Enough

I've started posting my personal whatnot somewhere else, where I can pour it all out and not censor it for my family (who I know can see this, I just sort of stopped caring). Not that I've been censoring much, but I still have things I need to get out in writing or I will burst. Hopefully I will start posting here again soon, when my head is free of ghosts.

Bad.

Same SHIT, same SHIT, same SHIT. I feel like nothing, I can't control my irritated reactions to everything going on around me. I don't want to do this anymore. I am fine and then I'm suddenly really not fucking fine. If I was alone, I could cry. I can't cry around anyone. I cried on my drive home from work. I cried in the bathroom. It's all I feel like doing. I just want to let myself feel something, but when I get the chance, it's always shit. I'm terrible to everyone around me. It's pure hell trying so hard to keep this under control around my kids when I want to scream and cry and I don't even know, I just can't handle living like this. I'm waiting on my boyfriend to run out and get some whiskey so I can just quiet my brain and relax. I can't fucking do this, I just want to hide. I don't want to talk to someone who is just going to wonder when in the hell I'm going to stop talking and crying and making them uncomfortable. Or someone who will tell me I just need to get out more and get more exercise. Fuck that. FUCK. THAT. I need realness, and there is almost none of that left in my world. Everything is just superficial bullshit and complaining and shouting. My soul is a train wreck. What the fuck am I even talking about. My head is so full of nonsense right now. Merry Fucking Christmas.

A Tuesday

"Give me one more medicated peaceful moment...I don't want to feel this overwhelming hostility..."

Today was almost beautiful. I woke up during an amazing dream, the kind that leaves you feeling just nice all morning and, if you're lucky, that feeling bleeds into the afternoon and evening. I had a quiet empty house and so I read. I felt optimistic. Or, what's the word... transcendent? I don't know if that's quite right. To put it plainly, I felt GOOD.

I've been eating better (and less, as my appetite has been mostly gone for the past month or so), and when I weighed myself I was down five pounds. This meant something great to me. I was uplifted. I was happy with me.

I don't want this to be my Depression Blog. Really, I want to be interesting and fun like I seem to remember being. But this doesn't feel like me anymore. This goodness is always short lived lately, as it was today. It's like a switch in my brain that flips. Eventually I pass my image in the mirror and see someone else. Someone not as good. I don't live up to my own standards. I'm not talking about my outward appearance. I accept that I'm not physically perfect, no one is. That's nothing to me. I can see the change in my eyes, in the way I look back at myself. I lose my shine.

I'm angry with myself. I don't want to talk with anyone about this, I just want someone to understand, to just know. Stop so much with the well meaning advice. I'm angry that everyone else is living their meaningful lives and I can't find the meaning in mine anymore. The uglier and stupider I feel, the more brilliant and beautiful everyone else seems. The gap between myself and the rest of the world keeps widening and there's nothing I can do.

That's all. My highs are more exhilarating and my lows are ever deepening. I'm going to write something of meaning here soon. I swear. Until then...I'm so sorry.

Optimism on my night alone.

I need to find me. Somewhere along the line, in the last ten years or more, I've lost almost everything I used to be, everything I liked about myself. I suppose this happens to people as they grow older, take on adult responsibilities. I'm a mom, I have to be mommish. Pshhh. Whatever.

I don't know if these problems I have with depression would have overtaken me no matter what, or if they appeared due to life changes (divorce, having kids, moving away from every friend I had, moving again, and again, and again). But I want to think about something other than the workings of my brain. I am going to see a doctor sometime after Christmas and hopefully I can be properly medicated. I want to move on from this shit, I'm tired of it. I want to live, have adventures, be me again. I don't want to be forced to take on a role that I hate, or allow others to make me into someone that I don't want to be. Fuck it. I will do what I want.

First thing: make more time to be alone, while losing all this fucking weight. I will start jogging or some shit, I don't know. I will be Me Independent. In touch with my own mind while not being distracted by others. I don't need anyone else around for me to feel like me. I need the opposite. I need freedom and to do things for myself without feeling guilty. The freedom of not having to stick around listening to people being miserable assholes. To not allow myself to feel guilty for my feelings. I can't let that shit get to me, I have my own whatnot to work on.

I think I may have just made a New Year's resolution. Only I can't call it that, or I will fuck it up immediately.

