I wrote something.
I’m almost 40 years old and I can’t spell ‘consciousness’ without looking it up. I write this word more than a little too. Weird. I’m sitting here hoping for an epiphany. Hey chick…here’s what you are supposed to be doing with your life! Forty is not old. Forty is just getting started…especially for me. Nothing.
I’m supposed to raise my daughter. Well I can’t do that if I can’t pay rent, but that’s not your problem. I halfway to the point where I am no longer going to accept it as my problem. Maybe I’m getting an answer to a question I accidently asked a long time ago: what will she do when she hits the end of her rope. Will she snap and go on a murder spree with “Time Of My Life” from Dirty Dancing playing in the back ground. It sounded plausible. Suicide also sounded completely doable. I mean its not like it hasn’t crossed my mind a few times. I might have even tried once or twice…barely. I failed miserably. Only strengthened the idea that my lack of interest in life was entirely an attention ploy. Except I didn’t like telling people. Nope…when I snap it will be me turning off the alarm clock and waiting for someone to tell me to leave my apartment for non-payment. I go on strik from life. That’s what I’m fighting. If I make it through this shit…and it’s so much more than losing a loved one or helping my daughter through this time or shitty job or any of the other things happening….it’s simply I keep doing what I think is my job and it doesn’t work out. I’m not asking for fame or fortune or any of that shit…I just want a job I can retire from. I’m done hoping for a writing career. I’m not that driven. I’m done hoping for love. The first time…no wait…every time shit goes sideways I don’t go running to anyone that loves me. I retreat so far into myself sometimes I think I may not even find me again.
Come on universe. Bring it. End it. I’ve already got plans in place for all the shit I’m responsible for. I’m tired of being the responsible one.
I wish I was a bear
Wrapped and warm in fur
Hidden away from winter wear
In sleep I would confer
I find that I am bare
Naked without my faith
Exposed and retreating where
Sleep becomes a wraith
I wish I had a bear
Stuffed full of love and hope
With button eyes so fair
Stable against this tightrope
I have all these wishes
And the warmth of friends that care
Full of love their dishes
My heart beats as the bear
I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.
Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.
If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.
So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.
I have nothing I want to write about. I hate pity posts. I love my daughter and I don’t want her to hurt. I love my acquired family and I don’t want them to hurt. I hate the news we got, and I don’t want to write about. I have nothing else to say.
Growing up I remember my father telling me that a woman who has gotten naked with a man cannot be raped. If she’s gone that far with him than she’s obligated to go “all the way”. on the surface I’d say he was a madman, but I think there is an undercurrent of adherence to this belief in this world. I don’t think its openly there, but some part of most people kind of thinks this. I could be just twisted though.
Getting into BDSM one of the first things I was taught is if someone says “red” or calls out an obvious safe word the scene stops. There doesn’t have to be a reason, it doesn’t matter whats going on, and it doesn’t matter who says it everything stops and the person who stopped the scene is cared for. It was this precept that was constantly reiterated that made me comfortable enough to start exploring myself. I was finally ok with the idea that if something made me uncomfortable, no matter what I was doing, I could stop and I wouldn’t be a bad person. Some people are even into that. It’s called ‘tease and denial’ and if I’m a top in anything it would be that. Ha ha! I love being a tease. I don’t like hurting people though so I would only do it to someone who enjoyed that.
Having someone I trust unconditionally has also helped me come out of my shell. I’m a lucky girl.
Have a happy Thanksgiving and I hope you have a lot to be thankful for.
Tonight is…moonshine and Diablo 3.
I have this idea. A girl, about 13, sits down on a park bench to start drawing. She looks to her right and finds a tiny notebook. Being a kid more curious than wary she picks it up. Inside is a strange series of scratches in a multitude of colors of dipped ink. To almost anyone in the world it would only be random doodles, but to this special little girl it’s a map to an extraordinary place.
In another world, closer to this one than you think, a little gray kitty with orange eyes named Elet ransacks her room glimmering in candlelight searching for something she lost. It is something of unbelievable importance. She reassures herself that it’s fine. It’s here and if it’s not then it’s somewhere no one can read it. Little does she know her mistake is about to make two worlds collide.
