somewhere in my memory...

 I think I forgot to write it down, so I'm doing it here but will eventually need to put in my paper journal. Thinking back now I know I hesitated to write it because putting words to paper is a spell of sorts, and I'm always afraid to inadvertently curse or ruin the moments by putting them down on paper in a state of permanence. 

I believe in signs. I believe in spirits, and I believe in guardian angels. I know that my dad has been with me since the day he passed, and I feel his presence regularly when I'm around the house. Funny, I get along better with him now than I ever did when he was alive. Asshole.

He was with me in the car while I waited for the paramedics. He was with me my entire recovery, and I can hear him in my ear sometimes when I get discouraged. 

I'll try and go back to pinpoint the day, I can probably guesstimate based on what's currently stacked on my journal and whenever the last entry was. But the other day I was cleaning the closet in my office and I have put my old journals in a bankers box that I can easily access while I work on my book and stories. There is an old journal that I taped a message from my dad in the cover. It was probably one of the only times he ever told me he was proud of me, so I cut it out and taped it there a decade ago. While I was putting the journals away, I dropped one. It was the one that had the note taped in it, and it was the first thing I saw when I picked up the notebook.

"I'm so proud of you. You are doing so well."

It came to me in a moment that I desperately needed it. And I know he sent it to me just like I know every time I see a cardinal it's my grandmother visiting me. Or dad, sometimes I think. 

I went through my picture stash yesterday looking for old Christmas shots, so today when I went to pull the rest out I found a card from M.E. Reminded me of one of my favorite vacations. And of course, the card had cardinal on the front.

This is the first Christmas I can remember that she has not been here. One of the maybe half a dozen times out of 38 years where I haven't woken up at her house on Christmas morning, and I'm sad about it. Obviously. I bought an ornament with a cardinal sitting on the tree that says "I am always with you." When dad died, that Christmas I bought a bell that says "It's a wonderful life" because that was his favorite Christmas movie. He liked to watch it on Christmas Eve. I've only managed to make it through the whole thing maybe once or twice, but I'm going to try again this year.

I decided to start a new tradition. When dad died I had his father of the bride gift that he never got wrapped in Christmas paper, as I had planned to give it to him on my next trip home. But I never got to. So I put it under the tree and bought the ornament. So this year, I bought M.E. a glass cardinal, wrapped it in special paper, and put it under the tree next to dad's then bought the ornament. Anytime we suffer a big loss there will be an ornament in their honor and a symbolic gift under the tree. That way they are not forgotten, but memorialized in simple ways. 

I don't know who will ever open those gifts. That'll likely be a problem for the husband to solve lol. 

*dark humor*

okay. /end.

welcome to my witchy era.

 No more people pleasing, no more biting my tongue, no more bending over backwards to fit someone else’s mold. This is me guys. The mask is dropping. The ‘tism and unmedicated ADHD are on full display and instead of being ashamed of the awkwardness and differences this caused in my youth (because girls couldn’t have autism or ADHD, I was just sensitive and intense and misdiagnosed bipolar for 20+ years) I embrace it. The parts of myself that make me weird and different and quirky are my favorite ones! Sure, I am terrible at reading social cues and often offend people with my bluntness and tone (iykyk), or struggle to talk about anything other than the 3 niche topics I’m interested in. I might have extreme meltdowns and difficulties regulating my emotions, which can make me a challenging person to be around. I might even talk about myself all the time, but know it’s because I’m desperately trying to connect with you.

In spite of those things, I am also funny and kind and a good teacher, even with my awkwardness. I’m passionate about animals and nature and I love to sing and help people. All of these things make me who I am, and I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I accept it instead of pretending the not so fun parts don’t exist.

Anywhoozle.

*mic drop*

macintosh.

 Write a detailed blurb on the memory of your first visit to the computer lab when you were young. And the subsequent visits, playing games on the giant floppy disks. I remember being taught how to organize them and slide them into the slot and login to the computer. The sensation and sound of pressing the seemingly giant keys. Though in comparison to the keyboard I'm typing on they were big and bulk. I recall the thrill of walking into the room, and the smell of the heat from the computers. It was a small room next to the water fountain and my favorite bathroom. The multipurpose room is on the other side, and the secret staircase between the first and second floor is across the hall. I wasn't allowed to use those until junior high, and I think it was only because of some extra curricular I was involved in. Girl Scouts or choir maybe? 

The computers gave off a mechanical technological smelling heat and the room quietly hummed with the electricity required to keep them all running. The absolute awe I had for this giant machine in front of me that was previously only known in science fiction movies. I can't even say I would play pretend with computers involved yet, at that time I had very little to use as a point of reference. Computers weren't a huge topic of conversation in my family. My grandmother worked in sales at JcPenny and still swiped credit cards manually. Using a carbon copy and sliding it back and forth in the now extinct "ch ch" sound, followed by the cha ching from the sound of the register opening. 

Computer lab days were special.  There were math games and spelling games and it was so satisfying to win. Fast forward to 5th grade--only 4 years later. Microsoft Word and typing games and Oregon Trail and hotmail.

it's just a bad day, not a bad life.

 Okay so hear me out...

Statement Halloween costume: A suffragette.

