Cat Gods

Me
Myself
and I
find it very disappointing
that people don't ask me
What God do you serve?
I guess it is because they've seen me at church
or rather, that the Christian God is so pervasive that they
assume that we all worship the all knowing all seeing
perpetually angry and judgemental Abrahamic God.
That has to suck.

When I think about the god I serve,
I have to say
it is the God
of Cats.

And I say
this because when I see a cat
I have to stop and say hello.
When I see a cat, I ask
when did you get fed?
Who last pet you?
What can I do to love you
and have you love me?
It doesn't take much.
Cats can be cruel and capricious
which means fickle
for those you going to look it up
don't worry
I had to also
to make sure it went with
cat gods.

I don't currently own a cat
at least in the definitive sense of the word
And by those standards
I've never owned a cat. Most of them
have been marked 'Property of parents'
which is okay
but in the god sense of the word
I love all cats
and I haven't met one that hasn't loved me yet
and I like to think of it as loving all cats
and all of them loving me
and this seems a silly comparison
but the cat gods
need love on occasion
and food often and sometimes you trip over them
on the way up and down the stairs
and sometimes you don't see them for days
but when they love you
they sit on your shoulders and rub my hair
the cat gods bring peace
because when I see them, I smile
and the voices clear
and all I hear is "Love me."
and that is so simple.
Easy, breezy
and so so beautiful.

I like it when the cat gods
sleep with me. It has been a while
but you haven't lived until you've woken up
from a dead sleep in the pitch black with a weight on
your chest and eyes that shine at you from two inches from
your face.
yes
it is fucking scary
at first.
But then you realize that your chest
is buzzing from the purring
and it is sweet
before the claws come out
and the tiny holes in your chest are bleeding
but to be fair
they mean love
and love is pain.

Sometimes when I'm at my parents house
the cat I don't own, but still love
brings me tribute.
I have received lizards
snakes
and bird heads.
In return, I sneak the cat any
meat I can find.
 I've sat outside for hours
talking to this cat.
He is ridiculous
and sleeps with a rottweiler.
I say he needs better friends
he says I better fucking scratch his head.
In my head, he has
an English accent.
I don't know why.
But I love how he purrs
and tries to sneak in my car
when I'm not looking
and he's been known
to sit his fourteen pound self
on my kids
and lick their faces
like a dog.

So if you come looking
for my god
come see the cats

"Something always brings me back to you
it never takes to long
no matter what I say or do
I still feel you until the moment
I'm gone."
~ Sara Bareilles

I wish I could write something
long and slow and beautiful
but instead, I am sleepy and falling
asleep in public (something I next to never
do)so instead I shall just say that I can't wait
to find my own damn home and for easter to be over
and to watch Evil Dead
and for April to start.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Positive Affirmations (?)

Quiet day today

full of minor tummy aches

which is nothing new, sadly

minor aches of the tummy 

alleviated by texts that remind me

that I am someone's friend, that I can
be good and kind and still have boundaries
that temporary loss of faith and outward insanity
does not mean that those who love me have stopped
loving me.

Do not tell me
that the my traumas are not important
that the difficulties of marriage equate the
my ages of 12 through 20
because it insults me
and makes you
seem
ridiculous.

I will not go to Mass
for Easter. I will not pretend that
I believe in the rules and destiny a Church
that has no love for my sex and sexuality and
no concept that its hypocrisy alienates more than it binds
and these are not my only problems with it.
And most certainly not the only valid problems with it.

I reject alienation
because I have friends
and loves, even if they are made of mostly past
and slightly present.
I believe that I am loved
that my friends hold my hand as I walk toward cliffs
to slow me down
and that in most cases
being kinder is better.

And I believe wholly in my
autonomy, that my body is my own and no one else's
that I choose the things I do to it and with it
and that my mind and body are capable
of great things, even in the midst of exceptional difficulty.
Whether I lose weight or stay the same,
if I continue to not have tattoos or
cover my body in ink
whether I make cookies or quinoa with my friends
whether I have more children or never again
it is my choice.

I accept that my fears
of sharks, various water-based beings
being rejected, public transit, large crowds,
clowns, and drowning may all be perceived as odd.
What
ever.

And I believe that even if these words
feel choppy and difficult
tomorrow
or even tonight
may be better.

