Once again I find myself having difficulty writing a santa letter because evything i want is ridiculous and depressing. And, once again, I am going to write a Pre-Santa Letter to see if I can get this out of my system:
Dear Santa:
I want to stop being exhausted and disillusioned, I want people to understand what I mean, I want to work somewhere where I am not covered over with enough work for 8 people, I want to stop bitching at family during holidays and I want my friend back. There is one less amazing person in my life and I want that fucking fixed. now.
I want to treat the amazing people left in my life like they are amazing, but I can't seem to do it. Please make me a magic wand or something. Lavender tea is awesome, pie is awesome and presents are awesome but they don't fix this kind of deep seeded sadness and thorough emotional exhaustion. I need a fucking Christmas miracle. Please.
seriously.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
it Christmas!
I simultaneous love and hate this time of year!
It's exciting, the air is filled with the scent of cinnamon and peppermint, there's cheery music, people are nice to each other, there's lots of chocolate to be had, and there's presents!
But, peope are only nice if you don't have the thing they want, cinnamon brooms are nice until they give you an asthma attack, and all the chocolate and presents? who do you think makes and buys all that shit? elves?
So many parties, so many events, so many things to do: it's a little mind-boggling. I almost went fucking postal at work Thursday because i have an ungodly amount of work to do and was somehow supposed to clean my office, eat lunch, and get my work done in a matter of 4 hours (it's literally like 20 hours worth of work) and THEN be cheerful for visitors for 3 hours.
The office was clean enough, i managed a being friendly for three hours, I eventually ate, and the work isn't finished, but I did apparently "storm out" when everyone else was eating lunch. I don't think I stormed out. I think I saw that the one thing I wanted was taken (lunch was furnished that day), couldn't decide on anything else, decided I did't have time to waste being indecisive about lunch, said "i have bigger shit to worry about" and walked out so I could go clean my office which was absolutely filthy and should have been cleaned several days before but wasn't because I had too much work to do.
I love parties, I love seeing friendly people, i love presents and i love peppermint, but I hate all the work that goes into doing those things. I wish there was a balance.
Wheream I going with this?
I don't know. I just know I had a friend who said I don't post on here often enough so, here you go :-P
It's exciting, the air is filled with the scent of cinnamon and peppermint, there's cheery music, people are nice to each other, there's lots of chocolate to be had, and there's presents!
But, peope are only nice if you don't have the thing they want, cinnamon brooms are nice until they give you an asthma attack, and all the chocolate and presents? who do you think makes and buys all that shit? elves?
So many parties, so many events, so many things to do: it's a little mind-boggling. I almost went fucking postal at work Thursday because i have an ungodly amount of work to do and was somehow supposed to clean my office, eat lunch, and get my work done in a matter of 4 hours (it's literally like 20 hours worth of work) and THEN be cheerful for visitors for 3 hours.
The office was clean enough, i managed a being friendly for three hours, I eventually ate, and the work isn't finished, but I did apparently "storm out" when everyone else was eating lunch. I don't think I stormed out. I think I saw that the one thing I wanted was taken (lunch was furnished that day), couldn't decide on anything else, decided I did't have time to waste being indecisive about lunch, said "i have bigger shit to worry about" and walked out so I could go clean my office which was absolutely filthy and should have been cleaned several days before but wasn't because I had too much work to do.
I love parties, I love seeing friendly people, i love presents and i love peppermint, but I hate all the work that goes into doing those things. I wish there was a balance.
Wheream I going with this?
I don't know. I just know I had a friend who said I don't post on here often enough so, here you go :-P
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Rosie, the car who isn't quite as depressing this time
As you may have guessed, yesterday's story, comes from somewhere very personal. I have my days where I feel like a shitty broken car. To me, it doesn't really seem to matter that I want to do better because at a certain point, I'm not adequate for the task. I'm just not. For the last 3 weeks, I have been carrying around the idea that I am a shitty broken car and won't ever be anything else. I have been a very sad car. I have cried many times, especially over the last 2 days. The ends of my hair and my cheeks were soaked last night when I was writing the story about Rosie. In fact, every time I thought about writing Rosie's story, I cried. It did occur to me that if the thought of writing it made me cry, then maybe I should let it go and not write it.
I am glad I wrote it. Once it was done, I felt almost calm. Sometimes if something is bothering me, I just have to speak my mind, and I feel better. Writing the story down somehow helped me move past feeling like a shitty broken car. The tears dried up, and I went to bed. Before I went to bed, the only ending I could see that wasn't bullshit was the one I wrote. I woke up this morning with another idea that seems reasonably realistic and a fitting ending to the story. So, without further ado, Here's the alternate ending:
There once was a car named Rosie. Rosie was shiny and her speakers played beautiful music and all of her parts were perfect and well oiled. Rosie lived at car lot next to other cars, but Rosie was the shiniest and most special car there. One day a man wearing a green tie came to Rosie and washed her with bubbly soap and a soft cloth. The bubbles tickled and the cloth felt soft and warm.
A few minutes later, another man in a red hat came and the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. The man in the red hat opened Rosie’s door, sat in Rosie’s cushy seats, and turned the key. Rosie started right up and her engine hummed and she was happy.
Both men went away and came back. The man in the green tie told the man in the red hat that Rosie was a good car and the man in the red hat smiled. Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie home and then told a lady in a pink skirt and a little girl with a teddy bear what a good car Rosie was. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took the man in the red hat and the lady in the pink skirt and the girl with the teddy bear to get ice cream and they giggled and smiled and said how the good the ice cream was and how good Rosie was. It made Rosie Happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took her family all kinds of places: the park, the school, the zoo, the library and the movies. Rosie liked taking people places they needed to go because it helped them. Rosie liked helping people and Rosie liked making people happy.
