I can’t find my mail key.
It grew little legs and walked away.
Things keep getting lost and sometimes found and rearranged and broken and firewalled and disabled all by themselves lately. I am blaming gnomes that are so invisible, even I can’t see them.
My snake got herself lose in my apartment. She MUST be stronger than I gave her credit for. Or maybe the gnomes wanted to play with her. Little fuckers. I later found her curled up in a pair of my pants. Poor little thing was cold. She also must have been hungry, because she went down my shirt and bit my boob when I put her around my neck to warm her up. Funny, I don’t think my boobs smell like small dead rodents, but what do I know.
Being a typical human sucked into social networking, I informed everyone on my facebook of the snake incident. I was later messaged by a non-reptile friendly family member asking me how I could possible love and care about a cold, slithery, “slimy” creature that won’t love me like a dog or a cat. I replied that it must have something to do with my tendency to develop attachments to cold, emotionless creatures that are indifferent to my presence. She LOLed. I threw up.
And it was, like, OMG.
Our clinic was doctor-less for almost three hours today because he “forgot” he had to work. I was frowned at by a lot of people because of this. I have a lot of neat conversations with people when they are frowning at me. It used to bother me, but now I really don’t give a shit, and give a robotic response to their apparent unhappiness. I’ve noticed that this non-reaction sometimes makes people frown harder.
It just dawned on me that I have failed as a girl scout mom. I’m going to bed.
Here’s my theme song.
I need a different latitude.
I am also, without a doubt, having a “moment”.
It’s been long over due. I am learning that its bad to hold in feelings and pretend to either a) be happy when you’re not b) act indifferent when you’re not, and c) act like a cold, stone statue, when you most certainly are not.
I don’t know why I do this; as a uterus owner, it should come naturally for me to be in touch with my emotions and sensitivities and be expressive about them. But I’m not. I almost think I’d be more comfortable ripping ass in front of a hot date than talk about my feeling with someone I know and am comfortable with.
So, I’ll blog it out. Or, at least attempt to. The more I try to get it out, the more constipated my brain becomes. It is, literally, like my mental processes produce nothing but static when confronted with the harsh reality of “how I feel about things and such”.
I can easily say I’m beyond tired. That’s a given. I can easily say that I’m nervous. That’s expected. I can easily say I’m lost. That’s cliche. But I can’t seem to really reach down and do what I need to do, which is yank out my fucking guts and smear them all over this screen and relieve the pressure on my insides.
Hey, that’s disturbing!
It’ll come out eventually; it has to whether I want it to or not. I just hope I don’t blow a load in someone’s eye.
Ever love a place so much that you wanted to leave
Ever love someone so much you wanted them gone
Ever love the sound of music so much you crave silence’s song?
Ever summon the nothing
To feel a sense of peace
Ever wish decent into the void to make the blinding light cease?
Well, that sucks. But take comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.
When you spend twelve plus hours cooped up in a building with the same people day after day you tend to get bored. Hence, many “getting to know you” question and answers occur amongst coworkers. I love this. My craving to know what makes peoples’ perceptions on life different from one another can be fulfilled during these times.
One coworker reminds me of a new born trapped in a forty year old man’s body. He is a wonderful human being, but very, very unexperienced in life. What makes him so wonderful is his genuine niceness by ways of his naiveness, but also his inquisitiveness parallels mine. He asks questions that I’m not even close to bold enough to ask.
He is thinking about proposing to his girlfriend, so the topic of marriage has been prevalent lately. Through his many questions, he has forced me to take a good hard look at my views and feelings on the subject. Had we been talking about this six months ago, my feedback would have been very different than what I’ve given him. I would have said that it’s a wonderful concept, something worth pursuing if you feel that connection with someone, something in my own personal life I felt was important that I experienced. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have a man that I loved look at me and feel that, despite his biology, he loved me enough to gift me with his monogamy and to share a life together. The good. The bad. The beautiful. Everything.
In horror, I realize that I don’t feel that way anymore.
Is it still something wonderful? Yes! In theory. In stories. In movies. In Disney. In some wishful thinking part of my being, I still want that. It does a disservice to hang on to a dead concept.
Marriage is impossible, because humans are insatiable. Simple as that. We take everything for granted and disregard the good and wonderful in our lives for the sake of greener pastures. Time shared and love given can be gone in a heart beat once one has a mere taste of something better. And the sad thing? There is always something better.
My boss told me once that I will never land a good husband because I’m not high maintenance enough. I’m too concerned about making a man happy and not making him work for it. I’m having a hard time with this concept. Not that it should be all give and no take, but that I should have to make high, and often ridiculous, expectations that a man should have to run around in circles to make happen for me. She promises that this is what men want to do, and it makes them happy. I reminded her that she’s been married four times and while I respect her greatly and admire how smart she is, I really don’t want to be married over and over. Seems to defeat the purpose.
The time has come for the holidays to sink their teeth and suck dry my mental and literal wallet.
I try not to hate the holidays, but I can’t help it.
It has its upsides; I love watching my kids eat turkey and get excited for the special days at hand, and for their little hands to tear apart the wrapping paper to reveal the joy underneath. Every week they bring home a new holiday inspired craft from school, and it’s wonderful to see their creativity blossom. For Thanksgiving this year they had to write a list of things they were grateful. “Mommy” was on the top of both of their lists. Seeing that made my holiday wish list complete.