Constant State of Change

"Heaven bent to take my hand
and lead me through the fire."

When I look at the the bright white paper
sometimes it is so difficult to let the words
come out.
To tell the truth
because I am afraid
I am always afraid
of judgement
of pain
of loss.
So very afraid
so very angry
so very ugly.

So I let myself be tugged
in all directions.
I let myself go over cliffs
and wonder why it hurts so much
why am I bruised
and cut
and bleeding?

These cracks in my armor
are not for playing with
they are not there to be exploited
they are there to let light and air in occasionally

Where is the me
that took no prisoners
took no bullshit
played the game and knew
she was going to win?

I believe she's in here somewhere
and because of the last three days
she just might be angry
enough to come out and play
again.

Goodbye April

Things are hurting
not the same as always
but in pain nonetheless
hooray

Ugh.

"'Cause just like him
You always leave me cryin
Dandelion."
~ Dandelion by Kacey Musgraves

I am trapped
in a cage of my own making
because even if I don't want to be
here, I spin in all the circles and build up
the razor wire around my cage and then I try
to reach out of the cage and I cut myself and then
I wonder why I'm bleeding.

"I spent my wishes on a weed
thinking it could change the world,
Dandelion, a million little wishes
blow across the sky
but it's a waste of breath
and it's a waste of time
I know."

I have to remember
remind myself
to tell myself
that I cannot fix any one
I can only play my own game
but I cannot change anyone else
and I must work on myself first

"Fallen stars
and lucky pennies
have let me down so many times
before
and you are just one more."

Waking up Sick

Today
I was woken up at seven a. m
by screaming twin boys who needed some
attention, I'm sure, because there was no sort of
visible emergency that would have warranted the type of
screaming they were doing.

And
I awoke, startled from deep sleep
and was utterly terrified,
because those sounds are sounds that I
have internalized, that I know mean that the
world is coming to an end,
to lock your door and wait it out
because war is coming and
you won't win this one
so better lock your doors and
bolt your windows and pray that
you get to school on time.

And it has been a few hours now
and I still feel
so
ill.

Little Miss You'll Go Far, Little Miss Hide Your Scars

Picked you out and picked you upHopin' that my luck would changeLet the summer fill my lungsSuperstition fill my brain
DandelionA million little wishes float across the skyBut it's a waste of breath and a waste of time, I knowCause just like him, you always leave me cryingDandelion
Send you dancing on the breezeAnd like a stupid little girlI spent my wishes on a weedThinkin' it could change my world
DandelionA million little wishes float across the skyBut it's a waste of breath and a waste of time, I knowCause just like him, you always leave me cryingDandelion
Falling stars and lucky penniesHave let me down so many times beforeAnd you're just one more
Oh, dandelion, woahOh, dandelionI'm always blowin' kisses out across the skyBut it's a waste of breath and a waste of time, I knowCause just like him, you always leave me cryingDandelionDandelion~ Kacey Musgraves

Last night, I bought the Kacey Musgraves albumand I must say, it is by far one of the most enjoyable listening experiences I've had in a long long time. I bought itin preparation for my first night at work. An excellent, inconvenient countryalbum that I won't expect to hear too much of on the radio, but here's hoping,because her writing is incredible, on top of having a lovely voice. Very relatable.
 Speaking of which, it was a long, quiet night. Quieter than I expected, but full of plenty of work, untilthe very end. I sang for a few hours, which I conveniently forgot about but then I drove home and my voice cracked the entire way. 
Very few dogs, no cats. So mostly cleaning and prepping for the next dayand no one has called me to say that I did badly or that they are going to fire me so I suppose I did alright. That's good. I'm still pretty damn tired, but that is going to be true until tomorrow morning, most likely. I want to be productive today, I do, but it is all I can do to drag myselfto go see my friends tonight. Must. Be. Human.But my feet don't hurt hardly at all any more while working.
The pain is migrating, but it will eventually wear itself out and that's good. I can feel where my body is changing. Andit hurts, but it is worth it. Things feel different. Unfortunately,the whole part time job makes it more difficult to rewire my brainand body to accept staying up at night and sleeping during the daysince it will only happen 2-3 nights a week. And I already have extreme difficultysleeping during the night.
But this morning, I came home after dropping off the kidsand I looked at the time and it was nineand I... I think I was laying in bed.And then I woke up and it was 2.It was so fast, I lost some timeand that feels odd, because it didn't take any Ambien or anything. It was just 2 all of a suddenand 4 missed texts and 8 missed calls and 30 emailslater because I was so tired I didn't hear any of it.And while it gave me a heart attack, because I'm not used to succumbing to sleep quite so heartilyIt was so lovely and so quiet in my headfor those hours.My head hasn't been this quiet in yearsand it has lasted. It is almost six and it is still quiet in here.Thank you, brain, for accepting good things on occasion. I appreciate it so much.
I'm writing choppilyand I'm not a fan of how it looks or soundsbut it is what is in my head and it is like one straight lineinstead of tens and hundreds of curvy swoopsand for art, that is okay, for my head I can deal with thatbut the comfort of just one internal voicethat is freakishly contentis so damn good.

