Thoughts, Nonsense, Neurosis, Boom

Saturday, September 28, 2013

My has flatlined. :(

I feel blank today. Not anything. I want to feel something. I thought once I started typing, words and (hopefully) some sort of emotion would flow out, but nothing. I am faintly frustrated, but not enough. Not enough of anything. It's uncomfortable. But not uncomfortable enough. There's a pea under my mattress. I'm okay, I guess, but something feels a little wrong. And I'm tired. I finally have a day off from work, the first in over a week, and I can't enjoy it, really. I'm just sitting here blankly. I feel guilty that Lucy wants my attention and I can't muster any. I'm trapped inside this cotton ball head. I'm almost too tired to care.

A few hours later...

In a matter of hours, my mind has gone from an aloof and confused mush to angry, closed up and defensive. I don't know why. I know that this shouldn't be normal and probably isn't. I went to the store and felt paranoid that people were thinking terribly of me (which they may have been, my hair was a mess). I have a bottle of whiskey in my possession now, which gives me a little bit of peace. I'm hoping to get good and drunk and write some terrible poetry, feel like myself again.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

One Thing

I wish I could find that One Thing that I am supremely good at. My talent that I could translate into a career. I look around and it seems like everyone my age knows what their One Thing is, have careers. I've worked at a hotel for seven years. This is that job people work while they are looking for something better. And I've been here for seven years, making a couple dollars over minimum wage. I don't really feel like an adult.

I wish my talent was writing, that's what I hear from family and friends. But maybe this is the only mildly good thing I can do and they are just trying to be nice. I come away from reading some great book or poetry, then read over what I have's boring. It's juvenile. I wouldn't pay to read what I've written. It's honest enough, so I suppose that just goes to show how boring I actually am.

I'm at work right now. I love hate this job. I don't like to work because I feel like I could be doing something better with my time, but when I'm not working, I feel useless. I don't DO anything better with my time when I'm off work. I'll think, hey, I'll go for a walk, get the house cleaned, write something epic. But do you know what I do? Sleep past noon, then stare at a computer. At least when I'm working, I know I'm making money. Even though most of my work involves spending my down time on Facebook.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Spitnoodle, she turned 10 on Friday.

Really? A decade? Have I been writing in this thing for that long? I have been weirdly loyal to this blog, as it was my first. I used to have a decent amount of readers. I used to actually care about that. I get that I really don't have many now, aside than the occasional passerby clicking through to the next Blogger blog, if that. Which is why my posts have become more personal, more for myself. That and my posts meant "for everyone" are posted to Facebook, where I know people will see them. This is now just my odd private/public diary of intensely personal thoughts. That may make me a sort of exhibitionist.

That's really it, I don't have a whole hell of a lot to say tonight. I'm in an okay mood. Yeah, I'm alright. I actually should write more in this sort of mood and not wait until I'm wallowing in self pity and depression. It makes me seem as if that's all I am.

Also, I'm loving everything Steven Wilson / Porcupine Tree / Storm Corrosion. So I will end on this awesome song that will not exit my mind:

Saturday, September 07, 2013

No good.

How can such a sunshiney day feel so gray? People are out and walking, kids are playing, whatever. I heard some sort of sports game going on down the road at the college. People are having fun all around me. It's a nice seventy-something degrees. I think I'd prefer a storm. I hate this numb, especially during nice weather. It feels like I'm wasting something. Like my life.

Food isn't doing it for me. I'm having a beer, I can hardly taste it. I tried reading and couldn't concentrate. I'd read a bit, then my mind would wander to what I should be doing, or the stupid things that I've said or done. I thought I'd watch a movie, but I just couldn't find anything other than horror movies that I'd want to watch. Scary movies need to be watched at night, not at three o'clock in the afternoon with the sun glaring off the screen.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm lost. I want to go back to bed, but that would feel like I've given up. Writing this feels like whining. What I don't understand is how can I feel so happy and euphoric sometimes? Doing some of the same things that I just can't get into today? What is different today? Sure, I've got a bit of a cold, but that shouldn't make a difference. I feel this way when I'm perfectly (physically) healthy...or as healthy as I get.

