tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58093432024-03-23T14:18:45.045-04:00SpitnoodleThoughts, Nonsense, Neurosis, BoomUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger498125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-89964479960102841392023-03-17T07:37:00.001-04:002023-03-17T07:37:35.472-04:00Finally<div>I am quitting my job before securing a new one. I don't know where my family and I will be living in a month. So many details of my life are up in the air. It's terrifying. </div><div><br></div><div>But I'm happy. Deliriously, wonderfully, optimistically fucking JOYFUL. Smiling and dancing and ready to just burst into candy and confetti. There is only one thing that could make a person feel this goddamned amazing.</div><div><br></div><div>Love. </div><div><br></div><div>Real, honest, once-in-a-lifetime love with THE person. The kind you have absolutely no reservations about. The sort where the trust runs so deep, you have no doubts that they genuinely love you the same. Y'all! It turns out that it actually exists! That's not just movie nonsense or stuff of daydreams. I am really having to reframe this cynical worldview of mine to allow myself to really believe this is even possible. </div><div><br></div><div>I've known him for a decade. I've loved him from afar for...a decade. Written silly poetry about him. Daydreamed all the what-if's and if-only's. Watched him love another and ached quietly while I was in a relationship I felt trapped in. He's the one that I knew from the start was my other half. I actually did just know. It really was like fucking lightning. I knew deep down that being with anyone else would just be passing time with a stand-in and not the love that I wanted. </div><div><br></div><div>(I know my ex can see this, so I will stop here to say that I'm sorry, Charlie. This can't sound good. But it's honest. And we both moved past to find the real love, so...we cool, right?)</div><div><br></div><div>Welp. Guess what? Turns out HE'S ALWAYS LOVED ME BACK! It took awhile, and we had to wait until we were both out of our own relationships, but we finally told each other. He cracked that door open and I bust in like Kool-aid. Now he's agreed to move across this entire country to be with me. In 17.5 days, I will fly to him, and we will do this trek together. Then come back and spend our lives together. </div><div><br></div><div>I'll be home. Finally.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-7996805061446201342023-02-17T12:21:00.001-05:002023-02-17T12:21:06.409-05:00Beautiful morning blahblahblahs<div>I'm alright. Not comfortable, not stable, not always happy, and not the healthiest. But I'm still alright. I step back each morning and realize that, despite all the hiccups and setbacks, I've got it so much better than I've had it before. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm giving myself back my freedom. I'm being a friend to myself (FINALLY) instead of heckling me from the back of my brain. I'm continuously growing and learning from my own bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely still on my bullshit. But hopefully I learn from that, too, and keep moving forward.</div><div><br></div><div>Damn, if I feel this good now, how am I going to feel once I get coffee.</div><div><br></div><div>Transcendent. Probably. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm finally in a time where my kids are grown enough to be my friends. I mean, yeah, I'm always mom. But I cannot convey how much I enjoy my kids' company now. They're brilliant, compassionate, talented, responsible, hilarious human beings. This shows that I actually contributed great things to this world. Their existence makes my existence seem worth something.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm still sitting here in bed writing this on my phone. It's gradually getting harder to write, considering I'm propped up on my elbows and both of my arms are falling asleep. Eh. Still not stopping me.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm finally free from relationships, free to look around at men with options. I can take em or leave em with no obligations. I know that I don't need to jump into something because I feel lonely. Sure, I'll feel lonely. It's not the end of the world. I still felt lonely in a relationship. I've got friends and family. Lonliness is a far better feeling than trapped. I love having control over my own life without needing to justify any of my choices to someone else. Aaah. </div><div><br></div><div>Anyways, this is as zen as it gets. In a few minutes, I'll finally drag my happy ass out of bed, maybe step in some cat mess or something, and declare this world to be shit.</div><div><br></div><div>Wish me luck.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-29222438317961482032022-12-04T01:27:00.002-05:002022-12-04T01:56:40.436-05:00List: Ten things that make me happy<div>Because sometimes I need a reminder of the good things (much like <a href="http://spitnoodle.blogspot.com/2019/07/excitement.html">this</a>...and <a href="https://spitnoodle.blogspot.com/2013/07/50-little-things-that-make-me-happy.html">this</a>).