Headaches and Jobs

"So I start a fight
'cause I need to feel something
and you do what you want
'cause I'm not what you wanted...
...and you came away with a great little story
of a mess of a dreamer
with the nerve to adore you....
You never did give a damn
baby, but I cried, cried for you
and I know you wouldn't have told nobody
if I died, died for you."
~Taylor Swift


I have a headache today.
This may seem like a minor occurrence
to an innocent bystander, but for me,
headaches are debilitating things that I'm constantly managing
generally on a chronic level.
But it's been under control for about the last week
and maybe it is because I've been so exhausted from work
that I haven't noticed that they are there.
So there's that. It is frustrating and the medication that usually works
within ten minutes is taking extra long today and I need to make sure
that I have plenty of water and whatnot before and during work tonight
so I can stop feeling like I'm going to drop dead. Not that that will stop anytime
soon, because full night shifts would make any one pretty damn tired. But I have friends
to see and look forward too and I can listen to music and it all works out. And I have lunch at one or so in the morning. Which is nice, and I have friends that sometimes will talk to me at truly heinous hours
in the morning and I am building up my ability to walk for seven hours straight because there
are no chairs in the break room!
This is my first night doing things under my own power, with no trainer.
I find this terrifying. I know how to do things, strangely enough, my brain retains
things even from 9 pm to 6 am but I have a great desire not to fuck this job up.
I like the people and the animals and the manual labor. I like feeling my arms and legs and
breathing change the more I do this. I like that when I crank the music up,
the night and the job goes by faster. I like that once I've figured out my
own way of going through the check list of things to do
no one is going to tell me my way is wrong, as long
as they are all done.
But the headache is fading
and I can't think of too much else to write today
because I'm nervous and scared I'll fuck up my job
and I can't afford to
and I don't want to

But I'll do fine.

They Were Wrong

Definitely worth a watch.
I've watched it myself quite a few times.
And I've written "They Were Wrong"
on mirrors and paper
and skin
to remind myself
of this.

Weddings and work zombies

"I'm hell on heels
Baby, I'm coming for you."
~Pistol Annies

I am exhausted these days.
A new job, the first time doing night
shifts turns me into a zombie, a tired angry zombie
and my words are coming out slowly and
I have to spell everything twice for it to look
the way I want it to.
The shifts are starting to get easier,
kind of.
Eight hours of running back and forth
and intense cleaning and chemicals
and barking dogs all night
is more than enough to make my ears ring and
my feet ache by the time hour 6 rolls around
but there are sweet sweet dogs that want nothing
more than you to love them
and cats that purr when I walk by them.
I can listen to my music when I work
which helps the time fly and makes me dance
randomly, which I'm sure the security cameras appreciate.
So while I'm desperately tired and not coping quite as well
as I'd hoped with staying up for more than 24 hours at a time
there are animals that need me and coworkers
that seem okay with my personal brand of crazy
which involves never stopping talking
and screaming loudly if I am surprised.

I danced at a wedding reception a few days ago
and it was hilarious and awkward
because I was one of maybe four people at
any given time dancing
and it was a little odd
because I have years and years of seeing these people
as teachers and adults
and now we are relative equals
and they don't remember me as an almost-child
but I remember them as almost-authority figures
and it gets a little strange in my head
but I laughed and met and talked
with truly kind funny women
and an old enemy
who made me laugh hysterically throughout
the entire wedding
and we had to explain to people the nature
of our relationship
which was so many years as hostile
that in the now, when we are friendly,
we still mess with each other
but it is kinder
because we have known each other
and seen each other in ugly ugly places.
Going to a bar with people
feels so odd in my head
like I'm playing grown up
with the real adults.
But they gave me a drink when I ordered one
and only smiled a little
and all the real grown-ups
let me play with them sometimes
so it all works out in the long run.