Writing is at least something I can focus on. That's more than I can say for anything else I've tried to do today. Even if it is self-absorbed bitching. It's nice to get it out. In a non-destructive way (as opposed to screaming and breaking dishes, which I unfortunately tried this morning).

There are times I feel like I am part of a collective consciousness and on the same channel as the rest of the world. I love that feeling. But then there are times like now, when I feel like I'm the only person in the world. Like I'm making everyone else up in my mind and dreaming it all.

Tuesday, September 03, 2013

Things that occur to me when I'm sick and not allowed to sleep.

My brain is foggy with cold/flu, so some or all of this may not make any sense. But I was reading (in the fashion that I normally do at work -- read a paragraph, take a phone call, forget and read same paragraph over, take another call and on and on), and suddenly something sparked in my mind, a sentence that I though I should write down. And now that I've opened my laptop, the sentence is turning into a paragraph, so I think I'm about to ramble. Sorry in advance.

The thing that's randomly tugging my thoughts away from a completely unrelated novel is the way that gender differences are portrayed on TV. It irritates me. Sometimes I watch sitcoms. Not all of the time, I prefer a book or movie or my computer normally, but sometimes I'm just tired. Most TV programming seems to be made for tired or ignorant minds. I may relate to the mommishness of the moms. Or the funny us-against-them situations where the dysfunction of one family pits them against the rest of the social accepted world.

But then I see the men, watching football and having poker night with the guys. If they play the role of Husband, then they are often dumbed-down to appear mentally inferior to their wives. The women, the Wife, is normally either staying home with the kids or having a career while balancing PTA meetings and cleaning and grocery trips (all minus the man). Yes, sometimes the man attempts to "help out," leading to some sort of hilarious bungling because he's just not cut out for "women's work."*

*Disclaimer: I know this does not describe every television couple. I know there may be shows that have more accurate portrayals of relationships. They just never seem to be on when it's my turn to have the remote.

Ugh. I see it and I get that maybe there are people like this out there. It must be incredibly dull to be these sort of people. Maybe that's why there are so many sitcoms made about them. Entertainment for people to relate to, people that are a little too dense to try, oh, maybe reading a book instead. But my point is, the separation of genders in these shows are, in my opinion, exaggerated. Maybe I'm weird. Well, I know I'm weird, what I meant was that maybe I'm the exception. But I hope not.

Yes, I am a woman. Yes, on two different occasions, I spent 9 long months not able to drink until little mini humans bust up out of me. And I like purses (I think more men would, too, if they got over the gender stereotype. I mean, holy hell, I don't have to try and squeeze my cell, keys, and wallet into my pockets...and I can carry a fucking umbrella -- hells yes). But I am not first and foremost a woman in my mind. I am Me, an individual, neurotic and strange, but wonderful. Not a girly girl, not a slut, not a tomboy, not a robot, not butch, not the career women, not the bra burning feminist (not to the extent I go pyro on my underwear, at least), not the girl next door, not scantily clad or overly made up, not a prude, not any of those things. I may be a very small degree of one or more of those things at any given time, but I have no clear label. And I don't think anyone should.

Okay, I suppose I don't relate well to many other people, as I seem to be always surrounded by women who are more clearly defined as feminine or masculine (while I am strangely neutral). But I think there are a lot of people like me out there, that are more neutral minded. Women and men. And I think that needs to be portrayed a little better on TV. For those times my mind is too tired for a book but still not ignorant enough for King of Queens.

Monday, September 02, 2013



Another Stupid List...of the bucket-y sort.