One day the man in the red hat turned Rosie’s key and she started up right away just like always. But this time, her engine didn’t hum--it sputtered. Try as she might, Rosie could not get her engine to stop sputtering. The man in the red hat was not happy and called her a lot of names. He did not call her a good car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the red hat took her to a man in a blue jumpsuit who said he would fix Rosie and make her a good car again and Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the jumpsuit changed Rosie’s oil, and her spark plugs, and oiled all of her joints, and turned bolts, and tweaked knobs and did everything possible and Rosie was happy. She was going to be a good car again.
The man in the red hat came back and the man in the jumpsuit told him that he could not fix Rosie and that Rosie was not a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie back to the man with the green tie and told him that Rosie was a very bad car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the green suit washed Rosie over and over and showed her to Men and Ladies and boys and girls and other men in jumpsuits. Rosie only ever got to go to the stop sign and back. No one wanted Rosie to take them to school or the zoo or to get ice cream. They all said Rosie was not a good car. Rosie was very sad. Rosie wanted to take people places and make them happy. She wanted to be a good car.
One day a man with a white hat and grease on his clothes came and looked at Rosie. He smiled when he saw her and when the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. He sat in Rosie’s seat and she started up right away just like always. Her engine still sputtered and she was sad. But the man in the white hat smiled. He told the man in the green tie that he would like to have a car like Rosie and that he was going to make her a good car again. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat took her home and did all the same things that the men in jumpsuits had. The man turned the key and Rosie started right up like always, but her engine still sputtered and she was sad. The man smiled and went to get new tools and new parts and said that he would have to fix Rosie’s engine and then she would be a good car. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man opened up Rosie’s engine and then stared wide eyed and dropped his wrench. He said that Rosie was very different and very special but he could not fix her. The man put Rosie back together, sat down in her cushy seat and turned the key. He drove Rosie to another man with black pants and grease on his face who said he could fix her. The man in the black pants took her apart and cleaned every piece and tweaked every knob and did more than any of the men in jumpsuits or the man in the white hat had done. He smiled and said that Rosie should be fixed now and Rosie was happy. He turned the key and Rosie’s engine sputtered. Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat sat back in Rosie and turned the key and started back home. On the way home, Rosie’s engine sputtered. it sputtered and sputtered and sputtered until it stopped. Rosie stopped in the middle of the road. The man in the white hat turned Rosie’s key and she did not start.
Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car and she was not. Rosie was tired of her sputtering engine and she was tired of people saying she was a bad car and she was tired of not getting to help people or make them happy.
The man in the white hat tried and tried to get Rosie to start but she would not. The man in the white hat pushed Rosie over to the side of the road. Then he got out his tools and told Rosie she was a good car and did everything he knew how but Rosie would not start.
When it got dark, the man in the white hat left Rosie. Rosie was lonely, but at least her engine was not sputtering. A long time after it got dark, a man in torn clothes came up to Rosie. He was shivering and his eyes were droopy and he walked with a limp. The man made Rosie's door open, and then laid down on Rosie's cushy seats. The man stopped shivering and fell deep asleep and smiled at his dreams. Rosie was happy. She was not a good car but she was a good place to rest and she had helped the man sleep. Rosie liked helping people and making them happy. Rosie was very happy.
I am glad I wrote it. Once it was done, I felt almost calm. Sometimes if something is bothering me, I just have to speak my mind, and I feel better. Writing the story down somehow helped me move past feeling like a shitty broken car. The tears dried up, and I went to bed. Before I went to bed, the only ending I could see that wasn't bullshit was the one I wrote. I woke up this morning with another idea that seems reasonably realistic and a fitting ending to the story. So, without further ado, Here's the alternate ending:
There once was a car named Rosie. Rosie was shiny and her speakers played beautiful music and all of her parts were perfect and well oiled. Rosie lived at car lot next to other cars, but Rosie was the shiniest and most special car there. One day a man wearing a green tie came to Rosie and washed her with bubbly soap and a soft cloth. The bubbles tickled and the cloth felt soft and warm.
A few minutes later, another man in a red hat came and the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. The man in the red hat opened Rosie’s door, sat in Rosie’s cushy seats, and turned the key. Rosie started right up and her engine hummed and she was happy.
Both men went away and came back. The man in the green tie told the man in the red hat that Rosie was a good car and the man in the red hat smiled. Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie home and then told a lady in a pink skirt and a little girl with a teddy bear what a good car Rosie was. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took the man in the red hat and the lady in the pink skirt and the girl with the teddy bear to get ice cream and they giggled and smiled and said how the good the ice cream was and how good Rosie was. It made Rosie Happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took her family all kinds of places: the park, the school, the zoo, the library and the movies. Rosie liked taking people places they needed to go because it helped them. Rosie liked helping people and Rosie liked making people happy.
One day the man in the red hat turned Rosie’s key and she started up right away just like always. But this time, her engine didn’t hum--it sputtered. Try as she might, Rosie could not get her engine to stop sputtering. The man in the red hat was not happy and called her a lot of names. He did not call her a good car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the red hat took her to a man in a blue jumpsuit who said he would fix Rosie and make her a good car again and Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the jumpsuit changed Rosie’s oil, and her spark plugs, and oiled all of her joints, and turned bolts, and tweaked knobs and did everything possible and Rosie was happy. She was going to be a good car again.
The man in the red hat came back and the man in the jumpsuit told him that he could not fix Rosie and that Rosie was not a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie back to the man with the green tie and told him that Rosie was a very bad car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the green suit washed Rosie over and over and showed her to Men and Ladies and boys and girls and other men in jumpsuits. Rosie only ever got to go to the stop sign and back. No one wanted Rosie to take them to school or the zoo or to get ice cream. They all said Rosie was not a good car. Rosie was very sad. Rosie wanted to take people places and make them happy. She wanted to be a good car.