This day needs to just full stop

"Forget all you know
just get up and go...
Don't want you to see
when pain overflows."
~Elizaveta, Meant



This day has barely begun and
already I can feel the desperation at the edges.
I am not me
just an angry desperate lonely cloud of
painful nervous energy and
I haven't the patience nor the sanity needed
to get through the day.

And I can kind of identify what I want
(what I need)
because I am screaming silently for
you to hear me
to notice me
to just do SOMETHING.
But instead you play Starcraft
and make me go to the rodeo.

So I meditated on ice for many minutes last night
and I felt my heart harden to stone.

I wish I could say this is the first time
or the last time.
But it is hardly either.

The Story of not-us

I used to think one day we'd tell the story of us
How we met and the sparks flew instantly
People would say they're the lucky ones

I used to know my spot was next to you
Now I'm searching the room for an empty seat
'Cause lately I don't even know what page you're on

Oh, a simple complication
Miscommunications lead to fallout
So many things that I wish you knew
So many walls up, I can't break through

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room
And we're not speaking
And I'm dying to know, is it killing you
Like it's killing me

I don't know what to say since a twist of fate
When it all broke down
And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

Next chapter

How'd we end up this way?
See me nervously pulling at my clothes and trying to look busy
And you're doing your best to avoid me

I'm starting to think one day I'll tell the story of us
How I was losing my mind when I saw you here
But you held your pride like you should have held me

Oh I'm scared to see the ending
Why are we pretending this is nothing?
I'd tell you I miss you, but I don't know how
I've never heard silence quite this loud


Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room
And we're not speaking
And I'm dying to know, is it killing you
Like it's killing me

I don't know what to say since a twist of fate
When it all broke down
And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

This is looking like a contest
Of who can act like they care less
But I liked it better when you were on my side

The battle's in your hands now
But I would lay my armor down
If you'd say you'd rather love then fight

So many things that you wish I knew
But the story of us might be ending soon

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room
And we're not speaking
And I'm dying to know, is it killing you
Like it's killing me

I don't know what to say since a twist of fate
When it all broke down
And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now
Now, now

And we're not speaking
And I'm dying to know, is it killing you
Like it's killing me?

And I don't know what to say since a twist of fate
'Cause we're going down
And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

The end

Fun stuff to do today.

Lightning

"I've had lightning in my veins and thunder in my chest
all tangled up in you and trying to catch my breath
I've been chasing that sensation halfway 'round the world
and looking back on what we had
And I've done it all and I've seen it all
But I can't find a feeling like that."

I remember the first time
I heard that song
Gary Allen, you spoke to the bits of
my soul that were still intact.
And once I applied it to a man that
broke all the parts of me at once and a million
times over
because no matter how good the high feels
the come down was always a million times worse
for him.
But whenever I think of him
or he speaks of me
or a photo pops up from facebook or something
I have to remind myself not to say hi
don't look
don't speak
don't touch
and maybe the memories
will fade in time.
They never have.

But even though
there is pain in this song
there were good things
there were pages of letters that
were more like books
and poetry and pens that
made me think of some sort of dreadful
Jane Austen novel.
Oh my gosh
I'm such a fucking elitist
and everyone else is a peasant
and if I happen to become some sort of politician
or person of note
I am so sorry and that was a mean dreadful joke
and you are all lovely and wonderful and I was
just channeling Yyzma from
the Emperor's New Groove.

I always have to remember
to play nice with the other kids
because they are people not playthings
and you shouldn't hurt other people
because it is wrong.

And I've done it all and
I've seen it all
but I can't find a feeling
like that.

This morning

My love has always been
like gasoline and fire, there's always
pain involved
and generally I try to keep it
where I am the one doing the hurting.
This sounds bad out loud, but to a certain degree
most people would rather perpetually be the bad guy
the perpetually be the bad guys plaything.

In any case, I have built
walls and fences and booby traps
full of razor wire and spears and poison
around the tenderest bits of my heart and soul
because I don't like pain in any form
which is interesting, because I seemingly court it
in all directions.