I am at work, unsupervised and a little bored. What do I do when I am bored? Normally, I read, drink, or sleep. The first option is difficult to do for me when I am frequently interrupted by phone calls, and the last two are sadly out of the question, so I will make a stupid list. I am in an unusally happy, sober, bloggy type mood, so I will take full advantage of this odd bit of perkiness. Holy crap, I'd even go so far as to say I'm feeling chipper.

What the fuck am I going to list, though?

Bucket List?


Bucket List!


1. Finish my bachelor's degree in whatever field I am planning to be happy in. Right now I'm still trying to convince myself that this field is Computer Science, but holy hell...calculus. I'm just no good at the math.

2. Visit another country. I've never done it. I've never even been to Mexico or Canada.

3. Fix my body image problems. Really, it's only my weight and teeth that bother me. I don't give a flying fuck what the rest of the world thinks of the way I look, but I'd like to be happy with myself when I look in the mirror. I'd also like to chew my food without fear of breaking more teeth.

4. Get a pug and name it Steve Martin. Get an orangey cat and name it Bill Murray.

5. Write a novel or book of poems or book of something. Something that preserves my me-ness in a form that generations can be disturbed by for years to come.

6. Learn German, or at least enough of it so that I can sing a handful of songs in it.

7. Learn to play the guitar I've had since my 16th birthday.

8. Crochet an entire, giant, crazy colored blanket.

9. Repay anyone who has ever lent or given me money, even if they have said not to worry about it or it was a gift. Starting with my parents and Charlie's. If I don't win the lottery, this one will take...quite a while.

10. I used to aspire to do great things. I think being a good mom, though, is a great thing in itself. So I would like to inspire people to do great things. Hopefully two of these people will be my children. I want to make changes for the good in this world, and inspire others to do the same. I know this is vague, but I'd like to go out knowing I made a contribution to the greater good rather than adding to the world's problems.

11. I want to make everyone I care about really understand how much they mean to me, and let them know that I love them. I try to do this now, on a regular basis. I can't handle the pain of finding out that it is too late to tell someone, "I love you," and the older I get, the more likely I am to run into that situation. I know this is not something I can just check off my list, as it is ongoing, but it seems more important than some bucket list items I've read. For example, bungee jumping or some such nonsense.

12. Go to a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show and dress up as Magenta (this preferably after I lose the extra weight, I don't want to be a fat Magenta).

13. While I'm on the topic of costumes, I would also like another chance at a Death costume (again, after I lose weight). Last time was a last minute very half-assed attempt. I can do better than that.

14. Write a children's book with Mandy. Or a pseudo-children's book full of funnies and vulgarity.

15. Be happy and stay that way. More or less.


Honestly, I can't think of anything else to add at the moment. I will probably get more ideas on my drive home from work. Or not.

Sunday, September 01, 2013

Boring Me and Dreams

Where did my fun go? I realize that about the time I moved away from Washington, I became a far less entertaining person. Maybe it's the slower pace of life that's done it to me. Maybe it's my brain deciding to grow increasingly more neurotic. Or maybe it just comes with being a mom and in a constant state of exhaustion.

It's all that shit combined.

My dreams seem more important than my waking life sometimes. I get up in the morning, fresh from a mind drama, still feeling the after effects. It's akin to the feeling of leaving the theater after seeing an epic, life changing film. The quiet reflection. I can't speak to anyone for the first 10 minutes, I have to concentrate on how that just made me feel. Then I need to tell anyone who will listen all about it.

See what I did? I think I just completely switched topics there. And I don't even care. I guess my point is that on the outside I find myself boring, but the inside of my brain is fucking amazing. I live there, and when I'm sleeping, it feels like others live there with me. And it would be fucking magnificent to share a dream with other people. Actual people, not made up dream versions of other people.

I think I have this obsession with my dreams because it reminds me that I can actually feel things. My dreams evoke emotions that I lack when I'm awake (or at least sober). I'm human after all. It's comforting. I zombie through my grayscale life eagerly awaiting the hour when my head hits the pillow and I can wake up in color, like Dorothy in Oz.