Blah, Blah, Blah

October 25th, 2014

I wish there was a place where a person could speak freely about how she *really* feels, without fear of condemnation or judgment.

Yeah, I know. Sure there is. It’s just around the corner from Narnia, down the street from Middle Earth and right next to Hogwart’s. :P


October 6th, 2014

Get up.
Get dressed.
Make sure offspring are safely ensconced in their respective hallowed halls of learning.
Putter with random shit.
Work some more.
Work even more.
Fuck around with whatever else is in the house to do.
Play Candy Crush.
Get kids from school.
Referee sibling rivalry.
Make supper.
Clean up supper.
Collapse on couch.
Get ready for bed.
Crawl into bed and fight insomnia, pray for dreamless slumber.
And then get up when the cursed alarm rings and do it all over again…

Ad infinitum.

Hello…? Hello…? Hello…?

October 4th, 2014

Why is it that sometimes silence is louder than a room full of chattering people?

We Can Forget It For You Wholesale

September 23rd, 2014

I wish there was a way to unremember something, a way to wipe away a memory so that it never appears in one’s subconscious again.

A way to go back to being blissfully ignorant, believing that the way things are is absolutely fine.

Because you just don’t know any different.

It makes me think of the movie Total Recall (and I’m talking about the Arnold Schwarzenegger version here, thankyouverymuch) and going to someone to be able to remember something. But in this instance you’d be going to someone to have that memory completely erased. Gone forever. *poof*

Although, frankly, that sounds an awful lot like a frontal lobotomy… :/

Yeah, I Know, Right?

September 19th, 2014


Fucking fucker.

I’m so… I. Can’t. Even.


*insert mass of frustration-laden, nonsensical gobbledygook here*

Eating An Elephant

September 7th, 2014

I’m thisclose >< to losing my mind over this chaotic mess of a house. Something’s gonna give very, very soon — and I can only hope it isn’t my sanity. I really don’t WANT it to be my sanity. :P

The problem is I’m too overwhelmed by the picture as a whole. I haven’t yet learned to break that picture down into smaller, more manageable chunks. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say, and to take that old saw further, order cannot be created in a day, either.

Small chunks!

One drawer at a time. One cupboard at a time. One box at a time. It has to be done this way, or it just won’t get done. I think the only preliminary work to be done is to set up a donate/sell/recycle/trash station somewhere in the house and each time a cupboard or drawer or box is cleaned out and sorted, any of the appropriate contents can be put in those containers.

I just need help reminding my brain that it CAN’T all be fixed in one day. It’s just not possible. This has to be a medium-range goal and it just can’t be anything else. Period. So today I think I will find some boxes or containers to set up said station, and then begin the seemingly unending task of sorting out life. Because I can’t deal, otherwise.


August 27th, 2014

You know that saying about being kind to people because you don’t know what battles they’re fighting?

It’s so beyond truth that it’s impossible to describe.

Even the person who claims to be the happiest alive has something internal going on, a demon — no matter how tiny — that must be caged.

I guess it’s how you deal with these things that matters most. You try not to become numb; you try to put one foot in front of the other. It’s easier for some than others.

But needing comfort and a tight, squeezy, full-bodied hug and not getting either doesn’t help.

Rock On, Baby. Rock On.

August 24th, 2014

I don’t know just how it happened.
I let down my guard.
Swore I’d never fall in love again.
And I fell hard.

Avicii - Addicted to You (Well, FFS. What is wrong with my wordpress right now? I can’t insert a link. Fucking fuckers. )





This Post Is NSFW Or For People With Sensitive Sensibilities

August 23rd, 2014

I wasn’t frustrated or angry earlier.

It came out of the blue. And now my insides are churning and I want to lash out at somebody. But I don’t have a target. No, wait, maybe I do. It’s the goddamn, fucking universe I’m really fucking pissed at.

Yeah, I’m having the good ol’ “why do good people suffer” combined with “why can’t the universe just CO-OPERATE and let people be happy” rant. Yes, I know. You’re going to give me that bullshit about people having to suffer and make sacrifices and be in situations where they’re not really happy because that’s just the way life is. And because we have to put on our big-girl panties sometimes and just SUCK IT UP, PRINCESS. Because we can’t always get what we want. (Thanks for that, Mick, ol’ boy.) Because our hearts and our heads just can’t fucking communicate sometimes. And yeah, it HURTS. It’s a metric shit-ton of hurt. Right now, I HATE being a mature, responsible, considerate grown up. It sucks fermented turquoise donkey balls.

Well, you know what? I’m choosing this particular moment to throw a temper tantrum. I want problems solved. I want easy, painless solutions. I want rainbows and unicorns and sparkly, fluffy, pink-and-purple fucking clouds from which iridescent, crystalline raindrops fall and coat everyone with happy fucking feel-good juice.


I’d kick something if I didn’t want to hurt my foot doing it. :P

And yes, I know. I get it. I’m not about to do anything stupid about anything, but I just needed to scream about it for a minute. Life will go on. The sun will come up tomorrow.

And I will shed a tear, and make yet another fruitless wish, and put a fucking smile on my face. Because that’s what has to be done.



August 22nd, 2014


Words, words, words.

A giant kerfuffle, humongous mish-mash, internal cosmic muddle. I think we sometimes need a release valve on our brains to let the words out. Reduce the pressure. Take away at least some of the confusing maelstrom whirling around in the otherwise seemingly vacuous space.

Words don’t make sense anyway. You can’t DO anything with words. You can’t fix anything. All you end up with is a frantic spate of verbal (or written, I suppose) diarrhea that doesn’t really mean what you want it to mean in the first place. Who really listens to words? Properly listens? And, hell, when what you want to hear isn’t even said to begin with. Faugh!

We need Vulcan mind-melds. Or that thing The Doctor does to read people’s minds. Yeah, that. There’s no way to hide from that. No way to have anything come out other than the blistering truth — whatever that may be.

I need a highway and a fast car and Maroon 5 blaring out of the speakers so loud you can feel the bass vibrate the seat beneath you.

Would that make the world better?

Hell, yes.