So why is it, after all of the protection I have
employ and own
that all it takes to hurt me in the morning
is a man
who doesn't seem to care about anything
but where I moved his keys?

If I die Young

If I die young

someone please delete my browser history
without looking through it.
and maybe after the funeral
because I know how people are
and me saying not to look through it
won't stop anyone and I'd rather not have all
my ugly secrets paraded out until I'm already in
the ground or scattered amidst the roses or water or whatever
because by then, I'll be gone and I won't have to listen
to whatever you will be saying about what horrible things
were on my internet!

Christ, that was incredibly morbid way to start anything.
Thankfully, this day has taken a complete turnaround
and where I was afraid of the ending of it, now I welcome the
progression. It is going to get better- I don't feel very sick.
Life can be hard, but people are willing to help you, to
work with you, to make life just a little less hard so you can
learn effectively and not be a zombiebitch to your family. I really
really appreciate that. Because I want to impress and be my best
and help people back. I just can't do that if I'm destroying ALL of my
support systems in the process. But seriously, kind people allow me to
try to be Superman. And I am so so thankful for that.
Even if my superman is closer to Hellboy.
Full of snark
but loves the animals.
Do-able.
I can do this.
I can play the game and
win it.
And still be me.

My Serenity Prayer

“Take my love, take my land
Take me where I cannot stand
I don’t care, I’m still free
You can’t take the sky from me
Take me out to the black
Tell them I ain’t comin’ back
Burn the land and boil the sea
You can’t take the sky from me
There’s no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
But you can’t take the sky from me…”

"Some men aren't meant to be boring

They are meant to be great."

~Scandal

Words to take to heart.

Because you have to start somewhere.

Dreadful Sorry, Clementine

"Now I'll go
Sit on the floor wearing your clothes
All that I know is I don't know
How to be something you miss.
...So I'll watch your life in pictures
Like I used to watch you sleep
And I feel you forget me like I used
to feel you breathe
And I keep up with
our old friends just to ask them
how you are
hope it's nice where you are."
~Taylor Swift


I have been listening to Taylor Swift
since 2006, when my dad bought me her
album and told me that she was gonna be big.
My dad has always had the ability to see through to
the heart of things, and listening to her has always helped
me to be inspired.
But today is technically the first day of my new job
and while I am excited
I am so nervous, I may have lost my words.

For a Friend

I went and saw some friends yesterday
and it was gloriously good, and I feel renewed
spiritually because an afternoon and evening spent
with friends is more healing to me then a lifetime spent
at a church.

Girl time combined with favorite couple I know time
is awesome. Thankfully they don't get tired of me bumming
around their place sporadically.

And while there will be a post about them someday, because
I love them, and this is the only tribute of worth I can think of
that is not what this is about.
While I was there, I noticed that my friend had a
book on his shelves. As I looked further, I saw he had multiple books
by this particular author which lead to a conversation that had my other
friend abandoning us for a few moments as we reminisced.

The author of these books was named Brian Jacques.
He wrote the Redwall series of books, as well as the Castaways of the
Flying Dutchman series.
Both my friend and I read them, him back in the early nineties, I expect
and I starting around a decade ago, at the age of 11.
And my friend then let me know that Brian Jacques died in 2011.
And I didn't know until last night.

So dear Mr. Jacques,
I did not know you personally
but I feel your loss like we were friends.
The words you wrote sustained me during elementary and middle school.
You taught me about the fantasy genre, and what beautifully descriptive stories
do for the imagination. When I was lonely and friendless and in pain, Martin and
Mattimeo and Mariel and Matthias and Triss and everyone else in that world
comforted me and loved me and told me I could be a warrior even though
I was young and female and angry and alone.
That the strength of your heart
could be better than the strength of your arms.
And that being a legend
does not always involve being the bad guy.
That being a hero and being afraid are not mutually exclusive things.
That regardless of your upbringing, it is the choices you make
that define who you are and what people remember about you.

So thank you Brian Jacques
you gave me the first nightmare I can remember
with a snake that I've been terrified of for years
and an eye for beautiful descriptions in literature
and stories that I'll be telling my children for years to come.
For giving me connections with friends
and connections when I didn't have friends.
I will pour out a libation for you tonight
and light a cigar
and think of you.
You will be mourned
you will be missed.

