March 31, 2023

Pain and love: two subjects never far from my mind. Maybe they are the only things on my mind. They consume everything I am: the love I can’t find and the pain that seems to permeate my life. I often find myself wondering if the universe just wants to know how much I can take…and then I realize I haven’t really taken that much in the grand scheme of things. I also should ask questions I don’t want the answers to because the universe has a nasty habit of doing just that.

I don’t know what I want to say. It’s probably why I keep writing in circles without every actually finishing anything. I hurt like I was ripped away from everything that ever was or will be important to me, but I also have to consider the fact that I have a flair for the dramatic. I go in circles with therapy too. And if you leave me alone with a pen and paper in a small quiet room I start drawing them…little spirals that go on and on for ever with no end. Happiness is a choice and life is….something something. Can’t seem to get the hang of it. But…gold star for me for not throwing in the towel and trying to cross the veil in an attempt to find this home I swear exists that I’ve never known.

I know how blessed I am. I am thankful for all I have. I guess I’ll just keep writing until I write my way out of this spiral I’ve been caught in all this time. Writers have that kind of magic.

March 29TH, 2023

I think about hell a lot. It’s probably the combination of a family of origin that supported religious freedom as long as you were a Christian and an overactive imagination. I wonder how evil people are truly punished for all eternity. I also wonder at the logic of punishing someone for all eternity for shit the did over the span of one hundred years or less, but I’m not a god (much like I’m not a CEO) and I don’t try to understand the for-profit workings of this crap.

I also tend to hope that maybe the powers that be are not all about the profits.

But how would you punish someone for all eternity? Our bodies are very temporary, and they are where physical pain comes from, so I don’t think persistent burning would work. I have also found that one tends to adapt to pain whether by getting strong or just giving up altogether. For instance, if you torture someone, they either figure out how to power through it or they just die, whether it’s physically, mentally, or both. The bitch of the things comes from having to process the emotional remnants of the torture for the rest of that life.

The only pains that stretch on and on forever are the bad things that happen to good people. The destruction of love and trust manages to dig canyons into the soul while leaving the mind capable of continuing to process more and more damage until it does the sensible thing and banishes trust and love for good. So it would seem that the most effective hell would be to dangle love and trust until the victim starts to settle into their warm embrace, and then take a metaphysical flame thrower to them. It wouldn’t work on absolute dregs of humanity though since they seem incapable of love or trust.

Hell doesn’t make any sense, but a part of me will always be concerned that I’m headed there since I decided not to take any of the Christian paths based on that observation…and several others like it. Couple that with my anxiety and I’m stuck trying to plan for the worst there. Which is funny is its supposed to be worse that “the worst.” It’s just been a month for existential anxiety I guess.

March 28th, 2023

I’ve been talking to myself for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been writing since before that which is a strange thing to say I think. I found a poem from 1984 which would make me six, but I don’t remember much before 12…so there you have it.

Currently that isn’t what plagues me. I’ve processed a lot of it I…hope. It’s not unlike the abyss to reach through the years to drag me back for one more round, but it happens with less frequency these days. No, what plagues me now is the question of love. It’s a hope that got me through a lot of things, and then subsequently led me into more…things. Enough things that two years ago I officially gave up on love. I couldn’t read any romance novels with much more than bland indifference. My little ace heart only quickened for words once, and now not even that could do the trick.

It’s been a while since the latest things and I’m back to my core. We never really change, but the stuff that makes us up in the beginning changes in strength. I started with pure hate and pure love, and they slosh back and forth from time to time. My Gram saw to it that love tends to win, so here I am again.

My father told me that love wasn’t real, you just found someone and then stuck with them. He seemed to have a bit of distaste for my mother (as if he could have done better) which was strange because my mother would give up her children for him. I don’t want either of their versions, but I do believe in red twine and crossing oceans time.

And what is life if it’s not what you believe? A dangerous and empowering collection of words.

Acceptance

There’s a moment when cry that isn’t for something. It just is. A part of you. Acceptance can be a good thing or a bad thing. That’s because it’s everything. The beginning of an end, and the end of a beginning. We learn how to forgive without reliving. We say it’s not OK, but I will be. You smile through tears and don’t fear the years. Change becomes the savior as well as the curse. Could be Stockholm Syndrome, but we are trapped in this life. If you don’t somehow learn to love it before you leave it, I fear you may be doomed to repeat it. It’s good I learned to love irony first.

Whoomp! There It Is

 

The lyrics from this quintessentially 90’s song are stuck in my head. “Tag team, back again.” Maybe it should be “here I go again on my own.” Eighties…nineties…fuck…anywhere but here. Someone I know mentioned something called “Starseed” and it doesn’t quite make make sense. They are too benevolent to be honest, but I definitely don’t belong here.