Mrs. Pigglewiggle

 Dear Diary,

I went to the mall today with some of the girls from Girl Scouts, it was fun! We went to the arcade and I did REALLLYYY good at the quarter game. You know the one where you have to drop the coins so they get pushed the right way? I am normally not very good at it, but I was today! One of the girls that I don't usually talk to, Lisa K. was playing a game close to me and saw how good I was doing and came and stood with me. It was cool, I hadn't talked to her much before but she has always been nice to me. She is in my class, she sits in the back by the pencil sharpener. She's really pretty, and my mom likes her mom. She's from England and her dad is from a different country in Europe, but I can't remember which one. How cool is that?! I wish I had parents from another country. I would also be ok with having parents who hung out with me like Lisa's parents do. They just got back from a vacation to see her grandparents and was telling me all about the stuff she did with her family. She saw the ocean and she said that everyone spoke her dad's language and she could only understand some of what they said, but that everyone was nice. I think maybe I made a new friend! At least I hope so! Her house is in The School neighborhood where lots of other kids (and even teachers!) live and I would like to see what it looks like. Making new friends is fun because not only do I get someone new to play with, but a new house to explore, and I like spending time with their families too. 

I have played in that neighborhood a few times with different kids from school. I thought maybe they wanted to be friends too, but I was wrong. Like last year with Jessika S. I was so excited that I had been invited over to her house, she is one of the popular girls who is really good at sports. She told me she plays on a soccer team after school sometimes. I went to her house twice in one weekend and it was awesome! She has a whole playroom in the basement and bunk beds in her room. We played school and house then went upstairs and pretended we were in Saved By the Bell. She got to be Kelly though and pretended she was married to Zack Morris and I had to be Jessie and marry Slater. That is not too bad, I suppose even though when I play by myself I ALWAYS get to marry Zack Morris. But Jessika is prettier than me, so she said it made sense that she got to be Kelly. At least it wasn't Screech! I thought we were friends after that, but when I tried to talk to her at school to see if she wanted to play next weekend she acted like she did not know what I was talking about. :( And anytime I tried to call after that her mom said she was too busy with soccer practice so I stopped calling.

I signed up for a soccer team once, but I only went two times. Jessika plays soccer, and there's another boy, Devin who is new at my school, who plays. There is another boy too, Brian L. who plays, and the other Jessica, Jessica G. and they all talk about it. I thought maybe if I signed up for soccer I could make some new friends and I would be able to talk about it with them too. But turns out I am no good at soccer and the other kids are already way better and the boy from my class that I thought was nice is not nice. I told mom I did not want to go back. She was mad because she had just bought me lots of soccer stuff, and made me go back. She said we do not have money to spend like that, and already had to ask Grandma for help. But I told her I thought Grandma likes to help because she does all the time but she didn't say anything and went back to her room and closed the door so I left her alone. When we went back the next time she stayed to watch and saw everything so she let me leave early and we went and got McDonalds and she let me get a Happy Meal and then to the book store to pick out a new Mrs. Pigglewiggle book. I am happy that I don't have to go back and that I got a new book. I would rather read anyway, the people in the stories are always better friends.

Love,

Billie

Dear Diary,

I forgot to tell you about the stuff I got from the arcade with all the tickets I won from the quarter push game! 

Okay back! Sorry you don't know because I didn't have time to write it, but I had to leave for a min. the phone rang and it was the special ring mom uses so I know it's her and I didn't want to get in trouble for missing it. Her and Step Dad are both at work so I'm home alone. I have gotten pretty used to it and am starting to like it. At the arcade I got two gold rings and they are so pretty! One is twisty and kind of bumpy and fits my ring finger very good. The other one has a big circle on the front and there is a lion on it. Like how you can see George Washington's head on a quarter. You can't see it from far away, but I can feel it when I run my finger over it. I like the way it feels it's very smooth and I like to pretend that it is a magic sort of ring like in The Magician's Nephew and it just needs to be talked to or rubbed the right way to take me away. Or how cool would it be if it was like a magic lamp and if I rub it a genie will pop out and grant me 3 wishes! I wonder what my wishes would be?

St. Stephen St

 Early morning is my favorite time of day. That liminal space where color starts to touch the sky and you can't perceive exactly when it starts, but it's suddenly just... light. 

Sunrises carry many meanings with them, depending on my stage of life and state of mind. As a child it meant precious time where I had the house and space and time all to myself. There's something special about that early morning time between about 3-6am. You feel enclosed in a bubble of solitude. Of peace. No one expects anything important from you at 3:22 in the morning. It's perfectly acceptable, in fact encouraged, to be in bed with the lights off and the fan blowing and the quiet. 

I sleep with the TV on. And that time of night, I'm so entuned and it's so quiet I can have the volume low enough to barely be perceptible during the day and still hear. Granted, the subtitles absolutely help, but I can still hear the dialogue.

I wonder if it's related to my auditory processing struggles? I'm half asleep, in a state of fuzzy limbo, but with nothing societally expected of me my thoughts tend to quiet. Is it because the inside of my head is quieter that I can process the sounds easier?

Dear Diary,

I went exploring the neighborhood again today. I've gotten good at figuring out and remember who lives in each house while I'm out riding my bike or playing in the backyard. I like to watch them. The Krantzes, two houses down on the right, have a nice house and the youngest daughter collects Troll dolls too. They have a trampoline, but Grandma says I'm not allowed to jump on it because I might fall and break all the teeth out of my head.

There's this one house that I used to visit, four houses down on the left. There was a nice lady named Eloise that lived there. She smelled like my Grandma. I met her cause one day I decided I want to know who was living in some of the houses I didn't know, so I walked over and knocked on her door and introduced myself. She was nice. She gave me pecan sandy cookies and let me pet her fluffy dog. She had a big backyard that was up against the forest behind the school, and the creek runs through it. When I wanted to play in the creek I would just go to her house and knock on the door and she would let me cut through and go out her back door. I did this almost every day for a summer, it was so much fun! She always had cookies for me.