I’m basing the characters off my daughter and my cats. My daughter will love it. Not sure if it will go anywhere. The ideas are still very much in their infant stage. I can only say this about this new idea:
And now for something completely different!
But hey, maybe that’s what I need…something different. Life keeps feeling like dead ends lately. I changed my dating pool – ten plus years younger to almost 30 years older – and it worked. Maybe getting away from more adult lean in my writing will finally help me find my muse? Who knows? I’ll just have to wait and see.
I find myself alone which doesn’t happen often so I did what most moms do on their own and painted my boobs. What? Most moms don’t do this? Right, I’m not most moms.
For the annual pirate gathering this year my crew decided to try a take on “glitter tits” for our friends. It went OK…not great. I didn’t have money for the good gems or correct glitter or paint. It was fun though. I found I really like it. Now when I get a chance to practice I get excited. I’d post pics but….boobs.
Just a short note today. With Thanksgiving coming up I’m debating a “things I’m thankful for” post.
I also saw a random notebook lying on a bench and had a ‘what if’ moment. It might start a serial story.
In case you didn’t notice…I don’t plan shit. Makes life interesting….
A few years ago I was pretty sure I was dying. How sure? When 911 came to my office no one blinked an eye. It wasn’t for me, but everyone else was as sure as I was apparently. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Part of that was my fault. I’m not the regular check up kind. A friend of my mine was a recently diagnosed celiac and urged me to take gluten out of my diet. What the hell? I did it and I got better. Decided to stop paying the docs to torture me and cut gluten out of my diet. Should I go back and really find out what happened? Eh…I feel better.
So whats the silver lining? I’ve gained a few pounds over the last few weeks for various reasons. The main reason is I eat more when I’m happy. I don’t want to go back to what I was, I’ve found that if I don’t eat after 6 I lose weight pretty fast. So I fixed an all gluten meal for my kid. Can’t eat it. I was forced to eat the salad which was pretty good. So…silver linings.
I’ve heard this phrase followed by “what the hell does that even mean?” a few times. It means you either keep the cake or you eat it. You don’t get to have it both ways. But why would you want to keep the cake? In the words of Kaylee Fry (Browncoat for life!): Cause I’m pretty.
I use this phrase when I want two things that contradict each other. I want to be rich, but I don’t want to work for it. I want to be paid to write, but only what I want to write. I want to be a kinky girl and a mom/accountant. You either get one or the other right? Well, I’ve been trying to have the last one both ways anyway.
I didn’t write last night because I’m unsure how my daughter meeting my boyfriend went. She’s not talking to me. I can’t believe I’m sharing this stuff publicly, but I have nothing else to write about otherwise, and I’m seriously trying to make this writing thing a habit. Anyway…teen not talking. Typical right? I started re-evaluating why this guy is in my life because this maybe the first honest roadblock I’m up against….and it’s a doozy. Is it worth it to try to work through my daughter not caring for him if that is the case?
First…seriously…is it just the kink? If I take that away do I still like what I have? I’m left with a guy that buys me stuff that I never have to worry about paying for in other ways. A guy that takes care of himself to the point I don’t have to worry about him at all…but I still do. A guy that remembers things about me like I don’t like pink (which he has fun putting me in pink because he’s a sadist, but I digress), or that I can’t eat gluten so he finds places I can eat, or remembers when I take my daughter to the doctor and asks how it went. Oh hell yeah I want to keep that shit for as long as I possibly can. Who has that?! No one I’ve ever met. He could never buy me another thing and I’d still walk barefoot through broken glass to stay with him because of the little things. Of course we are only coming up on our fourth month together. I’ll see where we are in four more.
As it stands right now I’ll not badger the girl on how she feels about the subject. They’ve met. He can actually come to the house once in a while instead of me trying to plan my life around the two of them separately. And in four more months maybe she’ll be like…yeah mom he’s cool and I’ll still have my little things. Then it won’t be a contradiction so I won’t have to worry about keeping cake, storing cake or eating cake….because you know what?
The cake is a lie.