</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Hugs from my thick & moody black cat, Buffy. She doesn't always appreciate attention, but there are times when she'll just purr loudly when I pick her up & lean in hard against my face. It's fucking adorable, because I know I'm getting affection from an animal that hates most of the human race.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. People hugs -- the completely genuine sort. Long full squeezes that help put me back together, from people that appreciate me. Not some half-assed cold & forced bullshit.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Finding out that someone has good memories involving me. I tend to just assume I cease to exist to other people once I'm out of their sight.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Hearing songs and artists in my kids' Spotify playlists that I introduced them to.</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Marzetti Sweet Italian dressing (TASTE BUD ORGASM).</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Rappers with thick British accents.</div><div><br /></div><div>7. <a href="https://youtu.be/75WFTHpOw8Y">This video of Björk talking about her television</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>8. Driving through an automatic car wash and watching the pretty colors of the foam soap on the windows. Mesmerizing.</div><div><br /></div><div>9. Watching a horror movie with every light in the house turned off. Sometimes I just need a good spookin'.</div><div><br /></div><div>10. Predicting the odd future event (good things, I mean, not dread) somewhat accurately. Makes me feel like I might be in control of this whole simulation (aka life) after all.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-3492757838591632402022-08-09T18:20:00.001-04:002022-08-09T18:28:40.909-04:00The Sandman<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have been a fan of The Sandman comics since the age of 16. I was first introduced through my love of Tori Amos. A friend had lent me her copy of the graphic novel, Death: The High Cost of Living (as Tori had written the forward for it). I adored it, then went on to read Death: Time of Your Life. Afterwards, I was left needing more -- not really realizing at the time that these Death comics were just spinoffs of something much larger. Then I found The Sandman, and I devoured it all.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetWvNU_zY-2RbkjEd6__BVgaY2XD9YYWXD3DVKAh5Hq_XIuZzaFdlPXlw_MmW8Cj9Zk1gmcJUBrIOc7tXIF5LHvrCQIdGQ1n-yP_l4JiYvW-2TTJCZ26tKRN9urzg9YbpFbUTjV_kSNdayTtLdICxE1_-LkXPCdezdSDOBw5RMpOmHn83SA/s499/41cPk-DPr4L._SX323_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="325" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetWvNU_zY-2RbkjEd6__BVgaY2XD9YYWXD3DVKAh5Hq_XIuZzaFdlPXlw_MmW8Cj9Zk1gmcJUBrIOc7tXIF5LHvrCQIdGQ1n-yP_l4JiYvW-2TTJCZ26tKRN9urzg9YbpFbUTjV_kSNdayTtLdICxE1_-LkXPCdezdSDOBw5RMpOmHn83SA/s320/41cPk-DPr4L._SX323_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqkODs6Gs-s1z4zhtEyVog1uQdfDAuNkupoFN3pGlFT1I-_T-O92b9kgZdDHGS-PZljcYiXkzXAG8iZPlyUQvHXa78AdXX_WsUN_5-icdDomGuGORhucAJUirqz9aIPKJRaTCOzv-6nweRjh3YCbWTR6C-tR4LK7D1PxXWkyTlasFPbICEQ/s1000/71zyEAbvbYL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="647" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqkODs6Gs-s1z4zhtEyVog1uQdfDAuNkupoFN3pGlFT1I-_T-O92b9kgZdDHGS-PZljcYiXkzXAG8iZPlyUQvHXa78AdXX_WsUN_5-icdDomGuGORhucAJUirqz9aIPKJRaTCOzv-6nweRjh3YCbWTR6C-tR4LK7D1PxXWkyTlasFPbICEQ/s320/71zyEAbvbYL.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I have never been an avid comic book reader, never been terribly into the idea of superheroes. They bored me. I've always liked the deeper and/or darker stories best. Even as a child, the only comics I had really liked were the horror EC Comics, stuff like Tales from the Crypt, The Vault of Horror, The Haunt of Fear. They were cute dark stories, but not terribly deep. With Sandman, though, I had finally found a comic that spoke my language.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Sandman changed me at a time I was still forming the basic me-ness of me. I credited Sandman's creator, Neil Gaiman for a good chunk of my personality by the time I graduated high school -- not only him, of course. I mean... there were definitely some David Lynch and Stephen King influences in there, too. But Neil definitely contributed to my glorious weirdness, and I have since bonded with other weirdos over our shared love of Sandman. </div><div><br /></div><div>Many of the Sandman characters opened my mind to different sexual orientations and gender identities. The concept of being gender nonbinary was first introduced to me through Desire of the Endless -- my first brush with they/them. I really think that exposure has helped me to wrap my mind around it easier now, as some of my friends and family have since come out as nonbinary. I really don't know if I'm a more accepting person for reading Sandman, or if it was just my accepting nature and openness that made me enjoy reading it in the first place. Shrug.