Then one day I went over there after not going for a long time because I had to go back to school. And a different lady answered the door. When I asked where Eloise was she looked sad and told me that she didn't live there anymore. That she had passed away. This made me sad, but in Sunday school they say when people pass away we get to see them again in Heaven so I'm not too sad. 

I am sad that I won't be able to visit her anymore though, and go through her house to get to the creek. All the other neighbors have fences in their yards so I can't get to it anymore.

Dear Diary,

Today I did something scary but exciting and I'm so glad I didn't get in trouble. But if someone found out I could get in big trouble so you have to PROMISE you don't tell anyone okay?

Remember that nice lady Eloise and how I used to go to her house and now someone else lives there and I can't get to the creek anymore?

Well one day I decided to go over there and ask again but when I knocked no one answered. I don't know what made me do it, but I turned the door knob anyway and it opened! I took a deep breath and stepped inside as quietly as I could. I could actually hear my heartbeat in my ears!

I took a few steps forward and nothing happened, and after walking around the living room no one came out and yelled at me so I got brave and explored a little bit. The house looked familiar, they had the couch in the same spot but they had a big rocking chair like Grandpa's where she used to have her little couch. I checked their kitchen for snacks, they had some of the blue Gatorade I like and two of those new Lunchable things stacked in the fridge. I opened all the drawers and cabinets, just to see what was inside. I didn't want to take anything, I only wanted to see what kind of stuff they have and what that might mean about the lives they lead.

After I checked everything out I took a Gatorade and Lunchable so I could have a picnic and went out the backdoor.

I went to my spot by the big rock and sat and ate my snack. It was one of the ham ones though, and I HATE ham. UGH it's so gross. Dad tried to make me eat it once and I threw up so he didn't make me try it again. But the crackers and cheese were good, but the chocolate mint was the best part. 

I went exploring a little bit after that, I wanted to find some new rocks for my collection. I have so many Grandma ME says we'll have to ask the neighbor Bob if he'll build me a special box to keep them in. Right now I just carry them around in one of those plastic bags that curtains come in when you buy them from the store. Grandma sells curtains (she says 'I work in draperies') and likes to buy them when they get cheap so we have lots of them laying around.

I had to walk a really far way down the creek to be able to cross over so I could get back to my house. I was lucky that the streetlights hadn't come on but Grandma was still mad. She didn't like it when I came home muddy and with rocks in my pockets. 

I hid the trash from the food I took from those peoples houses under my bed. I didn't want to put it in the trash and have her see it and ask where it came from. We never have things like that in the house so she'd know it wasn't ours.

Trash day is on Tuesday so I'll wake up early to sneak it out to the dumpster before the trashmen come. 

I wonder what those people thought when they saw that one of their drinks and Lunchables were missing.

Billie's Story

This is the story of a junior high girl and her chaotic upbringing. Her parents runaway young marriage and teen pregnancy. Her grandparents fought each other as much as, if not more than the parents, and everyone had an opinion on how the child should be raised. 

The child spent much of her young life stumbling through different parenting styles from people who were supposed to know better and love her. But all those people sent conflicting and incomplete messages, as they bickered amongst themselves they stopped sending the messages as they assumed it was already too late--that someone else had already taught the lesson.

But they hadn't.

The little girl was never quite sure what rules to follow, so she made up her own. They made sense to her, and fit comfortably in the world she'd created inside her head. The people inside her head were far more interesting and easy to talk to anyway.

Dear Diary,

Today is the day! Moving day. I'm excited to live someplace new and to move out of the trailer park. It's an actual house in the School Name neighborhood where a lot of my friends, and even some of my teachers, live. There won't be a neighborhood pool anymore though, which I'm sad to leave behind but the new neighborhood is so much bigger, which means more space to ride my bike!

I'm also sad because Step Dad won't be coming with us. Mom told me that our moving is a secret, and not to tell anyone. Especially Grandma or Step Dad. She said she met someone at work, and that Step Dad never wanted to better themselves, so she had to leave and now she wants to be with this new guy. I've met him a couple times and he seems nice. He took us to the mall and out to dinner and the movies. I don't really understand it, but I'm glad she's happy.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was my first morning in the new house. Sorry for not writing anything right away, but I wanted to get started unpacking and setting up my room. I get the big bedroom with my very own bathroom, how cool is that?! Mom let me have the master bedroom because she felt bad about taking me away from Step Dad and making my lie to Grandma. I don't know if it really makes up for it, but I've had fun planning the decoration ideas with Chaudron. We talked about it last night on our way home from AWANA. So you know how I like Winnie the Pooh, right? Have you ever seen classic Winnie the Pooh?? It's so pretty! So now I'm thinking Classic Winnie the Pooh for the bathroom, and butterflies for the bedroom. Other Grandma bought me pretty butterfly curtains for my new room! They're SOO pretty! A sheer white with colorful butterflies everywhere, they're going to make the room look so fun! I also have to leave room for my JTT (that's Johnathan Tayler Thomas, if you didn't know) and Devon Sawa posters. OMG they're so HOT!!

Another cool thing about living in the new house is that Mom's Boyfriend just bought a computer!! Now I'll be able to have my own screenname in chat rooms. I've been practicing typing in Specials class (I have computers this quarter) and so far I'm the fastest in the class. I'm never the best at anything so it made me feel really good when Mr. Teacher told the class about me. It was embarrassing having all that attention on me, but I guess it's not that much different than dance or choir. I don't know though. I rehearse for those. Ugh. I wish I could rehearse everything. It would make life so much easier! I never know what to say to people, they talk about things I could care less about and look at me like I'm a weirdo when I try to talk about the things I like. I feel like people always laugh at me when I try to be myself. 