One day a man with a white hat and grease on his clothes came and looked at Rosie. He smiled when he saw her and when the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. He sat in Rosie’s seat and she started up right away just like always. Her engine still sputtered and she was sad. But the man in the white hat smiled. He told the man in the green tie that he would like to have a car like Rosie and that he was going to make her a good car again. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat took her home and did all the same things that the men in jumpsuits had. The man turned the key and Rosie started right up like always, but her engine still sputtered and she was sad. The man smiled and went to get new tools and new parts and said that he would have to fix Rosie’s engine and then she would be a good car. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man opened up Rosie’s engine and then stared wide eyed and dropped his wrench. He said that Rosie was very different and very special but he could not fix her. The man put Rosie back together, sat down in her cushy seat and turned the key. He drove Rosie to another man with black pants and grease on his face who said he could fix her. The man in the black pants took her apart and cleaned every piece and tweaked every knob and did more than any of the men in jumpsuits or the man in the white hat had done. He smiled and said that Rosie should be fixed now and Rosie was happy. He turned the key and Rosie’s engine sputtered. Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat sat back in Rosie and turned the key and started back home. On the way home, Rosie’s engine sputtered. it sputtered and sputtered and sputtered until it stopped. Rosie stopped in the middle of the road. The man in the white hat turned Rosie’s key and she did not start.
Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car and she was not. Rosie was tired of her sputtering engine and she was tired of people saying she was a bad car and she was tired of not getting to help people or make them happy.
The man in the white hat tried and tried to get Rosie to start but she would not. The man in the white hat pushed Rosie over to the side of the road. Then he got out his tools and told Rosie she was a good car and did everything he knew how but Rosie would not start.
When it got dark, the man in the white hat left Rosie. Rosie was lonely, but at least her engine was not sputtering. A long time after it got dark, a man in torn clothes came up to Rosie. He was shivering and his eyes were droopy and he walked with a limp. The man made Rosie's door open, and then laid down on Rosie's cushy seats. The man stopped shivering and fell deep asleep and smiled at his dreams. Rosie was happy. She was not a good car but she was a good place to rest and she had helped the man sleep. Rosie liked helping people and making them happy. Rosie was very happy.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Rosie, The car that really tried but....
There once was a car named Rosie. Rosie was shiny and her speakers played beautiful music and all of her parts were perfect and well oiled. Rosie lived at car lot next to other cars, but Rosie was the shiniest and most special car there. One day a man wearing a green tie came to Rosie and washed her with bubbly soap and a soft cloth. The bubbles tickled and the cloth felt soft and warm.
A few minutes later, another man in a red hat came and the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. The man in the red hat opened Rosie’s door, sat in Rosie’s cushy seats, and turned the key. Rosie started right up and her engine hummed and she was happy.
Both men went away and came back. The man in the green tie told the man in the red hat that Rosie was a good car and the man in the red hat smiled. Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie home and then told a lady in a pink skirt and a little girl with a teddy bear what a good car Rosie was. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took the man in the red hat and the lady in the pink skirt and the girl with the teddy bear to get ice cream and they giggled and smiled and said how the good the ice cream was and how good Rosie was. It made Rosie Happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took her family all kinds of places: the park, the school, the zoo, the library and the movies. Rosie liked taking people places they needed to go because it helped them. Rosie liked helping people and Rosie liked making people happy.
One day the man in the red hat turned Rosie’s key and she started up right away just like always. But this time, her engine didn’t hum--it sputtered. Try as she might, Rosie could not get her engine to stop sputtering. The man in the red hat was not happy and called her a lot of names. He did not call her a good car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the red hat took her to a man in a blue jumpsuit who said he would fix Rosie and make her a good car again and Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the jumpsuit changed Rosie’s oil, and her spark plugs, and oiled all of her joints, and turned bolts, and tweaked knobs and did everything possible and Rosie was happy. She was going to be a good car again.
The man in the red hat came back and the man in the jumpsuit told him that he could not fix Rosie and that Rosie was not a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie back to the man with the green tie and told him that Rosie was a very bad car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the green suit washed Rosie over and over and showed her to Men and Ladies and boys and girls and other men in jumpsuits. Rosie only ever got to go to the stop sign and back. No one wanted Rosie to take them to school or the zoo or to get ice cream. They all said Rosie was not a good car. Rosie was very sad. Rosie wanted to take people places and make them happy. She wanted to be a good car.
One day a man with a white hat and grease on his clothes came and looked at Rosie. He smiled when he saw her and when the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. He sat in Rosie’s seat and she started up right away just like always. Her engine still sputtered and she was sad. But the man in the white hat smiled. He told the man in the green tie that he would like to have a car like Rosie and that he was going to make her a good car again. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat took her home and did all the same things that the men in jumpsuits had. The man turned the key and Rosie started right up like always, but her engine still sputtered and she was sad. The man smiled and went to get new tools and new parts and said that he would have to fix Rosie’s engine and then she would be a good car. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man opened up Rosie’s engine and then stared wide eyed and dropped his wrench. He said that Rosie was very different and very special but he could not fix her. The man put Rosie back together, sat down in her cushy seat and turned the key. He drove Rosie to another man with black pants and grease on his face who said he could fix her. The man in the black pants took her apart and cleaned every piece and tweaked every knob and did more than any of the men in jumpsuits or the man in the white hat had done. He smiled and said that Rosie should be fixed now and Rosie was happy. He turned the key and Rosie’s engine sputtered. Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat sat back in Rosie and turned the key and started back home. On the way home, Rosie’s engine sputtered. it sputtered and sputtered and sputtered until it stopped. Rosie stopped still in the middle of the train tracks. There was a loud horn followed by the clickety-clack of the train. The man in the white hat turned Rosie’s key and she did not start.
Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car and she was not. Rosie was tired of her sputtering engine and she was tired of people saying she was a bad car and she was tired of not getting to help people or make them happy.
The man in the white hat tried and tried to get Rosie to start but she would not. The man in the white hat ran away from Rosie because he did not want to get hurt. The train honked and honked and honked and Rosie would not move. Rosie was not a good car but as the train barreled down on her and broke her into hundreds of pieces, she hoped she could at least be good scrap metal.
A few minutes later, another man in a red hat came and the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. The man in the red hat opened Rosie’s door, sat in Rosie’s cushy seats, and turned the key. Rosie started right up and her engine hummed and she was happy.
Both men went away and came back. The man in the green tie told the man in the red hat that Rosie was a good car and the man in the red hat smiled. Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie home and then told a lady in a pink skirt and a little girl with a teddy bear what a good car Rosie was. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took the man in the red hat and the lady in the pink skirt and the girl with the teddy bear to get ice cream and they giggled and smiled and said how the good the ice cream was and how good Rosie was. It made Rosie Happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
Rosie took her family all kinds of places: the park, the school, the zoo, the library and the movies. Rosie liked taking people places they needed to go because it helped them. Rosie liked helping people and Rosie liked making people happy.
One day the man in the red hat turned Rosie’s key and she started up right away just like always. But this time, her engine didn’t hum--it sputtered. Try as she might, Rosie could not get her engine to stop sputtering. The man in the red hat was not happy and called her a lot of names. He did not call her a good car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the red hat took her to a man in a blue jumpsuit who said he would fix Rosie and make her a good car again and Rosie was happy. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the jumpsuit changed Rosie’s oil, and her spark plugs, and oiled all of her joints, and turned bolts, and tweaked knobs and did everything possible and Rosie was happy. She was going to be a good car again.
The man in the red hat came back and the man in the jumpsuit told him that he could not fix Rosie and that Rosie was not a good car. The man in the red hat took Rosie back to the man with the green tie and told him that Rosie was a very bad car. Rosie was sad. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the green suit washed Rosie over and over and showed her to Men and Ladies and boys and girls and other men in jumpsuits. Rosie only ever got to go to the stop sign and back. No one wanted Rosie to take them to school or the zoo or to get ice cream. They all said Rosie was not a good car. Rosie was very sad. Rosie wanted to take people places and make them happy. She wanted to be a good car.
One day a man with a white hat and grease on his clothes came and looked at Rosie. He smiled when he saw her and when the man in the green tie told him how special Rosie was. He sat in Rosie’s seat and she started up right away just like always. Her engine still sputtered and she was sad. But the man in the white hat smiled. He told the man in the green tie that he would like to have a car like Rosie and that he was going to make her a good car again. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat took her home and did all the same things that the men in jumpsuits had. The man turned the key and Rosie started right up like always, but her engine still sputtered and she was sad. The man smiled and went to get new tools and new parts and said that he would have to fix Rosie’s engine and then she would be a good car. Rosie was happy. She wanted to be a good car.
The man opened up Rosie’s engine and then stared wide eyed and dropped his wrench. He said that Rosie was very different and very special but he could not fix her. The man put Rosie back together, sat down in her cushy seat and turned the key. He drove Rosie to another man with black pants and grease on his face who said he could fix her. The man in the black pants took her apart and cleaned every piece and tweaked every knob and did more than any of the men in jumpsuits or the man in the white hat had done. He smiled and said that Rosie should be fixed now and Rosie was happy. He turned the key and Rosie’s engine sputtered. Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car.
The man in the white hat sat back in Rosie and turned the key and started back home. On the way home, Rosie’s engine sputtered. it sputtered and sputtered and sputtered until it stopped. Rosie stopped still in the middle of the train tracks. There was a loud horn followed by the clickety-clack of the train. The man in the white hat turned Rosie’s key and she did not start.
Rosie was sad. Rosie wanted to be a good car and she was not. Rosie was tired of her sputtering engine and she was tired of people saying she was a bad car and she was tired of not getting to help people or make them happy.
The man in the white hat tried and tried to get Rosie to start but she would not. The man in the white hat ran away from Rosie because he did not want to get hurt. The train honked and honked and honked and Rosie would not move. Rosie was not a good car but as the train barreled down on her and broke her into hundreds of pieces, she hoped she could at least be good scrap metal.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
hold on to Nothing as fast as you can
Everyone says I'm too hard on myself, I expect too much of myself, I'm too much of a perfectionist, etc. UNTIL we get to something they want or need a specific way and then I'm just not trying hard enough. Even with good ADHD medication, I can get exhausted just trying to concentrate on one thing. Rest assured that if I am failing at something, I am giving it all I have and have probably tried 15 different methods to not fuck it up. Hell, you can rest assured that if I am making a the tiniest ass minor mistake that I have tried everything I know, other than just blowing my damn brains out, to make it stop. Most days, I feel completely drained just from trying to do normal tasks that anyone else can do in their sleep. Many days, I feel I have Nothing left to give.
I know that typing something without completely jumbling up every word, leaving out capitalization and screwing up the spacing should be easy and isn't an unreasonable expectation for someone to have of me; I know that leaving the house with all the lights off and all the doors locked is a good and normal thing to want; I know that forgetting to document something important is very very bad; I know that forgetting to click "submit" the fourth time results in unpaid bills which can seriously fuck up your month... But in the end, I can't fucking do it. There's no amount of concentration, no method, no magic fairy dust, no medication, no therapist that can make that work for me. I put forth 300% effort and am lucky to get back a 30% return.
I am smart, I care about people, I want to do well, and I could be utterly fucking amazing if I could just do anything even half as well as I intend to. But as it is, I can't. So I am doomed to a life of people getting frustrated with me over mundane shit they could do when they were five which leads to arguments, conflicts at work, frustration, dogs and cat living together... no wait, this actually really sucks. Fuck Humor.