</div><div><br /></div><div>So! I had a point I was planning to get to eventually, then I started babbling. My point: Netflix has just released a live action series of The Sandman this past Friday. Ten glorious episodes covering the first couple volumes of the graphic novels. I have been waiting years for this, hoping it would actually happen this time, praying they wouldn't ruin it. August 5 became a holiday for me. SANDMAN DAY. I've already watched the entire season and am relieved, impressed, excited for more, and worried that it could be canceled by Netflix before I get to see the rest of the story on screen. I need ALL OF IT. So if you're reading this, I highly suggest you watch it. More viewers means Netflix will (hopefully) renew it for another season and there will finally be good shit for me to look forward to and less of my bullshit self indulgent depression posts. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/83ClbRPRDXU" width="320" youtube-src-id="83ClbRPRDXU"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Watch The Sandman and maybe I'll quit my incessant whining. </div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-23181269402867222112022-07-23T12:25:00.001-04:002022-07-23T12:25:53.466-04:00More Pathetic Nonsense, probably just stop reading now<div>Pain is a familiar friend. I don't know how to behave without it, so I hold onto whatever anguish is happening today, roll it around my head and savor it. If I don't have something to cry about, am I really alive?</div><div><br></div><div>This is apparently how I prepare for my kids' birthday party. I'm supposed to be cleaning house today in preparation, but I drank these terrifying vodka redbull concoctions last night and now I feel like garbage. </div><div><br></div><div>So I'm lying in bed playing these scenarios in my head. Conversations that will never happen, but where I say all the things I want to say and I get the expected hurtful responses....which is why I don't actually have these conversations. I want to get the words out, but saying them aloud would be some nightmarish vulnerability. So nah.</div><div><br></div><div>The result of this, though, is me blubbering stupidly in bed while playing endless games of Solitaire Cash while I'm supposed to be steam mopping. Damn, this brain is wonderful. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-89989766262960220942022-05-25T16:54:00.001-04:002022-05-25T16:54:57.183-04:00bad brain<div>Feeling as if I've fallen down a deep hole and no one can see me. I realize this isn't the fault of other people. I'm not being purposely ignored by the world. I mean, right now I'm not seeing past the end of my own nose, so I'm inadvertently doing this to others. Sometimes I feel pretty positive, I'm starting to get my shit figured out, I'm getting out of my own way and things will be better. But at the first unexpected obstacle, I'm immediately buried and see life as this unbearable sisyphean cycle.</div><div><br></div><div>There, I feel a little lighter now, at least. That's the point of these posts -- to pull the heavy thoughts out and release them to the void.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-33288260889974707582022-05-16T12:58:00.001-04:002022-05-16T13:36:36.164-04:00storms<div>I have to keep reminding myself, no matter what happens, I have friends and family who love me and I am worth more than I think. The weather (inside & out) has been pretty oppressive these last few days. I get caught up with my emotions too hard and quickly, it takes time after the storm to find my balance again. My even keel. </div><div><br></div><div>I need to stop crashing through doors that aren't open to me. Granted, this time it really felt as if I were invited, but the door was still shut. I am okay, got a good night's sleep, didn't drink away the emotions (sitting sober with them is very uncomfortable, but necessary). There's a calm today, and I can see that there's never going to be clear skies for long. But weathering these storms and coming back out (mostly) unscathed, it just toughens me up to survive the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Bring it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-31270164229703064162022-05-13T08:36:00.003-04:002022-05-14T01:31:48.089-04:00Fierce morning brain stuff<div>Feeling pretty free lately, despite the occasional head storm (which is inevitable for me). Feeling fierce, actually. Fine time for list making. What to list...ah, how about Things I'm Letting Go: </div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The idea that I need to censor parts of myself to make others comfortable. If I make someone uncomfortable by being myself, that's probably not the company I need to be keeping. </li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The need to be alone to wallow in my thoughts. This never ends well, usually with me overthinking and imagining, writing needy pathetic poetry. Funk dat, I have my tribe of weirdos that love me and who also need another human to pull them back out of themselves. With hugs. Real squeezy hugs. Human physical contact helps keep me grounded.</li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Alcohol as a form of medication. I have writing, art, music, books, films, friends, family, cats, laughter, nature, ALL THIS FUCKING WORLD as medication, I don't need to tamp myself down with booze. Not saying I've stopped altogether, but not drinking alone anymore. A few drinks always helps connect my brain to my mouth, though.