I do practice sometimes, or at least I try. Mom let me sign up to get Seventeen and I read those over and over again. I could never wear some of those clothes though I wish I could. Those girls are so pretty! Why couldn't God have made me half as pretty as them? 

Well Diary, G2G! I'm going swimming at Michelle's house. I hope mom let's me stay the weekend, we were working on a super cool haunted house in the basement last time and I want to finish it. 

Peace Out,

Billie 

much too cool for 7th grade.

Do you remember being young and trying to scrounge together enough money to take a trip to the mall? You have $8 but if you can find another $2 you'll be able to buy that lip gloss you saw at Claire's. That means you'll have enough leftover to get a pretzel, and if Friend has any change maybe you can go halfsies on a large orange Julius. Oh but there's a comic in Hot Topic you saw the other day and it's about the same amount as the lip gloss. Then again there's Rue 21, they have some good stuff. Have to be careful though, they have a lot of shirts I can't wear to school or youth group.

Do you remember being young and innocent and all you cared about was singing and dancing and reading and spending time playing pretend with your friends? The warm summer days of splashing around in the pool, playing all the games you could think of; daring each other to swim to the deep end and touch the bottom. Summoning up the courage to do it and the exhilaration you felt after bursting back through the surface, gasping for air and laughing with triumph. Diving for pool toys and pennies and playing chicken while straddling a plastic raft. Jumping off the diving board, but only after considering what cool phrase you were going to holler before you did some sort of made up dive into the water. My favorite was "COWABUNGA!" (Ninja Turtles II had just come out if I recall correctly. And boy, did I LOVE me some Ninja Turtles.)

I believe there's something to be said about an individual's personality by who their favorite Ninja Turtles were. For example, Donatello was my favorite. He was smart, nerdy, yet still strong and confident. I also liked that his weapon was a stick (note to self: google the actual name later) which required such intuition and skill to use since there weren't any blades. 

Raphael was the hot tempered bad ass kinda attitude. Folks who choose him usually either have that attitude, or wish they did.

Leonardo was the leader, ofc. And I think he was a popular pick because of that.

And who could forget the party dude Michelangelo. I noticed people who weren't huge fans of the show tended to pick him, because he stood out as the funny borderline "stoner-esque" 80's broski.

famous as the one who smiled back.

 I had the expressly un-unique experience of going to work yesterday and feeling utterly invisible. I missed a dose of my medication, so that obviously played a part. It's like now that I'm not near death's door or in a wheelchair and learning how to walk again I'm not interesting anymore. I've faded into the background and don't exist to the people around me. 

I say that, neglecting to include the brief hour that I spent last week chatting and talking and being told I was missed. There's a part of me that just won't believe that. Am I worth missing?

T Cin says I should re-frame how I speak to myself... Instead of saying I hate who I am, which it sure feels like I do, I should say "I hate what has happened to me." Horrible things have happened. It's not a word I often use to describe my experiences, because I'm constantly trying to downplay them to make them more digestable.  I tell myself it's because I want to soften the truth for the people I interact with, but is it for them or for me? If I face the sharpness of my reality will I survive it?

Part of me thinks I'm being dramatic, and I see things from the conservative side. "Push through it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you've done it before why can't you do it again?" But then I remind myself of all the years I've spent studying mental health, if only to understand myself, and I know that thought is not (fully) rational. can something be half rational? is that a thing?

I know that mental health struggles are real, and can be incapacitating. I struggle to admit to myself that that is where I a, even as I proclaim it to the world. Somehow talking about how I'm not okay still seems like a mask. How is that possible? Aren't masks supposed to be the shields we put on to push through the monstrocities of every day life? I wear so many different masks I don't think I know who I am anymore without them. The voices and people in my head have different masks attached. I don't know that I can see that each mask symbolizes a voice, or a thought which I guess would make more sense? They aren't voices per se, but they are distinct parts of my mind that I name and talk to. Dissasociation is a real thing. And if it helps me cope and none of the other mask wearers, personalities, thoughts, whatever, are telling me to do foolish things then I'm okay. The addict hasn't come out, not really. I want cigarettes, but that's about it. And I found some herbal CBD ones that I thoroughly enjoy (I've been told they smell like cloves and are a bit... pungent.) but I'm thinking that out of all the choices I've made and possible things I could be addicted to, stinky CBD cigarettes are the least lethal choice. I could be drunk all the time, which past versions of myself would absolutely cope that way. But I don't want to be that version of myself anymore. I like the quiet, awkward little stoner I am deep down inside. The one that loves 19th century authors and poetry. And weird or obscure movies that no one else watches. The quiet little English major that wrote stories about far away places and people she wished to be. The shy  girl with the oversized hoodie and notebooks upon notebooks full of scribbles and song lyrics and random quotes that she pieced together into a glorious work of other people's voices merged together to create her own. The young one who read constantly, even if they were trashy romance novels in the high school cafeteria. I miss that version of me.

The only problem with that version of me (well, one of a few if I'm being honest...) is that version doesn't know how to talk to people or interact without being awkward and saying weird shit and always evoking the same responses. "Why are you so weird", "you're so sensitive", "you're too much", "stop taking things so literally, it was just a joke". The girl so starved for attention she took it in anyway she got it, even if that meant accepting men treating her like an object. The girl who hit puberty first and drew the attention of those who would exploit her innocent beliefs. The kid who other people's parents wouldn't let them play with.