I am doomed to repeat a cycle of finding a job, working my ass off to adjust, ultimately not being able to be what they need and then either getting fired or quitting before I get fired, Over and Over and Over and Over. I am doomed to disappoint people, forget anniversaries, lose important shit, lose touch with friends because I forget to call them for two years, forget to pay bills and generally frustrate those around me.
I want help and people try to help me, but eventually we get back around to "just do it. try harder." Really? you expect me to expend the kind of energy I do, drain myself the fuck out every day, bang my head against the wall for hours at a time, and the best advice you can give me is "you're not trying hard enough"? Fuck You. Oh wait, I care about you and what you think... So now we're back to square one.
*sigh*
I know that typing something without completely jumbling up every word, leaving out capitalization and screwing up the spacing should be easy and isn't an unreasonable expectation for someone to have of me; I know that leaving the house with all the lights off and all the doors locked is a good and normal thing to want; I know that forgetting to document something important is very very bad; I know that forgetting to click "submit" the fourth time results in unpaid bills which can seriously fuck up your month... But in the end, I can't fucking do it. There's no amount of concentration, no method, no magic fairy dust, no medication, no therapist that can make that work for me. I put forth 300% effort and am lucky to get back a 30% return.
I am smart, I care about people, I want to do well, and I could be utterly fucking amazing if I could just do anything even half as well as I intend to. But as it is, I can't. So I am doomed to a life of people getting frustrated with me over mundane shit they could do when they were five which leads to arguments, conflicts at work, frustration, dogs and cat living together... no wait, this actually really sucks. Fuck Humor.
I am doomed to repeat a cycle of finding a job, working my ass off to adjust, ultimately not being able to be what they need and then either getting fired or quitting before I get fired, Over and Over and Over and Over. I am doomed to disappoint people, forget anniversaries, lose important shit, lose touch with friends because I forget to call them for two years, forget to pay bills and generally frustrate those around me.
I want help and people try to help me, but eventually we get back around to "just do it. try harder." Really? you expect me to expend the kind of energy I do, drain myself the fuck out every day, bang my head against the wall for hours at a time, and the best advice you can give me is "you're not trying hard enough"? Fuck You. Oh wait, I care about you and what you think... So now we're back to square one.
*sigh*
Monday, August 16, 2010
really i mean it...
This lovely post last December talked about the four moods/intentions of Vo0. Right now I am in full on "love me" mode. Talk to me, hug me, pat me on the shoulder, tell me i'm strong and smart even if i don't believe it and for the love of god, don't leave, don't go to bed, and just... don't ever stop.
I have had a lot of personal stress lately. Hubby quit his job a couple of weeks due to it being "asstastic" and him not feeling that being sick with stress every day was worth it, even if we might have to get creative to pay the mortgage. Luckily not much financial creativity was required because he starts a new job tomorrow. Nonetheless, it was draining and I got pretty worn out from those 2 weeks.
Just as I was starting to feel normal again, mom called me and said she was quitting work due to health problems. She had issues about three years ago, and I talked about them right before my santa letter that year. The issues never went all the way away but they got better with the right combination of PT, meds and other medical type stuff. Now they have gotten worse again and the woman who has been a preschool teacher since before I was born is now not one anymore due to chronic health issues. SHIT. ouch.
Seriously, I'm crying now as I type this. sooo not happy. The day i found out, I laid my head on hubby's shoulder about 10 minutes past the point of having neck pain from the way i was laying and really didn't ever want to get up. This weekend I have been... crazy. I want nothing but to connect with people, and be hugged, and talk to people and be around friends and be around hubby and I have been cuddling with hubby all the time and talking to people online almost constantly and it's still not enough. I don't think anything is going to be enough. I can ether go back to blissfully ignoring this, or I can be stressed out for the rest of her life. *sigh*
I could seriously use a kitten pile of friends to nap in right now... I don't care how creepy it sounds to the rest of you, it might actually give me a moment's peace.
I have had a lot of personal stress lately. Hubby quit his job a couple of weeks due to it being "asstastic" and him not feeling that being sick with stress every day was worth it, even if we might have to get creative to pay the mortgage. Luckily not much financial creativity was required because he starts a new job tomorrow. Nonetheless, it was draining and I got pretty worn out from those 2 weeks.
Just as I was starting to feel normal again, mom called me and said she was quitting work due to health problems. She had issues about three years ago, and I talked about them right before my santa letter that year. The issues never went all the way away but they got better with the right combination of PT, meds and other medical type stuff. Now they have gotten worse again and the woman who has been a preschool teacher since before I was born is now not one anymore due to chronic health issues. SHIT. ouch.
Seriously, I'm crying now as I type this. sooo not happy. The day i found out, I laid my head on hubby's shoulder about 10 minutes past the point of having neck pain from the way i was laying and really didn't ever want to get up. This weekend I have been... crazy. I want nothing but to connect with people, and be hugged, and talk to people and be around friends and be around hubby and I have been cuddling with hubby all the time and talking to people online almost constantly and it's still not enough. I don't think anything is going to be enough. I can ether go back to blissfully ignoring this, or I can be stressed out for the rest of her life. *sigh*
I could seriously use a kitten pile of friends to nap in right now... I don't care how creepy it sounds to the rest of you, it might actually give me a moment's peace.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I am awesome! Would you like to know why?!
Remember a couple of weeks ago when I linked to Amanda Palmer's writing contest? My favorite crazy naked musician, held a contest where you could write prose on the subject of her death and possibly win one of 15 copies of her book to be given away as contest prizes. Today I got an email from the publisher of the book. I won a copy.
HOLY.
FUCK.