Splinters

"I will always remember you
watching me walking away."
Meant by Elizaveta

"Your name is the splinter
inside me."
Joshua Radin


That last lyric
breaks me every
single time I hear it.
I know how that is.
I know what that is.
I live it, because there are splinters
and names inside me all day every day.
I'm sure some of these names know who they
are and there are others who know and don't care
and others still who never knew how much they became intrinsic
parts of me. I hold onto these names and I tell people that it is because
they make good stories, and I'm sure they do, just as I'm sure that I will tell
the stories one day, but the truth is, is that I've let these splinters stay, because the
pain of splinters stuck in my flesh is worth the remembrance of times past.

These splinters have sliced my hands when I slapped them
and became a part of me, sucked into my bloodstream
because when I was angry at them, they became intrinsic parts of me
how I remember and relate.
But now, where they came from is irrelevant to a certain degree because
there are now bits of wood and glass and steel, all with various names
and dates and deeds floating about it in my body
These are the prettiest and ugliest bits of me.
Splinters of people who touched me and set me on fire
and people who spoke words that remind me that family is choice
and that I will be loved despite the overwhelming prevalence of ugliness
that is inside of me.

There are splinters of people who
I text Thrift Shop lyrics to every other day
and see almost every Sunday
and people I talk to once every two months
and we are warriors and friends and sometimes
domestic as fuck and at other times we are gods of bagpipes and feminism
and splinters of a person I knew once all too well
but his god is not my own and I am broken in his eyes because
I do not believe that I need to be saved.
And splinters of people that are in the downward swing of our friendship
but because I know everything is a circle, they will swing upwards
and splinters of people who have been close to my heart
since I met them.
These splinters can be painful
but they bring so much beauty, that it is worth the pain.


On a sillier note, every time
Welcome to the Black Parade
comes on
I turn it off
unless it is just me listening to it.
There is the true confessions of my life.
And dancing around like a muppet is to this song
is one of them.

Being A Doll

On the way home last night
a man asked me "Do you ever listen
to anything that makes you happy?" This was
in reference to me telling him that a certain song made me
feel pretty melancholy. I had to explain to him, that in order
for me to write in a way that makes me feel like I have anything
important to say, some bits of me have to be in pain. To be perfectly
honest, I am in pain of some sort all day every day. But there is something
in the various music I listen to that gives me a visceral outlet for my feelings. It
helps me remember all the bad stuff so I can remember the good stuff. If I shut out
all the bad, I can't get to the good stuff, because in my head it is mixed so deeply that I
can't separate it. I can't remember ever being at a point where I could, but maybe I just can't
remember.

But in my head
there's always a "but'
it's never
'and it was just beautiful.'
I wish there was a way to reprogram
the part of my brain that remembers the bad things
more than the good. I can remember good things but only
in the context of the bad. Which means I will never look at a blue sky
without remembering who I called that day and talked to, and how afraid I was.
And swimming in a pool will always remind me of someone trying to drown me. And
how he wasn't there when I needed him most, even though he always picks up the phone
when I call. There is no way to siphon out the poison in my brain without making everything else
come out too. Maybe that's why I like Dollhouse so much. All that crap,
all gone.

This is so very ridiculous

On reading through my blog,
I find my introspection deeply annoying.
I find the me that I reveal painfully ugly and angry
and most of all, disappointing. She isn't who I always
thought she'd be. She remembers the worst of people and
rarely tries to look towards the better parts. I want to be the
girl who sees the better part of everyone, but in reality, I'm closer
to the person who will hold on to the crappy things you've said for the
rest of your life. The idea of me getting better isn't too promising.

There is
no place of rest
for me. Of course, there
is a bed, or a couch, but not
a place I call personally my own. I'm
quite adamant that this should happen, and
in my brain, I know that it will happen, in time,
but my heart yearns for a place to call my own. I only
had my own for a very little while before it was taken away.
That is not to absolve me of my own involvement in that particular
situation, and I take my share of responsibility, and possibly even more
but I mourn for my own place, I desire it and I yearn for it the way a lover
yearns for....lover-like things.

