Insert Title Where?

Why the hell should I title the angsty drama that is my life? I have a choice, a right, a moral wellbeing (maybe). I can hold tight or let go

depending on my mood and mental status.

God forgive me when I don’t immediately make eye contact. It’s not you. It’s me. And dammit it’s my life. My eyes are the windows to my soul- don’t look. No vacancy. No habla espanol. If I could just close my eyes for a day and look inside them myself; my soul; my inner ME. If. If I could I might fly. Or kill myself. or both. No particular order of course. But then again I’m assuming. Assumptions are the tool of the devil. bleh.

The Dreams in Which I’m Dying are the Best I’ve Ever Had.

I can’t help it if I’m a downer on your “up”. So sorry if I’m not happy when you are jubilant, I’m not smiling when you’re soaring.¬†Goddammit how can I feel anything at all when I’m so alone? How is it that my brain keeps saying “This is not normal, look up, look him in the eye, return the smile, say hello, resist the urge to shrug,” my heart keeps telling me “He’s not the one, no one is, because you’ve been without a man in your life since you were eight, why the hell would anything change now?” Rational me versus Emotional me. It’s a fight. Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee. I love you but you’re never here, I’m oh so queer, Gosh darnit you can’t make me smile anymore. Is it chronic- Not smiling? Missing you is like missing my hand- I use it daily, I wash it, I care for it, I abuse it, I need it. It’s gone and I can’t do anything. Cripple. Emotional, physical. I am handicapped by my loss. Angst angst angst. Now I need to breathe again. Breathe without assistance. Breathe without you. I shall fly without you once more. I am no longer lost in the abyss that was you. Because I am back. Back. To me. You and me are dead because you are dead. And now it’s just me. Looking for a new you? Not now.. not yet. Someday. I’ll think of you when I take my first step, shed this dead skin like a caterpillar about to blossom into its short lived Butterfly glory.

I love you.


So my mom’s friend from Saudi Arabia is visiting this Summer. She is staying with her five kids at her friend’s large two story home. This coming holiday weekend, Friend’s husband is coming home from business and wants time with the family- alone. As a result, vacationer and mother of five tells us she’s staying at our home for SIX days. SIX. She has not called us for three years. How can she expect us to A) House her brood B) Babysit said brood C) Pay for groceries, restaurants, shopping, and gas? OH YEAH- her twelve year old boy is autistic and completely dependent upon others. It isn’t his fault but she can’t expect someone to just jump in and be a caretaker for a special needs child. How do you tell someone “No, I don’t want to take you in and completely raise your family for you and feed you and clothe you. No thank you.” I just don’t have the gall (or the balls) to tell someone that. It’s too much. It’s ridiculous in this day and age- that type of visiting ended almost 100 years ago. Goodness gracious. Can’t deal, yo.


Formspring hurts. For those who don’t know, it’s a site that allows others to ask questions (anonymous questioning is an option). I created an account some months ago and promptly forgot about it. I looked at it today and saw over 100 questions- approximately 70 of them were anonymous, hateful questions that harassed me sexually, or discriminated, or just pure hated on me. I was so depressed by the time i finished reading through them- i just deleted my account and cried. Why do we ask about cyber bullying and it’s prominence in society? WE ARE ENABLERS. When you give a druggie money you are enabling. Formspring is an enabler to the petty insecure teenagers of america. And it hurts. And even I, a relatively strong person, cried. It hurts reading derogatory remarks over and over again. The words change but the hate is constant.