I never expected to win, and I never necessarily expected what I wrote to be comparably good to what other people would write, but when I saw the contest, I had an urge to write. So I did. I wrote something that I thought was appropriate to my favorite crazy musician/artist and something I was actually proud of. I had no idea it would ever strike someone else as exceptional. I wrote what I wanted to write the exact crazy ass way I wanted to write it, and someone else liked it. Sooo happy!
Here is a taste of the story:
"...To her surprise, she found that, not only could she play the concerto with considerable ease, she could read it. She understood the sheet music intrinsically and played with the passion and fervor of bunnies. When she was finished she smiled softly, for the first time since several hours before her death. 'Wow.' she said. 'Indeed.' said the little man taking up his sheet music. No sooner was it in his hands than he disappeared in a puff of mist or was it smoke or... well, whether or not it was ethereal mist, smoke, or cedar moths on methamphetamine was inconsequential: the fact was, he was gone..."
You should go to the site to read the rest of it.
HOLY.
FUCK.
I never expected to win, and I never necessarily expected what I wrote to be comparably good to what other people would write, but when I saw the contest, I had an urge to write. So I did. I wrote something that I thought was appropriate to my favorite crazy musician/artist and something I was actually proud of. I had no idea it would ever strike someone else as exceptional. I wrote what I wanted to write the exact crazy ass way I wanted to write it, and someone else liked it. Sooo happy!
Here is a taste of the story:
"...To her surprise, she found that, not only could she play the concerto with considerable ease, she could read it. She understood the sheet music intrinsically and played with the passion and fervor of bunnies. When she was finished she smiled softly, for the first time since several hours before her death. 'Wow.' she said. 'Indeed.' said the little man taking up his sheet music. No sooner was it in his hands than he disappeared in a puff of mist or was it smoke or... well, whether or not it was ethereal mist, smoke, or cedar moths on methamphetamine was inconsequential: the fact was, he was gone..."
You should go to the site to read the rest of it.
Monday, July 5, 2010
so, yes I am obsessed, but this is cool... trust me
My girlfriend is having a contest where you can win her new book by writing a story, poem, etc.
I wrote one for the hell of it and you can read it here. So not for the easily offended, but if you're readng my blog, you probably don't fall in to this category.
I wrote one for the hell of it and you can read it here. So not for the easily offended, but if you're readng my blog, you probably don't fall in to this category.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Independence day
I am proud to be a citizen of a country who celebrates that day it said "fuck you" to a government it felt was oppressive. I am proud to be a citizen of a country where other citizens protect me so that I may spend my Sunday posting blogs with lots of cursing, playing board games or otherwise dicking around. The physical and mental trauma suffered by a solder is unimaginable by any of us at home, and we owe them. Thank you soldiers. Happy fourth of July!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I know more about parenting than you do
If you are a parent, you are responsible for your child... in everything... until they can be independent or you can responsibly find them a safe place to be other than your home...period. No one is perfect, and we all fuck things up, but there are some obvious goddamn things that you should/shouldn't do as a parent (btw, this does not apply to anyone that i know that reads this blog--all of you that i've met are really good parents).
1. If the kid is in public and is screaming or otherwise disrupting others, you should do something about it. It is your job to teach them polite behavior. It is not your job to "deal with" the fact that they hit someone, are screaming, called their grandma a fattie or are otherwise being disrespectful or disruptive by saying "oh, they're just kids." I am a ranting fucking lunatic, but I *knew* by the time i was five exactly how i should behave and what would happen if I didn't. I still know how to behave in public when I want to, but the choice is mine. You're not being mean to your kids by disciplining them, you are giving them a choice. If they don't know that hauling off and smacking someone they are mad at is mean and considered unacceptable, then they can't choose to be acceptable or unacceptable. I *know* how to be acceptable and docile if I choose to, but I also know how to raise holy hell if I feel it is necessary.
2. "Do as I say, not as I do".... UGH UGH UGH. You know, I know this is a hard one sometimes because you may have picked up a bad habit that you don't want the kid to have, but if you do it, they will. The important thing is that, once you pick up the bad habit that you don't want them to have, you need to make a visible effort to quit... many if necessary--as many as it takes until it sticks or you die. Also don't EVER discipline a kid for hitting someone or being mean or being aggressive by smacking them OMG.
3. Don't make selfish choices that put your child's life, emotional state, mental stability or overall chance at life in danger. Seriously, fucking pay attention. Again, we all make mistakes, but shit this major, you should see coming and at least try to prevent it.
You know what, I know that since i do not have any... darling angels of my own that I cannot possibly understand how difficult it is to be a parent or all the shit you're up against, but A. I taught daycare and if crazy ass unstable me can halfway control a kid, most people can do SOMETHING. and B. ...*sigh* I need to shut up.
I don't expect anyone (except myself) to be perfect, but just... TRY--not for me, but for your kids--they didn't ask to be born, so do your best to help them figure all this crazy shit out. Life hurts enough when you understand how it works and you have good influences/examples in your life and you have some sort of structure and reliability... don't make them go through life without these things.
1. If the kid is in public and is screaming or otherwise disrupting others, you should do something about it. It is your job to teach them polite behavior. It is not your job to "deal with" the fact that they hit someone, are screaming, called their grandma a fattie or are otherwise being disrespectful or disruptive by saying "oh, they're just kids." I am a ranting fucking lunatic, but I *knew* by the time i was five exactly how i should behave and what would happen if I didn't. I still know how to behave in public when I want to, but the choice is mine. You're not being mean to your kids by disciplining them, you are giving them a choice. If they don't know that hauling off and smacking someone they are mad at is mean and considered unacceptable, then they can't choose to be acceptable or unacceptable. I *know* how to be acceptable and docile if I choose to, but I also know how to raise holy hell if I feel it is necessary.