But even then, I miss her. I miss her innocence and thirst for knowledge and gentleness. To be somewhere quiet and left alone to build castles in the air. 

How can I so desperately want attention and want to be left alone all at the same time?

I want to be famous to shuffling men   
who smile while crossing streets,   
sticky children in grocery lines,   
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,   
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,   
but because it never forgot what it could do.

courtesy; naomi shihab nye

just when I thought I've heard you say the stupidest thing ever

...you keep talkin

Especially if you've built your worth around being capable.
But burnout doesn't just feel bad.

It chips away at who you are.

Rest isn't a reward.
It's how you stay you.

dreams to dream.

 Do you remember the first time you realized you could actively control what you thought about before bed? Is that a weird statement? Or maybe it was the first time I understood the difference between fantasy and reality. I remember experiencing the need to escape from things... but can't recall the cause. But I remember the night, maybe I was actually lucid dreaming. I couldn't decide what I was supposed to fantasize about so I thought of a big open field with butterflies... and yes, unicorns. Though it was more of a white horse than an actual unicorn. And I think we could fly, so perhaps more like a Pegasus. Or wait, isn't there a different name for the ones with horns? {note: google this later during the re-read}Interesting, because my grown up fantasy place is also a field. Not the same one, but outdoors. No unicorns or white horses, though there are goats. I blame it on the part in one of the Jamie + Claire books where this ...disturbed, woman had raised goats and they took them to Brownsville I think it was, along with the baby illegitimate baby the ...disturbed woman, had birthed. I know that story as if it was actual history. Same with Harry Potter. In fact, I know Harry Potter so well I occasionally get HP lore mixed up with real life. Though realistically I'm pretty far behind I haven't seen any of the new movies. Hm.. I should play that game today. 

neat.

TIL The Spiritual Telegraph was a paper written in the mid-late 1800's that focused solely on spiritualistic components. The googlegod says it was similar to a newspaper, but only focused on spiritual and occult happenings. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up there... it was just a tab open on my screen. I've been on Pinterest deep dives lately for my physical journal, so who knows where it came from. I'm back on chair rest, my leg is killing me again today, so I want to deep dive and learn me some shit today. There's a website for preservation of occult periodicals here, which I found interesting. 

i need surgery to keep me blurry.

i am not crazy, my reality is just different than yours

did you finally get the chance to
dance along the light of the day?

our old friend fear, and you, and me

if i knew the way i would take you home

courtesy; stand.atlantic/lewis.carroll/train/bush/grateful.dead/

nothing at all, my legs are just fine and dandy.

 A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill
except for learning how to grow in rows.

-Doug Larson

the mystery of the etsy package continues.

 Therapist made a good analogy today. I was talking about how I love it when my PT talks about how they can tell I used to do dance and ballet because it's been 25 years since I performed. And she pointed out how that's muscle memory because I did it for so long. She said that the same thing happens with our trauma. When someone tells me that something is going to change, I assume it's because I did something wrong not because of what other shit might be going on.

That was eye opening. She said that I need to remember how hard these battles are for me when I start getting down on myself for not meeting the impossible standards I've set.

okay but do you remember that part in the Lion King super nintendo game where you're supposed to ride giraffes and jump over trees or some shit and it was the most rage inducing experience of your early childhood?

because I do. Every swear word I'd ever learned came out about the 3546851th time I had to start over.

a little livin, a little lovin, and a whole lotta dead

courtesy; bomb.girls (tv show)

it was bill murray.

 why do I like to listen to breakup songs so much when I'm in a good mood?

Today while kneeling down to plug in my fancy new bug zapper I temporarily forgot that squatting is not an ideal position for Maxine, as she is not currently retain the capability to leverage my Disney mom ass off the floor. Realizing my predicament I was stuck in this insanely awkward squatting position where I was leaning more onto leftie so it reminded me of a dance or gymnastics position. And I forgot to add that this was in a small area between all my plants and the table. It was fun.

Anywho, unnecessarily long story short, it took me three tries before I figured out how to get off the floor. But I did it. 

got stuck on the floor

aggressive victories

you're a drama queen in every scene, perfectly out of place.

and it all comes down to you

well, you know that it does and

lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice

oh and it lights up the night

and you see your gypsy

to the gypsy

that remains

her face says freedom

with a little fear

i have no fear

have only love

and if i was a child

and the child was enough

enough for me to love

enough to love

she is dancing away from you now

she was just a wish

and her memory is all that is left for you now

you see your gypsy

My playlist is all over the place today. I just skipped through like 10 songs and the one that caught my earball was Pearl Jam (Even Flow). I says to myself, "really? this is really what you want?" and myself says, yep. So here I sit, looking up lyrics to Even Flow then realizing they're oddly appropriate. 

I'm trying this new journal thing to get my brainbox juices flowing. Typing out a blurb of what pops in my head when I listen to a song. 

Crazy For this Girl; Evan & Jarron

Two girls at the car wash. She pulls up and rolls the window down because the jocks two bays over have their R&B turned up too loud. The blonde girl walks up to the window and leans in, feeling a blast of cold hair and cigarette smoke blow her hair back.

    "Hey, lemme hit that," she said, reaching in to take the cigarette. The brown haired girl's heart started pumping as the blonde curls brushed against her cheek. She has no idea, the brown haired girl thought with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. And even if she did, she'd prolly stop hanging out with me and that would suck. I don't know how she hasn't figured it out yet though. I'm crazy for this girl...

think i need a devil to help me get things right.

spring got my crooked side feeling all twitterpated, that's why I started writing that ww2 story; I'm trying to work through it lol

Can we talk about the fact that I have 10 years
worth of journal playlists in my Spotify account? 