</li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The need to self diagnose myself with bullshit. I have an imbalance. Every fucking person has some sort of imbalance. There is no grown adult who is 100% sane. I don't need to hyper focus on what's wrong with me, or label it. As long as it stays within the realm of neurosis, I'm cool. </li></ul><div>yeah, I'm tired of this list already. It's not even 9am, for fuck's sake.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-30314794683818481712022-05-05T13:24:00.001-04:002022-05-05T13:26:26.373-04:00some happy words<div>dealing with my hills and dips, some higher and lower than others. I've had a bright shiny light lately, I just have to wait and see how that plays out. optimistic though (which, I realize, doesn't appear to be my norm, given everything I write, but know that I write more of my lows than of my highs -- the highs are a far more frequent occurance). drinking has definitely been under control for awhile now, which makes life so so much easier. trying hard not to internalize the stress of others and make it my own. </div><div><br></div><div>just thought I'd write something positive here, so I don't appear to be this pit of despair.</div><div><br></div><div>life is lovely.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-77739287679856223042022-04-22T13:18:00.000-04:002022-04-22T13:18:07.062-04:00List: Yeah, I'm making another list<div>This one is: Coping Strategies? I guess? I don't know, I just had a hankering for listing things.</div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Recently learned helpful hint: people become 200x less intimidating once you remember they still have to wipe their asses. Yeah, probably don't picture it, though. I mean, unless you think it will help.</li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Buy a bag of goldfish crackers and bite them all in half along their seams. This gives one an enormous sense of accomplishment. Also, don't put them back in the bag after doing this, you really just have to eat them at this point. What are you, five years old? I shouldn't have to tell you this! </li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Put on the Electric Six album Fire. Loudly. Like, crank that shit to eleven. Sing and dance furiously to the entire album at least twice through. Forget about doing the dishes. What dishes? The dishes are an illusion. There's only Fire today.</li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>See all your unfinished paintings? Yeah, girl, pop one on the easel and stare at it for a half hour. Just really get nowhere with it. Now put that shit away and get a fresh canvas out. Paint a lovely shade of orange over the entire thing. Yeah, that's pretty. What next? I have no idea, let's just finish that one later. I'm sick of painting now. </li></ul></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Start making a list. Get intensely into it for...eh, five minutes. Then... yeah, no, I'm done. </li></ul></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-33768358758799381502022-02-21T12:23:00.001-05:002022-02-21T12:23:47.872-05:00guiltyA little late for a resolution this year, but fuck it. Time is an illusion. <div><br></div><div>This resolution: indulge in every one of my "guilty pleasures" until I stop feeling guilty and ashamed for liking things other people don't. It's my life, my brain, my heart. I'm going to pour in as much good stuff as I can and stop judging myself for it. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-12285428606762780872022-02-01T13:19:00.001-05:002022-02-01T13:23:48.169-05:00Sitting home with covid<div>This isn't really about covid, but I'm stuck home with it and the fun of being off work has worn off. </div><div><br></div>Depression isn't just not being able to get out of bed. I finally escaped and I'm trying I'M TRYING, but now all of my music somehow sounds the same and that's the worst. <div><br></div><div>I tried a self care app with this cute little bird thing. Sort of like a depression tamagotchi. I feed it energy I don't really have in the form of words and goals, and then it fucking goes adventuring without me. </div><div><br></div><div>Thanks bird, fine, just leave me after I tell you all of my problems. </div><div><br></div><div>Anyways, it picks words out of my prompt responses to focus on, and now it's decided that penguins are the source of my depression. </div><div><br></div><div>I mean... why not. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>*side note: I just watched this movie, Coco, this quote is nowhere in it. FB is full of lies lol</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-4377082252266593742021-07-30T10:26:00.001-04:002021-07-30T10:27:42.724-04:00I got thisIt's morning. I'm starting to like the morning. My head finally feels clear in what feels like forever. I can see what I had been feeling in a different light. <div><br></div><div>It was just loneliness and insecurity. That's it. Just two silly fucking emotions amplified from isolating myself. Those feelings build exponentially when I leave them unchecked until I feel crushed under them. I stupidly start assuming other people's thoughts instead of just talking. I don't look at my own thought processes for what they are, but instead see it as my failure as a human being. As if it's me, I'm the problem. I'm not enough, or I'm too (fill in the blank). I am my own worst enemy and biggest critic. </div><div><div><br></div><div>But, nah... fuck that. I am enough. I am a fucking badass. I think it took being actively judged by someone else (and she can piss right the fuck off) to finally stand up and defend myself. I am a grown ass woman, I live my life however the fuck I want, and no, I don't have it all figured out yet, but no one really does.</div><div><br></div><div>Nah. I got this. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-17029736955938616152021-07-27T14:47:00.001-04:002021-07-27T14:47:07.568-04:00Feelings suck. Also, no feelings suck.I've gotta get out of the loop I'm stuck in. I can't think, I can't speak, I can't feel. I'm deadened by the thought of the unknown. I'm mind reading instead of communicating. I'm folding inward. I feel I can't improve upon the silence. Whatever spark I had is smoldering. It hasn't gone out, but I'm just so tired and confused. I'm not propping myself up with alcohol like I've done for so long, so I'm just... floundering. <div><br></div><div>I don't know how to do this. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-5475217050868144752019-12-29T04:46:00.001-05:002019-12-29T04:49:22.249-05:00resolutions. plural.<div>Lots of resolutions...I'm feeling ambitious. Hold my beer, I got this.</div><div><br></div>1. Be patient, kind, and understanding... even with those who I don't think deserve it. It's not my place to judge. Everyone needs more kindness and less snark. I want to be the sort of person that I would look up to. Above all the pettiness.<div><br></div><div>2. Put down my phone and read more books -- ones I already own. I've got way too many unread books on my shelves.</div><div><br></div><div>3. Paint more and experiment with different styles.</div><div><br></div><div>4. Listen to new music -- a new album (as in one I've never heard all the way through) every few days.</div><div><br></div><div>5. Be kind to myself. This includes eating healthier, drinking less alcohol, getting more exercise, and taking mental health days (from work and/or everything) when I need them. It also includes dragging myself to the doctor when I need to.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-14757609686548200332019-10-08T14:12:00.001-04:002019-10-08T15:29:11.906-04:00Time is a missed bus<p dir="ltr">No matter what good happens, there's always moments where I wake up and just feel buried under every single thing. I look at everything I've done wrong, or the things I shoud be doing or should have done. My stomach is tied in knots. It's raining and gray and I feel like this gross lazy thing that adds nothing to anything. Like I'm wasting my life and everyone else's time. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I know time is an illusion. But it's a very convincing illusion. It takes everyone with it when it speeds on past me. It feels like the rest of the world is on a bus that I just missed and am too tired to catch up with.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-67646583728892718662019-07-31T21:26:00.001-04:002019-07-31T21:35:18.372-04:00Excitement<p dir="ltr">Making a list of things that I find exciting and worth it, for the times that I find nothing exciting or worth it. </p>
<p dir="ltr">A Jenny Jump Start, if you will.</p>
<p dir="ltr">1. Discovering new (or, new to me) music by artists I've never heard of, in a different genre than what I've recently been listening to<br>
2. Reading relatable poetry<br>
3. Furious kitchen dancing<br>
4. Painting something lovely<br>
5. Lighting incense and sitting around listening to records during a thunderstorm<br>
6. Walking through trees (meaning a bunch of trees... not, like... THROUGH A TREE) <br>
7. Playing piano with headphones on and imagining a rapt audience<br>
8. Ghost stories in the dark<br>
9. Writing haikus about fun things<br>
10. Backfloating in the sun<br>
11. Writing lists about things that make me happy</p>
<p dir="ltr">Stopping here for now, until I think of more. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Peace & Love</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-14112931159123521372019-05-25T23:32:00.001-04:002019-05-25T23:32:24.790-04:00Still doing this<p dir="ltr">I'm alive. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't feel like it sometimes, but I'm here.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Something feels off. Something's missing. I don't know. I feel a little lost. Daydreamy and surreal. Isolated. Even around people. It's like I'm not connecting. I'm in a parallel dimension where I can still see people. Speak. Hear. But I'm not really there. They're not really there. Everything's empty.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I spent a half hour outside talking to my cat tonight. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm losing my fucking mind. <br>