If it wasn’t for them I’d be a complete “bah humbug” type. I’m not religious in the Christian sense, so I don’t get excited for baby jesus, and the common practice of finding the perfect gift leaves me feeling jaded. Don’t get me wrong, I love buying people gifts, and I do this for loved ones sometimes for no reason save for coming across something I knew would add value to their day, therefore adding value to mine. This makes some people feel bad if they don’t return it, which defies the purpose of my giving them a present to begin with, making me wish I hadn’t. I don’t like making people feel bad.
Thanksgiving has come and gone. This was the first holiday since the disbanding of my family making it an awkward day. I felt a lot of pressure to give my dad a great day so I cooked my first ever Thanksgiving meal. It came out wonderful. Too bad he was too sick to enjoy it. I had actually lost my appetite once it was done so out of the six people I cooked for, only one really ate. I had enough to decide that it was one of the best turkeys I’d ever had, and picked at the rest for appearance’s sake. After the family went to sleep and my other two guests had left I went to the bar I usually go to with friends over the holidays. That was equally strange. Only two out of the group came. Everyone else was home with their family/new boyfriends/girlfriends/cats/neighbors/ect, and the rest no longer live here. Not to say it was a horrible time, but it just wasn’t the same. I was the only one doing any drinking, making for another awkward situation while I drank until I couldn’t feel feelings.
My birthday is in a few weeks. I’m still a few years from hitting the thirty mark, but it will be here soon enough. I have never been afraid of aging until this morning when I caught a glimpse of my reflection and saw some “signs” that I should be afraid. Puffy eyes, slight wrinkling in the corners, that “tired despite sleeping for eight hours” look. I’ve never really had that before. It occurred to me in that moment that I’m not young anymore. Time is passing, and things that are important that I finish before age gets to the best of me haven’t happened yet, like getting my degree and courtship and whatnot. I at least have some breeding under my belt, so that’s good. Once I hit thirty-one, I’ll be making a point to not expand my gene pool anymore, so I’m glad to have the two that I made.
(This is from one of my old blogs)
People say some interesting things.
(A common lie from a friend or family member)
“I’m here for you. No matter what. If you ever need anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I’m there for you in a heart beat, okay?”
“Okay. That’s great, because I really need you right now.”
“Oh? Well… umm…. yeah, you know…. I would be happy to help, buutt…. I have to take a shit in fifteen minutes. Yeah, it’s going to be a pretty epic dump… so epic that it will have an impact on my children’s children, and people will write hymns in it’s honor. Yeah, I can feel it being epic in my large intestines right now. I’m sure after it’s been finished I’ll be so tired from it’s epicness that I won’t be useful for much. Sorry! But hey, any other time you need something, you be sure to holler, okay?”
Here’s a good one:
(Common lie gal pals say)
“You look great in that.”
“Really? I don’t think so”
“Well, you do, you should buy it and wear it on your date tonight.”
“No, I really don’t look good in this. It’s okay that I don’t, my self-esteem isn’t upside down about it. I just don’t look good in this.”
“Well… you do. No matter what, you look great in everything, you pretty little ray of sunshine, you. If he doesn’t like it then he just can’t accept you for who you are, and you don’t need that. A man should love you no matter how bad you look. Not to say you look bad! Because you don’t. You’re beautiful. I love you. Hey, let’s go get some ice cream.”
OOh, and this one:
(a common lie men say to women)
“That is so interesting. I think you should keep talking, because I really like what you have to say. I’m so sensitive.”
“Of course I’m straight! Do these jeans make me look fat? OH EM GEE, I need some pomade, can I borrow yours?”
“You have nothing to worry about, I’m totally sterile. You’re legal to work in the US, right?”
There is truly is nothing better than having rainbows and unicorns humped up my rectum without the courtesy of lubricant.
Despite the frequent insult to my intelligence via fairytale ass reaming , my first impulse to give people the benefit of the doubt and trust their mouth fodder, despite my knowing (and by “knowing” I mean the result of using my brain matter, not my “feelings”) that words are meaningless and it’s the actions that should be considered when evaluating the intentions of a human being. This is very frustrating, as most people are “all talk and no action”.
I believe that if we were all honest with each other, life would be so much simpler. I find myself not always being fully honest only because it seems like that is the socially acceptable way to behave. Not that I purposefully lie to anyone, but I am very much in the habit of omitting certain things I say just to keep from having to explain myself, or to prevent a situation that would cause me to placate someone by telling them what they want to hear. I also tend to act neutral and indifferent when I’m really in a heightened emotional state just to make situations easier for all involved. This is getting hard over time, as the urge to gather a few select people I know into a small room with a stage and a microphone where I get up there and declare, “Fuck you, you all suck and here’s why” has been overwhelming lately.
I often wonder what people would feel if they knew what was really going on in my head. I doubt anyone could handle it. Maybe that’s why others lie; they themselves can’t handle the truth and they assume others are the same way, so they lie to them because they expect to be lied to in return. As long as everyone is lying to each other, it makes it okay, right?
I don’t know. Whatever the reason, it sucks.
With the exception of my father and my childhood friend of fourteen years, there is someone in my life who I have actually come to believe has never really gone out of his way to lie to me, or to make me believe he is something he isn’t. I have cherished every word he’s ever told me for this reason, whether I like what he has to say or not. What an exceptional and rare gem this makes him.
Honesty is an endearing quality, and keeps things simple, which is nice because life is complicated enough already.