Maybe I’m a lizard person.

Anyway I’m working on the writing thing again. I took a look at the Houston Writer’s Guild, which I gave my money to, and discovered they haven’t done much. Hey at least I’ve never given money to that Nigerian prince.

So! Writer’s contests?

Also…lottery. My plan is to play every Saturday making a promise to be ridiculously entertaining to the gods.

I Have A Date!!!

Wait what? Didn’t she just get finished bitching about some asshole that broke her heart or some crap? Guess she rolls over things quickly.

Not really. Actually I just swallowed hard five minutes ago remembering something stupid about some asshole. This date is an actual calendar date which indicates the end of my current sentence…I mean project.

I’ll be honest, I’ve ended up hating every job I’ve ever had.

Inner Father: Because you abandoned your parents and God is punishing you.

Gotta love that voice. Most of the thoughts make absolutely no sense, and yet are somehow completely soul crushing. One of life’s great mysteries.

I’m also the Angel of Death when it comes to companies. Every single company on my resume no longer exists. Technically the one fast food chain I worked for still exists, but the actual location at which I worked? Gone. I’m sure recruiters and HR personnel that get my resume and starting looking into my past companies have an Arsenio Hall moment.

Please note: I’m not the person responsible for running the company in any way shape or form (Except once….and no…no no no no no. I wasn’t even supposed to be there that way. Props if you get that reference) I’m a reconciliation accountant. I take numbers that everyone else generates and I make sure the conform to GAAP and produce reports. Most common report I’ve given? “Your margins are great, but your administrative expenses are a little crazy. I mean $8,000.00 on brand new office furniture after telling ALL your employees to “stop the bleed” was probably not your best decision.” Most common answer? “Obviously your numbers are wrong.” Shaking my motherfucking head.

I’m watching the current company go down in flames as well. Now I don’t actually work for them (consultant), but I work directly with them. I think that’s how the curse works. The negative energy I walk into every day is draining. On the weekends I recover, but Monday through Friday there is no amount of sleep that works. Sucks to be an empath in that environment.

It’s almost over though. Two and a half more months and then I move to a new project.

And a new address.

Oh my goddess this year is going to be insane.

My Inner…

I listen to comedians. It is the only thing keeping me sane right now. (And if you believe that…something ocean front property something something) My anxiety is no picnic, and in the next four months I will change: my job, my address, my bank, my doctor, my dentist, my eye doctor, my other doctors, the place I go grocery shopping, the Walmart I use, and all related bills, direct deposits, and automatic charges. I’m gonna cry.

So I laugh whenever I have the chance.

Christopher Titus is an awesome comedian. He has a bit about his “Inner Retard” which is what he calls that voice that tells you that you are not good enough in a million different ways. His inner retard is funny, and I’m sure it is his talent that made it that way. My inner whatever…sucks, and I lack the talent to recycle it for comedic value. And it sounds just like my father. I guess I get to name it my “Inner Father”. The only time that man was funny was when the pot and the Crown Royal synchronized, and he’s going to be even less funny to me if he ever reads this.

I introduced my voice so it can now add its commentary to my adventures, much like Christopher Titus. I’m a pirate…I can pirate.

This past weekend I “hung out” with a guy I met.

Inner Father: SLUT!

Makes sense coming from the subconscious recreation of the man that once gave me scenarios in which a woman deserves to be raped…like jogging at night.

The goal was to, hopefully, start getting over asshole, and this guy is a nice accountant. Who knows where it will go you know? (Actually, I’m pretty sure where this is going, but that’s another story.) The problem I discovered this weekend is that fooling around still causes me to hurt.

Inner Father: See you are broken and no one would like to date just like the asshole texted. Also, you deserve it for being a slut.

At least he called the last guy an asshole. I wonder if I fed him Crown Royal and pot it would help? Also, asshole did not say I was a broken.

Yup I argue with the voice in my head.

So all this is happening and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind…again, and my answer is to listen to comedians and mainline coffee. I’m only minorly well known for good decisions with slightly higher fame for poor decision.

Inner Father: That’s because you are a woman.

He would never utter those words, but I’m pretty sure he hates women anyway no matter how much he says he looooovvveeesss them. ::creepy shudders::

My life is worth a book. Feel free to continue spying as I document my decent in this new layer of insanity.

 

Passion

I’m spending the day looking for a home. Not a new one…an actual home. I did not come from a home. I listen other people talk about going home and their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and its so weird to me. I came to my current residence, initially, to get a degree that I never used. I stayed for a marriage that ended. And then I just keep getting my heart broken. Dude I need to get away.