</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-39433777201369923942017-10-04T01:36:00.001-04:002017-10-04T01:36:39.223-04:00Ready set GODDAMMIT<p dir="ltr">Let's start by listing everything I'm angry about.</p>
<p dir="ltr">1. Dishes not done.<br>
2. Trash overflowing.<br>
3. No one else in the house caring about the first two items on this list. <br>
4. Pants. They're never fucking comfortable.<br>
5. My phone has amnesia and has recently started autocorrecting all my texts to bizarre shit.<br>
6. STINK FUCKING BUGS I HATE THEM.<br>
7. I'm angry and I don't want to be angry and that makes me ANGRY!<br>
8. I'm too tired to do anything cool but I don't want to be in this bed. <br>
9. Elderly people in large groups. Ugh. <br>
10. Having to wait for someone to get off their billionth goddamn personal call at work to talk to them. You are at work. Act like it. Also, I'm telling on you. Fuck that shit. <br>
11. Know it all holier than thou types. I will eat whatever seafood I fucking want. And like it.<br>
12. The word "thou."</p>
<p dir="ltr">Okay, I think that helped. I've gone off my antidepressants and I'm experiencing random anger again. But it's stuff that should be bitched about. So there. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Also realized that my meds were effecting my sleep quality. Maybe just thyroid supplements for awhile. Trying to not be a zombie. I'm bored with my medicated state of mind. I need my mind back. My brain fog had gotten terrible. I couldn't remember simple words. And how much have I even written over the past year? Yeah, fucking nothing. Okay, I think I'm no longer too angry to sleep so...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Uhh...my throat is making a weird popcorn sound. Popopop pop pop. What in the world. Huh.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-72718958506026668992017-05-09T15:22:00.002-04:002017-05-09T15:22:51.303-04:00Letting the empty void know, I'm still alive.Okay, so I don't, in fact, have cancer. That I know of ( the hypochondriac in me will always think I have some undetected form of cancer). But after much testing and racking up much doctor bills, it amounts to "cat scratch disease" and is now done with. I also found out I have an under active thyroid, Hashimoto's Disease, which explains my depression and weight gain and a million other symptoms. But I can't afford the doctor visits and medications for it (no more insurance), so knowing about it is about it. I'm on OTC thyroid supplements, that's better than nothing I guess. The good thing that came out of all of this: I went back on antidepressants. Which is my explanation for the gap in depressing blog posts this year. I've gone from hell to being mildly content, with a tinge of maybe not very content sometimes. Basically, all of my emotions are dulled down to the point where I can live with them. Which does nothing for my creativity, but whatever.<br />
<br />
I just had a horrifying dream this morning after the kids left for school. I dreamed that my brother came very close to shooting me in the face and killing me. I haven't spoken to my brother for months. We had a falling out over his stupid backwards worldview (pro Trump, anti-gay/trans/nonreligious/basically everyone interesting). But...the fuck was up with that dream? It's upset my afternoon. It's a beautiful sunny day and I just want to pull all the curtains and drink until I'm unconscious. Stupid dream.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try to force myself to write. Hopefully inspiration is not only tied to depression for me. I want to write shitty haiku about nature. Or whatever. This is going to be awesome. More to come. From MILDLY CONTENT JENNY. BOOM.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-71278017276756418602016-10-02T23:40:00.001-04:002016-10-02T23:40:21.714-04:00Lump<p dir="ltr">I can't feel much at the moment. I have a lump in my neck, which OF COURSE I've googled and Web MD'ed to death, so I'm sure I'm dying. I have a doctor appointment in two days, and I know that's only a start. I won't find out anything about it straight away. There will be labs, tests, whatever. In the meantime, I'm as much of a wreck as someone who is mostly numb to emotions can be. Wondering if I should plug on like normal, or whip out my bucket list. Which I haven't really even made yet. What do I want from life? I don't even know.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Details, coming soon. </p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5809343.post-42422397721872434582016-07-16T01:00:00.001-04:002016-07-16T01:00:36.643-04:00I'm clearly not good at being human<p dir="ltr">I'm roaming around in a mind fog. My days are all blurring together. I can't think clearly. I'm no fun. I'm just tired of all social interaction. I have the urge to just gather up my stuff and go camping by myself for a week. I'd probably be eaten by something, but at this point that almost sounds nice. Can't come in to work, sorry, I'm being eaten by a motherfucking bear. *sigh* I just can't anymore, but still have to anyway. </p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1