Continuing story of Being Down

This shit. Ugh. I'm sick of this coldness. Indoors is no better than the icy drizzle outside. I can't write the things I want to. I can't feel the things I want to. I get moments of unbearably intense emotion, love, sadness, anger, whatever. But that never lasts long. My days are peppered with these short bursts of emotion (if I'm lucky) and the rest is just blank irritation. At work today, it was mostly an almost pleasant indifference. Once I'm home, it quickly turns to an anxious boredom. I need something I don't have. Usually I interpret that as hunger and eat. This explains my weight. I'm doomed.

People

As small as the world seems sometimes, dull and pointless as things tend to get, there's a thought I come back to when I feel hopeless. All these flat characters around me, they are more. They all hide a cosmos in their minds. They all have dark corners. There is always something interesting, something secret and usually defining. Sacred even. If I look at these people, boring and shallow on the surface, and remember that they must have a depth, that fullness of self that they reserve for different times, people, or even just themselves...when I remind myself of this, I feel a little more whole. Connected. The masses aren't the vacant blobs of flesh as they appear. They are shiny pinpricks of brilliance in disguise. They are real. I am real. I stop rolling my eyes at their acts and begin to wonder what's happening a few layers down.

Thanksgiving

Sometimes I just wish my holidays could be spent drinking and eating mashed potatoes and watching horror movies at home. Not that I don't like spending time with family.  But this Thanksgiving feels different. I can't seem to get into it today. I don't want to be anywhere. I want to go back to sleep. Or get drunk and write bad poetry. Or curl up with some coffee by myself and read. With no one talking to me or asking me if I'm okay or wanting me to do something for them.

I'm sitting in the bedroom of my boyfriend's mom's house waiting for my turn to take a shower. Then I will go downstairs, be the fattest person in the house, be ultra self conscious while I'm eating, get a stomach ache from the anxiety, then drive the two hours home. Repeat every year.

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving.

More of the same.

I've been like this all day. Terrible. No sense of humor about anything. All outside stimuli too irritating for words. I have the urge to throw, smash, scream. I'm vaguely nauseated. I'm cold. I know I'm not sick, it's just really fucking cold out today and I've had too much coffee and not much to eat. I feel ugly. Stupid. Worthless. The madder I get, the stupider I feel, and the stupider I feel, the madder I get. I'm trying not to show how bad I'm feeling to the kids. Everything my daughter does makes me want to scream, though.

I have things to look forward to. Why do I feel like this?? It's not FUCKING FAIR. I can't cry because it would confuse or upset the kids. I need something but I don't know what. I don't want anything specific. Not even a drink. Maybe a cigarette, I don't know. I haven't smoked in 6 years, but a well timed cigarette always used to help me before. I'd slip outside by myself, look at the sky, smoke and think dark thoughts. Daydream. I was escaping.

Test

This is a test of the emergency broadcast system. Blah blah blah. I have a new phone. New blogger app. Just wondering if it actually works or if all the terrible reviews were right. I repeat. This is only a test.

Stupid Parents

I've been reading through comments on a parenting site regarding the "ridiculously high" expectations placed on kindergartners nowadays. The interesting thing is, every parent that complained that their kindergartner was under too much pressure at school made comments that were riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. The parents who believed that the expectations were fair and that sounded as if they spend a lot of time working with their child at home, they not only provided lots of helpful information about activities and websites that can improve a child's reading skills, they also had comments that were free of errors.

Coincidence? I think not.

Back to "How am I not myself?"

Yeah, I've talked about this before. I've had feelings that I am not myself. That I am playing the part in a movie that is not my life, sometimes that I'm watching someone that is not me playing a part in a movie that is not my life. But it is my life. And I like my life. It's frustrating and confusing.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. Self-diagnosing on the internet is always stupid. I keep googling mental symptoms in hopes that I can figure out what it is that's wrong with me. I have no idea what good labeling it will do, without seeing a doctor and possibly getting medication. I thought maybe I'd solve the mystery and feel some sort of...I don't know, this is stupid.

These are things I really don't like writing down. I hate seeing them and I hate that other people can see them, but I need that at the same time. It's either I tell my blog or I tell a doctor. Well, the blog is free...and not as intimidating.