2. "Do as I say, not as I do".... UGH UGH UGH. You know, I know this is a hard one sometimes because you may have picked up a bad habit that you don't want the kid to have, but if you do it, they will. The important thing is that, once you pick up the bad habit that you don't want them to have, you need to make a visible effort to quit... many if necessary--as many as it takes until it sticks or you die. Also don't EVER discipline a kid for hitting someone or being mean or being aggressive by smacking them OMG.
3. Don't make selfish choices that put your child's life, emotional state, mental stability or overall chance at life in danger. Seriously, fucking pay attention. Again, we all make mistakes, but shit this major, you should see coming and at least try to prevent it.
You know what, I know that since i do not have any... darling angels of my own that I cannot possibly understand how difficult it is to be a parent or all the shit you're up against, but A. I taught daycare and if crazy ass unstable me can halfway control a kid, most people can do SOMETHING. and B. ...*sigh* I need to shut up.
I don't expect anyone (except myself) to be perfect, but just... TRY--not for me, but for your kids--they didn't ask to be born, so do your best to help them figure all this crazy shit out. Life hurts enough when you understand how it works and you have good influences/examples in your life and you have some sort of structure and reliability... don't make them go through life without these things.
Friday, April 2, 2010
my "girlfriend"
Amanda Palmer posted on her blog about being in the studio again and a million other random things like she always does. I always like what she writes but then I saw this:
"i’ve forgotten exactly what it’s like to be sitting at the piano for the first time with a microphone shoved into your mind.
god it’s hard. your brain spins with pain and regret at every miniscule mistake and you want to destory your imperfect self with a sledgehammer."
YES!
Creativity, art expression, music, dance, jewelry, drawing: it's like having an amplifier on your brain and soul. It utterly infuriating if what you see or hear yourself do isn't an accurate reflection of you or if you see that you're not what you want to be... no matter how minuscule the difference between the ideal and reality is. In fact that's always infuriating and I always get out the emotional sledge hammer, and everyone doesn't know WTH to do with that... most people try to reassure me, but i know what i heard or saw or felt, so then the sledgehammer gets turned on them. Not good, but I always wish that just one person would get this. Amanda does.
It's why I love her and want to have her children.
"i’ve forgotten exactly what it’s like to be sitting at the piano for the first time with a microphone shoved into your mind.
god it’s hard. your brain spins with pain and regret at every miniscule mistake and you want to destory your imperfect self with a sledgehammer."
YES!
Creativity, art expression, music, dance, jewelry, drawing: it's like having an amplifier on your brain and soul. It utterly infuriating if what you see or hear yourself do isn't an accurate reflection of you or if you see that you're not what you want to be... no matter how minuscule the difference between the ideal and reality is. In fact that's always infuriating and I always get out the emotional sledge hammer, and everyone doesn't know WTH to do with that... most people try to reassure me, but i know what i heard or saw or felt, so then the sledgehammer gets turned on them. Not good, but I always wish that just one person would get this. Amanda does.
It's why I love her and want to have her children.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
can i just go live in my cave now?
Life is generally good but the last few days...
I'm tired and want to go live in a cave and never come out.
being alone is lonely, being around normal people is boring and being around complicated people is lovely... until they decide to be complicated ...
I always feel lonely, due in part to the fact that I don't have a lot of friends and the ones I do have have their own lives. I don't have a lot of friends, because I'm an ass and I tend to forget people, leave them out of the loop, never call them when they give me their phone number and practically beg me to do so, etc.
Or I used to. Now, I either intend to call you until the end of time or I cling like a crazy velcro monkey because I'm to the point in my life where I really want people around me. However, me being me, I can't be happy with normal people who smile blankly and talk about "having case of the Mondays" with no sarcasm. I have to have amazing people with complex emotions who are just as batshit crazy as I am. Happy Complicated and crazy is fine.. it's better than fine... it's fucking amazing. Upset, complicated and crazy... is tiring, especially when you're complicated and crazy and prone to getting upset and so are those around you. Now I just feel like my life is an emotional cluster fuck and I'm tired and just want it to go away.
Add To this other normal things like dogs eating unidentified objects off the floor that might be chocolate and you get... A crazy woman typing a blogpost at almost midnight on a worknight because she has nothing else to do while she waits for the dog's head to explode.
I am complicated enough without adding anything to it. Add a husband friends and family, and it becomes a beautiful disaster of proportions unknown to man. Add to that the responsibility for another life?
Wait, why would anyone add "responsibility for keeping something alive" to "natural disaster of a human being?" I don't know. I am not fit to be responsible for myself much less something else. In fact, this is really tiring. Can I go live in a cave now please? seriously?
I'm tired and want to go live in a cave and never come out.
being alone is lonely, being around normal people is boring and being around complicated people is lovely... until they decide to be complicated ...
I always feel lonely, due in part to the fact that I don't have a lot of friends and the ones I do have have their own lives. I don't have a lot of friends, because I'm an ass and I tend to forget people, leave them out of the loop, never call them when they give me their phone number and practically beg me to do so, etc.Or I used to. Now, I either intend to call you until the end of time or I cling like a crazy velcro monkey because I'm to the point in my life where I really want people around me. However, me being me, I can't be happy with normal people who smile blankly and talk about "having case of the Mondays" with no sarcasm. I have to have amazing people with complex emotions who are just as batshit crazy as I am. Happy Complicated and crazy is fine.. it's better than fine... it's fucking amazing. Upset, complicated and crazy... is tiring, especially when you're complicated and crazy and prone to getting upset and so are those around you. Now I just feel like my life is an emotional cluster fuck and I'm tired and just want it to go away.
Add To this other normal things like dogs eating unidentified objects off the floor that might be chocolate and you get... A crazy woman typing a blogpost at almost midnight on a worknight because she has nothing else to do while she waits for the dog's head to explode.
I am complicated enough without adding anything to it. Add a husband friends and family, and it becomes a beautiful disaster of proportions unknown to man. Add to that the responsibility for another life?