Getting this job
means battling the insomnia
the way I know how, getting out of the
house safely and making money and making my
dreams some sort of reality. I love the idea of this. I
feel like I contribute so little to my own future, and while
in my head I know that very little of that is based in reality,
having some sort of money in the pot feels like there's really some
skin in the game, as my father is fond of saying. And I have a game to
play. I want to go to school, hell, I want to teach at a school and I need
money and motivation and a little bit of crazy and a good writing technique
probably one that doesn't involve watching the shapes of my paragraphs develop
slowly with each word. I'm sure it will come to me any day now, if I just eat all my peas
and carrots and pray like a good girl. Regardless of my belief, or lack of a belief, in a great
space alien god, I shall persevere in my goals. Even if I get tired, or depressed or angry or sad
or I just feel miserable as usual, every step is a step taken toward where I want to go. Even days where
you do nothing means you are still breathing. Breathing is a necessary element to getting where you want to
go.

HULK TIRED

I got the job!
I am a dry kind of elated.

Today, Anita Sarkeesian, of Feminist Frequency
put out the first of multiple videos on Tropes vs.
Women in Video games. I am ridiculously excited about
this, as I have been waiting for since last May for this
and it has finally started!


So, to rehash
SO HAPPY GOT JOB.
SO HAPPY NEW FEMINIST VIDEO GAME VIDEO.

HULK GO NAP NOW BEFORE ALL THE BIRTHDAY
STUFF.

Today feels much brighter.
Not perfect, not awesome, or
fantastic, but brighter. The sky feels
a little more tolerable to the part of my
head that aches when I open my eyes. I
can cope, I can deal, I can persevere, I can
thrive despite all the crap that is being tossed in my
general direction.

So, today made me think about the Dark Tower
series by Stephen King. I've been obsessed with these
books since I was fifteen. That is six years of muttering incessantly to
myself about these books. On a technical note, there are seven, but most books
of sai-King relate in some way or another to the mythos. Except maybe the earliest
ones, however, they are there too. They too, follow the Path of the Beam.


In any case, I have grown up hearing my Dad talk about the Tower since I was
a little girl. I want to say for my sixteenth Christmas, though, he lent me his copies
of the series. Needless to say, I was incredibly excited! New books to read and new
worlds to conquer!

It left me devastated, in a good way. Just utterly different. The world is different, the
previous books by King you've read are different. I am still pretty stuck on them
six years later.

As kind of decent as this day has been
it has not been conducive to writing.
Here's hoping that shifts, a little.

Lots of Water

There are days for me
where the sun shines brightly
things feel incredibly exciting and new
and I feel like throwing dance parties just because
I can.


This is not one of those days.


This day feels horribly bleak.
I'm not even sure what to write for it
that doesn't sound like I'm bitching about
something ridiculous. But the sun is out and I still
feel like the sky is dark. I don't know what would fix
it. I feel like hibernating, like sleeping for the next few weeks
like pretending I don't exist, like the world doesn't have a giant
boner for screwing me over 25/7, like my head doesn't ache perpetually,
like I can read for longer than 30 minutes without my head splitting and like
migraines don't exist anymore. Like there's a world where I can turn my mind off
and just enjoy things, rather than getting frustrated over every little thing
or a world where I can communicate effectively
or a world where I can control my temper and my words better.

Or just a world where I can sleep for a few weeks.
That works too.

My Gift is my song (And this one's for you )

"Every word you say, I think
I should write down
Don't want to forget come daylight."

"I should know who I am by now."

~Joshua Radin

Once upon a time
a few mistakes ago
a manboychildthing wrote to me and said
I really thought he was gonna grab my hand, pull me close and threaten to rip my soul in half."
It continues to be the funniest thing
I have ever read. Just looking at it makes me
want to howl. My poor dad.

He told me that I was Sybilla
and Vesper Lynn.
And we determined that I was a goddess.
Once, we prayed together and
I saw things for weeks after
in the air and water and mirrors
and there was power there.

We were heinous at times to each other
I scratched him so hard, I drew blood and left scars
His sister once tore his shirt because she didn't want us dating.
I slapped him. He didn't sit next to me during key events and
during our prom, the teachers made fun of the fact that my main rival
for his affections was his best male friends.
I'm pretty sure at one point I tried to set him on fire
He tickled me during class so I screamed during ridiculous moments
and would NOT let me play with his calculator.
He was mean to me about being catholic
and I to him about absolutely everything.
He once wrote
You literally are the worst thing to happen to any human being whatsoever and the greatest pox on men. And quite honestly you don't offer very much to anyone, but I still love you.
I have never been so pissed in my life.