So anyway, I googled my symptoms. Which are the following:

• Fatigue
• Cloudy/hazy/fuzzy thinking.
• Periods of time when I feel nothing at all, and that nothing at all matters. Everything is pointless.
• I lapse into vivid daydreams, yet can distinguish fantasy from reality. These daydreams sometimes feel so real that I am unaware of what is going on around me. I laugh or mouth words at times (but only when I am alone). Sometimes I shake myself out of it and I'm crying. This normally happens while alone in the car, sometimes while trying to fall asleep in bed. Times when I'm by myself with nothing for my brain to focus on.
• I often feel as if I'm not myself, like I'm watching a movie starring Jenny the Idiot. I feel removed from my own life.
• I often feel as if I'm waiting to wake up from a dream, all while I am awake and not dreaming or daydreaming.

I know I have depression, and I've been to a doctor before (albeit many years ago). It just seems like more than just that. Dr. Google also came up with depersonalization and maladaptive daydreaming. Do either of those really fit? It seems like it, but I'm the sort of person that googles "eye twitching" and convinces herself she has Parkinson's. If I dig deep enough, all of my symptoms eventually lead to cancer.

Did looking up all of this really help me? Hmm. It wasted a good hour of time at work. That's just fine.

I wonder if there is a term that describes obsessively trying to diagnose oneself with things via the internet.
Cyberchondria? Yeah, I need to stop now.

My Give-A-Shit...it 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.

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 written...it'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.

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:

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.

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.

SICK, NONONONONONOOOOOOO

OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT, I'M GETTING A COLD. I CAN'T THINK, I HAVE NOTHING TO FUCKING DRINK AND EVERYTHING IS FUCKING CAPS LOCK. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW IT FUCKING IS. DEAL WITH IT. EVERYTHING ACHES AND I AM A WHINY MOODY PATHETIC MESS. I WANT TO THROW GLASS AND RIP FACES OFF AND EAT RAMEN. BAH. FUCKBUG.

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?

hmm.

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.

Magenta

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.

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.

50 little things that make me happy

1. the smell of sunblock
2. the sound of heeled shoes walking across a hard floor
3. popping bubble wrap
4. biting a goldfish cracker perfectly in half
5. coloring with a brand new crayon
6. amazon.com deliveries
7. remembering the name of an actor without having to look it up
8. singing along word for word alone in the car
9. free popcorn coupon when buying movie tickets with regal card
10. catching the clock at 11:11
11. getting 8 hours of sleep
12. catching the perfect, "that's what she said."
13. writing a poem
14. finishing a crossword puzzle
15. the sound of the river
16. star watching on a clear night
17. the moment the food arrives at a restaurant
18. when Lucy falls asleep an hour before her bedtime
19. rehydrating in the morning after a night of drinking
20. making lists
21. blowing a bubble, catching it on the wand, then using that bubble to blow another bubble
22. buying the perfect gift for someone weeks or months before their birthday or Christmas
23. sucking coffee through a Twix like a straw, then eating the melty coffee-soaked Twix
24. making the perfect scrambled eggs
25. driving past willow trees
26. whistling using a blade of grass
27. being the first one awake in the morning when no one has work or school to get ready for
28. getting into the car after work
29. singing the guitar solo
30. finding money (paper, not coin)
31. robot dancing
32. being alone in a swimming pool
33. facebook comment getting more likes than original post
34. heavy black rotary telephones
35. foot rub
36. tangerine colored cars
37. the sound of popping incandescent light bulbs when I don't have to clean it up
38. taking my shoes off after i've been on my feet all day
39. a cold beer after a job well done
40. starting a new book
41. saying something strange at the same time as someone else
42. zoning out to music over headphones
43. waking up at 5:30 in the morning long enough to remember it's my day off and I can fall back asleep
44. the first snow of winter
45. jacket weather
46. successfully hanging a spoon on my nose in front of witnesses
47. the word "pouch"
48. saying something abnormally honest while drunk
49. inside jokes
50. retracing a rambling conversation backwards to figure out what I was trying to talk about in the first place

How am I not myself?

Wow. I don't feel like me. I feel like a distracted potential. I can be more ME if I just (fill in the blank). How can I not be me?

This is worrying me stupid. It doesn't feel like a valid question, especially when I have other things, expected things, that I need to be doing rather than figuring out how I feel. I have a family to take care of, a new house to try and unpack. Stuff, man. Real stuff. The more of this "real" stuff, expected stuff, that I do, the less I feel like me. I am becoming what is expected of me. I've been Me before, and I felt right. All the right things are happening, I should feel right. Why don't I feel right?

