, like a boss...and I think that's the first time I've tried to use, "like a boss," in a sentence and will most assuredly be the last time). I've got a couple weeks now where I don't have to try and bullshit my way through anything...other than work. So with all this extra time on my hands, I might be getting drunk and posting more whatnot.

I've actually been drinking tonight, so if this doesn't make any sense, I am just writing it to amuse myself.

I should be doing my homework...

...but I needed a shot of beauty into my liquor soaked reading of Moby Dick (I find that Southern Comfort helps me absorb this massively dense fat-ass book, which is required reading for my American Lit. class)

Therefore, Tim Minchin.

hey, it's franklin...

How can this fucking turtle just chill outside of his shell and still be alive? Isn't that his spine and rib cage in there, in his shell?? He should be dead. I must remember to explain this to my daughter the next time I read Franklin In the Dark to her at bedtime.

FRANKLIN SHOULD BE DEAD!

Wow. I really need to stop wasting time picking out the flaws in cartoon characters and finish my homework....

The Reason Rally

It finally happened. After months of waiting and figuratively biting my nails in wild anticipation, the weekend arrived where I could finally be surrounded by like-minded, enlightened individuals and listen to brilliant speakers, wicked funny comedians, and awesome musicians tear up the stage. I just never really thought I’d be in a poncho the entire time. Yes. It rained pretty much the whole day, but I didn’t mind. Neither did the rest of the crowd of 20,000+ people.

Sadly, my plan of bringing my 11 year old son, Dave, did not pan out, as we woke up at 4am the morning of the rally to the juicy splattering noises of him purging his dinner from IHOP all over my best friend’s floor and sleeping bag. But, this wonderful friend of mine, after my son probably permanently stained her carpet orange, offered to stay home with him while Charlie and I attended the rally. Thank you, Mandy. I hope the stain comes out and your sleeping bag can be salvaged.

Richard Dawkins

Eddie Izzard

Bad Religion

zombie check

what's this silliness? everyone in the house asleep but me and i decide to start watching The Walking Dead on Netflix. good show, great, now i'm doing little "zombie checks" every time i hear...anything. i'll sit here on my lappy watching YouTube videos with headphones on and suddenly i think...what could be going on around me that i'm not hearing? zombie check.

holy crap, i don't believe in this nonsense! i get another glass of wine instead of reading my history chapter, peruse fucking Twitter (thank you charlie, this sudden concern with Twitter is YOUR fault), and...zombie check.

the fan outside just shut off. now it's quieter. i thought it was most quiet before, i just didn't notice that hum of white noise until it shut off, now it's a disturbing kind of nothing. i may need to turn the tv on just for the comfort of sound. which means going into a dark living room...what was that?! shit, i just saw the edge of my glasses out of the corner of my eye and...zombie check.

i feel like i'm fucking five. like when i used to run and jump onto my bed so any hands that tried to reach out and slit my achilles with a butcher knife wouldn't have enough time, then i would lie there trying not to breathe too hard under my holly hobbie bedspread, and would finally have to open a TINY slit of blanket so i could get some cool air (making sure it wasn't near my eye so i wouldn't have to see some ghostly horror floating over my bed waiting to pounce). then waiting. and listening. and picturing a man with a machete under my bed. realizing that if that were the case, he would just need to stab up through my mattress and i would be toast. but i couldn't very well get up or the floaty ghost and butcher knife dude would get me (my bedroom apparently got very crowded at night).

whew. i'm glad i've grown up and come to my senses.

zombie check.

I'll tell you what...

For every criticism and complaint that I receive for my being the way I am, for every insult meant to point out what I consider to be a strength as if it were a laughable weakness, and for every person who goes out of their way to be insulted by my beliefs and disbelief, I can only say that I will never be made to feel ashamed. If I ever decide to change my mind, it will never result from your obnoxious bullying, but from my own observation of facts. I am proud to be who I am, whether or not it fits with your image of perfection. You are certainly not without flaws. I have never gone out of my way to single someone out to tell them that they are wrong in their beliefs and they should live their life the way that I deem appropriate. I resent anyone that inflicts that same idiocy upon me. I believe what I believe because I think it is worthy, true and beneficial to myself, my family, and to society as a whole. I can't help that you hold the opposite opinion, but you have the right to disagree with me. Just keep out of my fucking face.

it's a minchin day

best thing to get my mind off being miserably sick? watching tim minchin videos on youtube.

juicy

i have a cold. i'm not dying, i'm not helpless and i'm not actually feeling that bad yet. but holy fuck, i want someone to come and take care of my kids for a week, clean my house, make me soup, give me a large bottle of southern comfort so i can numb myself and then let me sleep. then disappear from the face of the earth, so i wouldn't feel guilty and the need to repay the kindness. i don't need a mommy. i need elves to come and make me some fucking shoes. or something, i can't think straight.

lucy's sick and snotting all over. she's been like this and had a nasty cough for the last few days, so for the last few days i've been waiting for the inevitable and now it's here, in all it's juicy glory. how i despise colds. heavy lungs, aching head, burning throat and all kinds of nastiness backed up somewhere in there waiting for me to sneeze in front of someone. yeah, that's disgusting. the worst of it hasn't hit yet and i'm scheduled to work the next three days. fuck.