I've never forgotten those words.


We were friends long before anything ever happened.
It was like a violent sort of friendship, one that revolved around
antagonistic behavior and being frustrated and tired all the time,
a common thread in many a high school setting.
There were times, though, that I was so fucking proud of him
I could have screamed it to the rooftops.
I hate the word lame
and he used it around me frequently just to make me crazy.
Senior year he sat behind me in English every other semester
and said the most random inane shit I've ever heard in my life
and got me in trouble all the time for baiting me into talking to him.
He also once called me a cold tamale.

We had the best banter of anyone.
We were harsh and cruel and I had teachers ask
why we hung out if we were so mean to each other
but there were lovely parts too, parts where we supported and
comforted and loved, things that I remember more than the time he told me
that he didn't care.
That we weren't real.
I was so rage-filled at times
and he was there, like a wall
and he took it and dealt with it
and I found that infinitely fascinating.
We publicly yelled at each other
but if I ever make it to the top of the Tower
I will shout his name.

When we liked each other we were bad
and when we didn't, we were worse
and we pissed off teachers with our physicality
whether we were kissing or just shoving each other
down the hallway, it was like watching a forest burn.

At the same time, he was stone
and I was water.
I could crack him and break him or nurture him and love him
but he was still there.
I once told him I was not an option, I was a priority.

When we broke up,
when I destroyed him, because what else could I do
but burn and main and kill
what I loved?
What else does a goddess do but demand sacrifice
from the ones that love her?




But now I am no longer the Lord his God(dess)
and I am less angry
and somewhat less destructive
and perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
there could be beauty in the friendship
because more than I miss the worship,
I miss laughing with him every day
and knowing he got what I was saying.


Therefore, as friends
we shall be again.
maybe
possibly
probably
definitely.

I am riding the endorphin rush
that comes from getting the job and
remembering things long forgotten and
impromptu dance parties and fake arm long
tattoos that I've given myself and children who
dance in the kitchen with me and only two hours
of sleep and being a goddess of fire.
I was made to be worshiped.

I know I'll come down
but until I do, I'll listen to Pitbull
and dance like crazy in my kitchen and
be excited. Because baby, run
and dance dance

A Moment of Melancholy (amidst thousands of others, of course)

I have come to realize that
last nights post was the result of sleeping drugs
and a spectacular amount of angst. Retrospectively,
it is both hilarious and embarrassing. I'll leave it up that
way if one day I become a politician, I can be humiliated for
the rest of my life by the random 12 of you that keep reading this.
I think this speaks more of your terrible taste then my terrible writing
but honestly, it is your eyes you are choosing to sully.

I miss my cats. I know they
aren't really mine, that I didn't buy them,
or the food for them, but every time I come
around, they permanently reside in my arms or on
my shoulders, purring like motor boats and sleeping on
me. In the place where I live, the chihuahua does not cut it,
not when you know what it is like to have a purring soft animal
take up residents on your pillow next to your face and to realize
that it loves you for tonight. And then waking up to it staring at you
like a creeper. Cats are masters (mistresses?) of subtlety, while this
dog simply screams loudly for your attention.
I am an animal elitist. OH GOD.

I had a teacher in high school who
taught philosophy to me. He taught Latin to multiple others
but due to my lack of knowledge in the area, he refused me
entry into his Latin class my senior year of high school. I was not
amused. I have never been what one would consider to be a serious
student but Latin was one of the few areas I enjoyed and excelled as much as
I could. Which also included spending money on tutors. Life was frustrating at
times.
In any case, he taught philosophy to me. I had him the period after lunch and
I can remember being irritated all the time, because there were a million 'aha' moments
that were taken over by my overwhelming urge to sleep off my lunch. He let me come in early
to the classroom sometimes and ask him questions about the homework or talk to him
about my recent religion crises. I miss him dearly.
At any time I saw him, when he saw I was in pain, before or after I graduated
he saw the truth of who I was.
And he died.
Not too long ago.
I don't remember him every moment or even every day
but sometimes I see my philosophy book on the shelf
or The Reluctant Warrior on netflix
or some word makes me think of him
or I will write something
because he loved my writing.

And he's here for a minute.

So thank you for caring about me, Mr. Hoffman.
You make me want to do better.