It’s not easy for me. I can change domiciles, but going somewhere I’ll have to use my GPS to find the fucking grocery story is just like bungee jumping for me. I hate change! I am comfortable with predictable and easy to navigate. I’ve recently discovered it isn’t what I want though.

I’ve discovered the reason I could not let of the last relationship, even though it was a meager 2 months and fraught with burgeoning toxic behavior, is because I couldn’t keep my goddamned hands off him. I am comfortable with mediocre but I will, apparently, borderline sell my fucking soul for a little taste of passion. Even now think he’d have no problem getting me back into his bed, and I kinda hate myself for that. Admitting it started the process of letting go though.

Give me thunder and lightening, heart stopping dances with death and shit to drag my nails across. I lean into the darkness where there the unknown stares back at me and shy away from the light that hurts my eyes. Of course that may be because I spend all my time in the dark, but the world is something new EVERY time the sun goes down even if it rises on the same sphere every morning.

I want that.

I’m worth that…which may also be a damning statement.

The forest child giggling through sun spatter woods as the trees whisper in the wind. Smiling at monstrous banana spiders with dirty fingers from making mud pies and tiny forts all while still desperately wanting to wear a dress. She hid so much in her tiny form, and she never knew what I would become. I have forsaken her. When you deny pieces of yourself you are denying a pieces of  your worth. You are breaking yourself, and it is hard to function when you are whole.

So….time to go bungee jumping.

(not really…fuck that noise…but you get the idea)

The Southern Oracle

I tend to live my life in relation to movies. My drama free life is not a reflection of my head. I’m sauteed in it. Think shrimp scampi…with fucking gluten free noodles.

I love garlic.

I’ve been given a little gift today and I’m making use of it. I’m doing a little introspection and drumming up drama…in my head. It’s a beautiful thing.

The second test to get to the Southern Oracle is a mirror that shows you your true self. I’m fairly certain the majority of the world would fail it. So many people make no sense to me. Their words and their actions are mirror images of each other. It’s confusing and, often, hurtful for me. I’m fairly certain I’d pass that test though. I’m not sure if it’s conceited or not, but I think I know myself. When I end a relationship I don’t go back. When I hate a job I find a new one. When I get something I want I’m rarely, if ever, disappointed. I don’t think I’d be surprised by what that mirror showed. I am also sure there’s at least one person that I’ve known who would sitting their rolling their eyes as they read that last line.

Everyone is the villain in someone’s story.

It doesn’t matter. I’d never make it to the Southern Oracle anyway. A: I don’t have any reason to go there, and B: the first gate.

It’s possible I’m not worried about the second gate because if it showed me a shitty worthless person I would just shrug and say “whatever.” Since the first gate is about your own sense of self worth I guess you can see how it might be somewhat problematic for me. I wish I could say this was some great revelation, but I’ve said it a hundred times before…or more. I’ve just sort of accepted it.

After my recent shitty breakup I’ve been very focused on this complete lack of self worth. In the end I think you really only get what you feel you deserve. I think I deserve all the bad things have happened to me. A therapist will tell you it gives you a sense of control to think that, and that it’s unhealthy. I like the control?

So where is my self worth? Easy…its in my words. I may be good at accounting, but it never was a passion. I’ve been writing since I was six. One of the few memories from my childhood involves me copying writing before I even knew what it was. It’s a horrible thing to wrap your self worth in. When you share it and not enough people like it for you to quit your job and write full time from your introvert equipped mansion you feel a bit…down.

I deserve better. Not a misogynistic father or that one boy next door or the shitty guys I’ve chosen to date. But better is an abstract concept, and a broken one at that. The relativity of better could still leave me in a shitty place.

So what I really need to figure out is what the fuck I want. I guess that might be where the Southern Oracle comes in.

Hmmmm….

 

Follow Up

I’ve had a few of these. I’ve had an interesting month. Thankfully all of the tests came back mostly good. It wasn’t JUST a bruised cervix however so no “congratulations asshole it was all your fault” glitter bomb. I wouldn’t anyway. I’m just not the vengeful type. I don’t need to. One day he’ll be just another story to me. To him I will be the girl he called home just so he could burn her down and that kind of karma sticks with you through lifetimes.

So there is a cyst, but nothing cancerous. I go in next week to determine a course of treatment. This is nothing out of the ordinary for a woman my age. Basically I’m back to being a healthy and productive member of society.

Goddammit!

As for this box of darkness…I’ve already found my gifts. I love my friends that much more. I also genuinely miss being held. The negative neural pathway that had me believing at my core that the only touch I could receive was the one that lead to fucking has officially been rewritten. I miss touch and cuddles and all the things a healthy human wants. I still hate people though…but that is, apparently, just me.

Next Up: My Whole Fucking Life is About to Change