I am going to have a drink, stand out on the deck and look at the stars...

Hardly any stars, but there was some heat lightning. I can't feel anything but confusion, annoyance, and that I'm not doing something that I should be doing. I'm uneasy and restless. I want to feel something else. I'm in a pretty house with a pretty yard across from an awesome river with plenty of trees around. This is what I want. Why can't I feel anything??? I keep myself busy, but when I have some down time, I feel like I'm grasping for some elusive emotion that I can never find. I don't even know what.

(an hour passes)

I just unpacked and set up Charlie's computer and cut my foot on some random broken glass on the kitchen floor. His computer is set up, so I know he'll be happy. But I couldn't care less. I'm such a shit.

Going to bed. Disgruntled. Pretty sure I need medication and I'm not happy about it.

Serious Things and Stuff

Alright, so today I feel a bit less desperate and depressed. I'm sick with a nasty but run-of-the-mill common cold, so that may have lent a little to my being so down in the shitter last night. I didn't do much packing or cleaning today, I had planned to do both, but FUNK DAT. I'm recovering, bitches.

My family is about to move. I'm anxious and excited half of the time, then I find myself uneasy and worried. It's about half the size of the townhouse we're in now. Which is fine, we've gotten rid of a shit load of stuff we don't need. It's not an issue of where our stuff will go. It's going to be the four of us crammed into a smaller area, getting into each other's faces. What I'm hoping is that the kids will want to play outside more. The yard and decks on this house are fucking amazing.

I'm taking more time off from school, too, and I worry that my family will assume I've given up. This time it will be a year, only because what with all the house hunting related whatnot, I stupidly missed that the college needed some extra paperwork for my financial aid. I thought I had everything done, FAFSA was completed and all, but, whatever. The deadline has passed. Maybe this extra time is something I need, though. I'll be unpacking and getting used to a new house, getting used to BOTH kids being in school this year (finally), and hopefully I can find a new job. I'll pick back up with school and I will slay it into the mother fucking ground, dammit. I will have my Bachelors. Someday.

I've gotten the notion into my head again that it might not be too late for me to be a writer. I mean, writing is the thing in this life that I enjoy most. Why can't I do that for a living? Maybe I'm no good at it. I've thought about that. I really haven't gotten feedback from anyone who isn't friends or family, and they will say it's good even if it's shit. Because they love me. Or they're afraid of hurting my feelings. And I totally get that, I have a hard time critiquing anything done by someone I care about. But also, I'm a bit conflicted about trying to "sell" my writing. I write because I can't not. It's like pooping. I ingest so much stimuli during the day and need to excrete it periodically in the form of words. If I don't write, it is a form of constipation. But really, who would pay to see this shit? Pun Fucking Intended.

Less than fuzzy feelings

I don't know what. Really, I'm sitting here feeling things and not feeling anything. I am down. I am really fucking down. I'm going through motions, but I don't have anyone to talk to about it that will really hear me and care. Everyone has their own shit going on, I understand that, so I write it down to feel some temporary relief. Things are happening that should make me happy, but instead I can't feel anything but confusion and indifference. The only things I do that hold any meaning for me is reading and writing. And maybe music and movies...by myself. I just can't force myself to enjoy doing things. I turn all of my limited energy inwards. I try to keep myself moving along, doing the things I'm supposed to be doing, trying to feel busy and efficient. It's like being on a treadmill. I put in some effort, but I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere.

Several times today, I've felt as if I was the only person alive. As if everyone I see are ghosts, figments, flat characters. They talk, they interact, but there is nothing said with meaning. I can agree with them, talk to them, but it's almost as if I'm talking to myself. I feel like life is a dream sometimes, like I'm going to wake up anytime and say, "None of that shit made any sense."

Great Plans

I just woke up from a nap, disoriented as hell and I can't remember what I dreamed about. But it put me in a mood. I had Great Plans to drink and come up with some witty and/or angst-filled poetry. OR! Or I could watch a movie. One that has great meaning and will leave me feeling either fulfilled or disturbed (either way, it would be worth it). Tonight was going to be one of the great alone nights. One of those heart-wrenching or life-shaking or even eye-opening but definitely alcohol-induced nights for me and me alone. But then I napped.

Why did I nap? I wasn't even really that tired. The hope fell away and now I'm trying. I'm really trying to get it back. See? I've got the first drink washed down, which is why my fingers even started to type this nonsense.