Today's Finch affirmation:: "I bring sunshine wherever I go." HAH that's awesome. 

Fuck, I'm lonely. It's just me, myself, and I...

But it's my fault. I know I shouldn't drunk text her, but I'm going to anyway. Fingers numbed with whisky dug through the giant shoulder bag until they found the square flip phone. Her thumb ran over the familiar ridge of the button on the front. She nudged the lid open with her thumb and blinked bleary eyes at the brightness. Scroll, scroll, scroll. There's Her name. The brown haired girl blinked dramatically, her bleary eyes struggling to focus. She typed,
    "You got me sayin fuck, I'm lonely. I miss those nights when you would come over. What you up to tonight?" Send. She felt the button softly click under her finger. She snapped the phone shut and dropped it in her bag. Oh shit what did I just do. 
    "Well fuck," the brown haired girl said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Pushing open the lid she looked inside distractedly, making a face when she saw there were only a few left. The lighter flicked and the flame sprung to life. The cigarette paper made a soft crunchy sigh as the fire touched it and as the brown haired girl sucked on the filter the end of the cigarette glowed brighter. She should probably get up and mingle a little, she was starting to get sleepy sitting in one place too long and she didn't want to pass out at this party. She was in a part of town she wasn't overly familiar with and the people she had came with were mostly using her for a ride, so she couldn't count on them to help her get home. She looked at her watch, 11:57pm. Damn, she had to be home at 1:00 for curfew and really wanted some tacos.
    The brown haired girl decided to make one more lap through the party to finish her beer then she'd leave. She wove her way between groups of people and realized she was running out of people to talk to and the buzz was starting to make her sleepy. She leaned against the wall for a minute to let her eyes roam the room, looking for the girls she'd arrived with. No where to be found.
    "Peace out girl scouts," she mumbled to the room in general, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone as she dug in the bag for her keys. She made her way through the back door into the dark night sky, dotted with stars and the brisk air hit her. The quiet outside was jarring compared to the chaos in the house. The Halloween costume she was wearing was getting uncomfortable and the layers of tights and fishnets were making her legs itch. She stumbled her way down the long driveway and, shivering, fumbled her key into the lock. Once in the car she let out a sigh of satisfaction and after turning over the ignition she shimmied out of the layers of tights and slipped into a pair of sneakers. She pulled the car blanket from the passenger seat to wrap herself in while the car warmed up. 
    As the car idled loudly she flipped down the sun visor and sorted through her CDs. After selecting a scratched up burned CD with the title STUPID TITLE I USED ONCE written on it in sharpie. She popped open the lid of the CD player and swapped the ALBUM for the burned one. The lid closed and the brown haired girl pushed play. The number flickered on the screen then died. UGH, the brown haired girl exclaimed. She expertly popped the lid battery lid off the back of the CD player and removed the AA batteries. She rubbed them quickly between her hands to warm them up so they would work. After about a minute she re-inserted the batteries and pushed the tape adaptor into the deck. The stereo blared on SONGLYRICS and the girl smiled with satisfaction. As she reached for the gearshift she felt her phone buzz. 
    She grabbed at it, fumbling the thing between the seats. She sighed resignedly and rolled her eyes, scooting her seat all the way up to grope blindly for the fucking thing. She flipped open the phone. 
    "Leaving That Boy's party now to make curfew, what're you doin?"
    The brown haired girl smiled, trying not to get her hopes up and telling the bubbles in her stomach to calm down. 
    "Headed to Taco Ding Dong from Football Player's party then home. You should come to my house and eat some with me lol."
    "Oh that sounds good, I bet my mom would let me stay at her house if I called her now. I'll call you in a few minutes."
    The brown haired girl felt her heart pounding in her chest. She knew better than to expect anything. This was her best friend, after all. They'd never been anything more than that... except for those times that they were. Which always happened when they'd been drinking. She sighed again and reached for her cigarette before putting the car into reverse and turning the stereo up.

courtesy; murder.by.death/fleetwood.mac/evan&jarron./foo.fighters/bilmuri/stand.atlantic/

she said shut up and dance with me.

Junior high kids standing across from each other on the dance floor. Everything moved in slow motion, she could feel the drop in her stomach and her mouth started sweating. She started to slow down, hesitating. He was walking towards her, right? Not the person behind her? She tried to casually look over her shoulder, but instantly knew it was not casual at all and probably looked super awkward. She kept walking, and so did he. After what felt like eventually they met, not in the middle of the floor. More stage left. 

    "Hi," he whispered. 
    She licked her lips. "Hi."

    Awkward pause.

    "Do you uh... wanna dance?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. The moment was loaded, it felt like the weight of it kept pressing in on her in waves. He smiled softly and nodded. She took a step forward and they both raised their arms. 

    "Uh," he said. 
    She giggled, stepping in closer, leaning in close enough that their bodies touched briefly, then took a step back and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I think you're supposed to put them around my waist. At least that's what everybody else is doing," she said shrugging. He wrapped his arms around her waist, wishing he was brave enough to lean in to feel the warmth of her, but he panicked last minute and jerked back suddenly.

    Her face registered confusion and he tried to cover the moment with laughter. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Thought I saw a fly." His brows furrowed as soon as the words came out of his mouth. A fly? What? Who would believe that? So dumb.