Wait, why would anyone add "responsibility for keeping something alive" to "natural disaster of a human being?" I don't know. I am not fit to be responsible for myself much less something else. In fact, this is really tiring. Can I go live in a cave now please? seriously?
Friday, January 29, 2010
excue me, is this YOUR nose?
If *I* am okay with the fact that my husband might quit his job before he has a new one or if *I* am okay with the fact that he avoids formal and work events like the plague, why?... what?.. *sigh*
Why do i even have to defend this? If my husband says "XYZ" Why does an 'adult' have to say "No, ABC" in a tone that says "this is what normal, responsible people do." We ARE NOT NORMAL and there's a reason we do not have children (okay there are many), and it is so that we are not responsible for fucking up anyone else's lives with our crazy ass decisions. Mind you, I know I stick my nose where it doesn't belong too, but my husband is 34 and married. He does not need a 'grown up' to remind him of societal norms that are stupid and designed to make people crazy. Also,why is it assumed that because I am quiet, I am just letting this happen or quietly disagreeing... PERHAPS I am as crazy as he is and am completely okay with this. I like him the way he is, even if that doesn't fit a mold... in fact, IT'S WHY I MARRIED HIM. Mind you, the 'grown-ups' in question don't mind people who think outside the box, they very quickly get to a point where they think it is "too much" and he needs to be reminded how he 'should' act. The only "too much" is what we decide is too much for whatever our reasons might be.
Seriously. None. of. your. business.
Suggestions and ideas are welcome. Commands and forcing your way of thinking on us... screw that!
Why do i even have to defend this? If my husband says "XYZ" Why does an 'adult' have to say "No, ABC" in a tone that says "this is what normal, responsible people do." We ARE NOT NORMAL and there's a reason we do not have children (okay there are many), and it is so that we are not responsible for fucking up anyone else's lives with our crazy ass decisions. Mind you, I know I stick my nose where it doesn't belong too, but my husband is 34 and married. He does not need a 'grown up' to remind him of societal norms that are stupid and designed to make people crazy. Also,why is it assumed that because I am quiet, I am just letting this happen or quietly disagreeing... PERHAPS I am as crazy as he is and am completely okay with this. I like him the way he is, even if that doesn't fit a mold... in fact, IT'S WHY I MARRIED HIM. Mind you, the 'grown-ups' in question don't mind people who think outside the box, they very quickly get to a point where they think it is "too much" and he needs to be reminded how he 'should' act. The only "too much" is what we decide is too much for whatever our reasons might be.
Seriously. None. of. your. business.
Suggestions and ideas are welcome. Commands and forcing your way of thinking on us... screw that!
3w3656zwefse
a ikabwi4raw;oqaastkvnrlitn;ono;9AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaAAAaaaaAAAaaaaAAAaAAAAAAaAaAaAAaAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaFUCK!
that is all.
that is all.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
*Head Tilt*
My dog, when confronted with an idea with which he is unfamiliar but intrigued will tilt his head to one side. If you repeat yourself, he will tilt his head back the other way. This can continue all day.
"Ahboo, Unicycle!" *tilt right*
"Unicycle!" *tilt left*
"UUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuunicycle" *tilt right*
repeat until you are no longer amused by the cuteness or the dog hears someone rustling in the pantry.
So, this weekend I had to take my husband to the emergency room. It turned out to be minor, but it was scary nonetheless and he has been in a fair amount of pain since. Today, being the lovely wife and caregiver that I am, I brought home dinner. A sandwich and a cookie for him and a soup and a cookie for me. I spilled some of my soup in the microwave and did not clean it immediately. My husband went back to warm something up in the microwave and cleaned it but not without asking why i couldn't have done it myself as it took like 5 seconds for him to do it.
I responded by screaming something incoherent about him being an ass and that i didn't even know why I didn't do it because I was too stressed to have any thought processes. He asked why I was stressed and I said "you were in the hospital!" and he responded "That was two days ago, your stress should be gone"
*Head Tilt*
My stress does not go away unless I do something to make it.... ever. The idea that it can almost makes my brain hurt. Am I alone in this? Does most people's stress just disappear without anything specifically being done or do most people have to work for it like I do. Sure, I can relax a little and feel like I'm not falling apart, but unless there is something there to fix the stress, I am always a ticking time bomb waiting to scream over spilled soup or requests to fix typos...
In fact, I know you're counting grammatical errors in your head right now... FUCK YOU!
"Ahboo, Unicycle!" *tilt right*
"Unicycle!" *tilt left*
"UUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuunicycle" *tilt right*
repeat until you are no longer amused by the cuteness or the dog hears someone rustling in the pantry.
So, this weekend I had to take my husband to the emergency room. It turned out to be minor, but it was scary nonetheless and he has been in a fair amount of pain since. Today, being the lovely wife and caregiver that I am, I brought home dinner. A sandwich and a cookie for him and a soup and a cookie for me. I spilled some of my soup in the microwave and did not clean it immediately. My husband went back to warm something up in the microwave and cleaned it but not without asking why i couldn't have done it myself as it took like 5 seconds for him to do it.
I responded by screaming something incoherent about him being an ass and that i didn't even know why I didn't do it because I was too stressed to have any thought processes. He asked why I was stressed and I said "you were in the hospital!" and he responded "That was two days ago, your stress should be gone"
*Head Tilt*
My stress does not go away unless I do something to make it.... ever. The idea that it can almost makes my brain hurt. Am I alone in this? Does most people's stress just disappear without anything specifically being done or do most people have to work for it like I do. Sure, I can relax a little and feel like I'm not falling apart, but unless there is something there to fix the stress, I am always a ticking time bomb waiting to scream over spilled soup or requests to fix typos...
In fact, I know you're counting grammatical errors in your head right now... FUCK YOU!
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