Tonight held the promise of being extraordinary, but the ordinary ho hum broke in while I was sleeping. Oh, that mother fucker. This calls for another drink. Everything calls for another drink. The end of the last drink calls for another drink. Oh, to be able to quit my job and spend the rest of my life on drunken adventures and sleeping in. How much poetry do you think would be written? Well, I'll tell you. Lots. I think I am feeling my Great Plans for tonight returning.

Something New. Soon.

If I don't do something worthwhile, create something NEW, soon, my soul will atrophy and die. I will be doomed to shuffle around bored, always in awe of what has been done by others, but never be a source of something fresh and amazing. I don't want to be another this or that. Same shit, different person. No. I want to be the proud owner of an Idea, of something that is purely Me but vibrates through the being of Everyone. I hope this random capitalization of words is lending emphasis to what I'm trying to convey as muy importante instead of making me seem an illiterate douche.

On another note, this is the second time I've used the word "atrophy" today in a sentence. Not that I'm keeping track. Okay, I am.

Recycled Dreams

I had a vivid dream last night. Most of it has faded, but I seem to have recycled the setting and characters. I don't really know if this is a recurring dream since I don't remember exactly what the other dreams were about, but here's the one from last night (or as much as I can recall after waiting four hours to write it down).

:: Jenny's Dream Sequence ::

There was a mountain without trees. A few dirt roads crisscrossing the side, dotted with old trailers, junk cars and clothes lines full of sheets in the yards. The homes were distantly spaced, with large grass and dirt fields between them. The area was populated by the elderly, save for one guy who was maybe in his 20's. He rode around on a dirt bike. I've had dreams in this setting before, with the same character, but his appearance is always changing to match that of someone I've seen in a movie or in life. In this dream, he had the appearance of the actor that played Tomas in the movie I Am Dina, which I just watched last week.

The people that lived here were being blocked from the rest of society. I was trying to get to the residents there, because I apparently had some sort of connection with them, but there were blockades at the base of the mountain and armed guards. The male younger character made it out and together we tried to evade the guards and save the elderly people of the mountain.

This is all I remember.

:: End of dream sequence ::

10 things that are wrong with me:

1. I'm too concerned with what others are thinking. I can't read minds, dammit.
2. I obsess over things that I have no control over. Worry worry worry.
3. I can't control myself. When I want something, I indulge.
4. Weight. I feel like someone awkwardly wearing a fat suit. Not right in my own skin.
5. Teeth. Not wanting to stay in one piece. Crooked as hell. Overbite.
6. Conflicting views about the way the world works. Trying hard to be rational. Horribly sentimental. I try to give deeper meaning to things that are probably trivial.
7. Drink too fucking much. Drunk right now. Always need a vice.
8. Prone to depression. No will, no energy, just shit.
9. Lazy and messy. Procrastinator.
10. I make stupid lists.

Two Movies and My Sober Opinions.

I haven't been drinking. The past many times I've blogged, I haven't been sober, so this feels strange. I watched two movies tonight and now it's 3:30am and I am not tired. I'm not anything. Possibly a little down. Maybe it was the movies?

I finally decided to watch Human Centipede. I had this feeling I wouldn't like it, and it had been sitting un-watched in my Netflix queue for over a year. I have no problem with horror and disturbing movies, I love them actually. I think I was hoping for more with this movie but somehow knew I wasn't going to get it. But a girl can hope. Anyhow, Charlie was working night shift so I decided to get it over with, because I had to watch it. Much like with a train wreck, I couldn't help myself. I was curious.

It was terrible. I couldn't stand any of the characters. I couldn't root for the victims because they were terribly irritating and dull. I couldn't side with the crazy doctor because his character lacked any hint of depth. He was weird, yeah. Had the creepy look down alright, but beyond that he was nothing. I couldn't even laugh at this movie, it wasn't even, "so bad it was good." If they couldn't have made it more disturbing, the least they could have done was make it corny or funny. This movie offered nothing, I wasn't shocked or disturbed in the least. I was bored as fuck.

Next movie, I Am Dina. Great movie, albeit a bit depressing. I love the main character, though. Dina. Crazy and wild and broken. Strong and vulnerable. This character was all depth. Of course, it had Christopher Eccleston in it as well, and I am a rabid fan of his, so that could only help it. For some reason, any time I see him even almost smile, my eyes water a little. Le sigh.

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.