    She smiled anyway, which surprised him and just nodded. They swayed sort of to the beat of the slow song and struggled to decide if they should talk. Or make eye contact. Her hands were sweating. So were his. He wondered if he could quietly wipe them on the back of her dress and if she would notice. Would it leave sweaty handprints? It was a white dress, maybe he shouldn't. This thought made him clasp his hands tighter so he wouldn't do this on accident. She looks so pretty, he thought. I don't want to mess that up.

You know what I'm still mad about? That M---- dumped me at the dance in junior high because a jealous girl lied to him and said I kissed C---- in the bathroom at my after dance party. *sobs* He found out the truth later though, so that was a relief hahaha. 

He and I had a weird relationship... Junior high sweethearts, didn't talk to each other much for years, then we started hanging out in our 20's and he stepped on my glasses and had to buy me new ones (which I still have) then... all those other things. And now he's gone. That sucks man. I wrote him a letter when I was at Grandma's. i wonder if he got it? 

aw man... I don't wanna be sad today. 

i tried breathing underwater to drown out the doubt.

am i an imposter or

just a good liar for no good reason?

think we got a problem now

symptom of a bad fallout, glitter's fading

i can't believe i became the disease

and the snakes that sing are learning to scream in my dreams

that they dragged through the dirt, now painted in hurt

my lungs are filling with the sea

i tried breathing underwater to drown out the doubt

i cracked under the pressure and nearly bled out

you said you'd always save me, so where are you now?

feels like i'm failing, i'm dancing while drowning alone

feeling self-conscious now

overthinking but out loud, screams in silence

always overcompensate

in this world, i can't relate, need some guidance

i open my mouth, but the words don't come out

and the deepest blue sinks in me so low

can't control my self-doubt that i hold, its touch is so cold

these waves are crashing down on me

i tried breathing underwater to drown out the doubt

i cracked under the pressure and nearly bled out (nearly bled out)

you said you'd always save me, so where are you now?

feels like i'm failing, i'm dancing while drowning alone

Sometimes my fear of disappointing or hurting others is the only thing that keeps me here. The thin threads that tie my feet to the earth. I used to stay for my grandma, but now she's gone.

But there are still people in my life who would suffer if I left. So I won't.

Doesn't mean that the ties don't sometimes feel like they're slipping...

I'm fine really, it's okay. I just.... have to wait it out. It'll pass and I'll be fine.

I made a cool journal playlist today. Funny, making playlist journals is one of the easiest ways for me to communicate how I'm feeling. Now some of them are silly and only have a few songs on them, I didn't put much effort into it. But for the ones I hyperfocused on, and spent all day perfecting, are the ones that convey my internal.-ness better than my words can most times. I share them sometimes, to give someone a chance to listen to how I really feel, but I doubt anyone takes the opportunity. I don't know that I would if someone else posted it. Maybe. Depends on the day and my mood I suppose, as so many things do.

I smiled when I realized that it's like I'm making mix tapes for... someone. I don't know who they're for. Future me I suppose. I like looking back at all the playlists, starting as far back as 2015. Even my paper journals had songs of the day, or doodles of lyrics everywhere. I started keeping a paper journal again, so I can write those things down. It's comforting to have it; I get inspiration from all my random scribbles. I even drew a couple things... which I'm terrible at drawing so I don't like to do. I typically get the cringe memory embarrassment when I look back and see how terrible they are. Which, when you think about it is kinda silly. I'm the only one that loks at them lol. I digress. I ended up drawing a woman's face but couldn't get the eyes so I drew a blindfold over them. I wasn't even paying attention really, just doodling while I watched TV; I think it was The Newsroom. But the final product was a girl/woman/female with short hair rocking a blindfold. The inspiration was strange too. I don't know what I was originally trying to doodle, but my brain saw it and said "oo make that a lip". So then I spent forever trying to draw something that semi resembled a mouth. Well then I had to give it a face, obviously. So now I'm overthinking it, y'know. Like why did my subconscious tell me to draw that? Probably just going with whatever shapes were easiest to draw, let's be real haha. I am no great artiste by any stretch of the imagination. People always interpret my weirdness as artistic... this is not true. 

I've been sad this week. Like a lot sad. Like maybe should probably text Therapist, but maybe also it's not necessary I can wait it out. Anyway. Yesterday I had a moment where all I wanted was a sip of whisky. I was crying and holding Miracle Bear and the urge hit hard. However, I have a strict rule that says I am not allowed to drink if I'm upset. I set a boundary; once I calm down and it's been at least 20 minutes if I still want the drink I can have it. I rarely ever want it after that. Related note; I gave up alcohol for Lent. Anyway. I also have the rule for smoking. So no mind altering substances in response to a painful stimulus. Insert a delay of minimum of 20 minutes which starts once I demonstrate calm body. (This is actually a terrible operational definition, far too subjective. What exactly is a 'calm body/?) nerd. Anywayyyyy. I substituted the intoxicants for water and ended up chugging my entire water cup. New strat unlocked.

i just don't understand how you can

smile with all those tears in your eyes

some days i hate everything

please don't tell me everything is wonderful now

odds are long, so why not play?   

courtesy; hot.milk/everclear/barenaked.ladies/

i'm sad today.

 

you know you got to go through hell 
before you get to heaven

Ani DiFranco came on, Not a Pretty Girl, which used to be one of my sad drunk anthems. I remember sitting in the doorway between my bedroom and bathroom in the duplex and belting out this song through tears. I can still feel the carpet under my fingertips... Funny, I still identify with the song, but a different part. Made me chuckle a little at the realization. 

and generally, my generation

wouldn't be caught dead working for the man

and generally I agree with them

trouble is you gotta have youself

an alternate plan

and i have earned my disillusionment

i have been working all of my life

and i am a patriot

i have been fighting the good fight

and what if there are no damsels in distress

what if i knew that and i called your bluff?

don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down,

whether or not you ever show up?

the view from here.

My brain puked out a story the other day. So far it's mostly a slip of an idea, something slippery and fragile and nearly translucent. I'm afraid if I get too excited or tell anyone about it I'll lose it; it'll crack like an egg shell and this good idea will be gone. Will it be a life changing piece? No. Am I trying to say something with it? If I am, it's not intentional. I'm writing like me though, not what I've been reading or watching... which is what makes it so fragile. I'm adding my own twists that aren't copied from someone else's style; I think that's what is making this so scary. At least if it sucks it was written in someone else's voice (or at least a recognizable facsimile) then it's not my fault hah.

It's a precious little secret I'll keep to myself for now. I'm afraid to even write it here or talk about the feelings it makes in case I lose it. It's something I haven't experience in a long time and I'd almost forgotten what it felt like... Please let this be one of those things I finish.

that's the view... from here.

Aw MAN.

I went to use ChatGPT (I know I know) to get an idea for how a 12 year old girl from the Midwest would write in the 1930's. I just wanted the language and an overall idea of sentence structure... and damnit it's so good! *SOBS* It's an entry similar to one I wrote in my NSYNC journal in middle school where I talked about the conflicting feelings of liking girls and boys. The book is about a woman exploring her sexuality 1930's-1970's. I want it to be clearly differentiated as a book about bisexuality, not being a closet lesbian. But I'm going to share it here, because the damn robot took my idea and described it in a way that captures the feelings very well. I won't use it, obviously, it's not my work only my idea. But I can at least use it to help me shape up my writing... I guess. Maybe. It's a slippery slope. Sigh. Anyway. I present to you what I wrote, but better. Because fucking robots.

April 12th, 1933

Dear Diary,

Today the clouds looked like pie crusts and the wind smelled like dirt and dandelions, which is how I know it’s really spring now. Everything is waking up and blooming and shouting, “LOOK AT ME!” But I don’t want anyone to look at me right now. Not like this.

I think… I might be sort of gay. But I’m not, really. I still like boys. I do! When I think about BOY (you know the one, Diary, the one with the curls and that funny way he bites his pencil), my whole tummy turns to water. Not the cold kind. The warm kind, like bathwater after Mama adds lavender. It feels like the water wants to seep out of my toes and run down the cracks in the floorboards and drown BOY in it. Not in a mean way. In a feeling way. Is that silly?

But then—when GIRL (you know who, I won’t write her name just in case) grabs my hand when we play that clapping game and her fingers press against mine just a little longer than they need to—my tummy glows. Like fireflies under my ribs. And I don’t want to pull my hand away. Ever. It’s like both kinds of feelings are the same plant, but one grows wild and twisty like ivy and the other grows tall and sunny like a corn stalk. Is it possible to feel two ways at once?

In church, Pastor Bob says love is between a girl and a boy and anything else is a sin. But that don’t feel true in my heart. If loving GIRL is a sin, then why does it feel soft and sweet and safe? Why would God let me feel something that feels so kind and warm if it’s bad? I tried to pray it away last night. I did, honest. But my heart kept whispering, don’t go. What if Pastor Bob’s wrong? What if God is nicer than that?

I don’t wanna be in trouble with God. Or Mama. Or Daddy. Or anyone. But I don’t want to stop feeling this way either. Is that bad, Diary? I hope not.

I think SIBLING might’ve seen me put you under the floorboard last night. I better find a better spot. Maybe under the quilt batting in the old trunk? If anyone read this… I don’t know what would happen. Maybe they'd look at me different. Maybe they'd stop loving me. I hope not.

Please don’t let them find this, Diary. You’re the only one who knows.

Love,

Me 💔🌱

april showers bring mayflowers

it's a rainy day today.

"I identify with the pronouns she/her/they. For me it's an identification that gender and sexuality are fluid in the way I experience it. I do also identify as bisexual and it's a way to honor both sides of identity and sexuality. I will say there's a fear that comes through "am I using these wrong" but I can't be, if it is, after all, how I feel."

courtesy; I borrowed this from a Reddit post because it so succinctly stated how I feel, but I neglected to save it or get the persons handle and now I can't find it. Apologies, I always try to give credit where's due; I'll continue the search and if I find it I'll update.

flashbacks.

 Flashbacks.

They suck. Like, real bad. And they're triggered by the most random things. Earlier I was sorting through my unnecessarily large collection of jeans and found a pair of identical jeans to the ones I was wearing That Day. (NOTE: I was going through a lot of stress at the time and my weight frequently fluctuated due to my binge eating so I had duplicates of a few pairs, but in different sizes.) I loved those jeans, they were my absolute favorite. They were 90's light wash straight legs that had just the right amount of stretch. They were great work pants, comfortable and breathable even in hot weather. But seeing them and touching them reminded me of how work went That Day and then seeing ...graphic things on my legs. And looking down at them in the car seat. Trying to move my arm and leg and not understanding why I couldn't. Seeing parts of my leg I should never see; my meatbag is supposed to keep those parts inside. Funny, I had calmed down the flashback reading through my old stuff (which always works for whatever reason) but then I started writing about it and it brought it back. I guess I can let this be one of those moments where I sit with the feeling and talk to it instead of trying to shut it down. Therapist would say this is a good opportunity for that. If I don't let it out in little leaks I might explode. When I write I feel things, and even though those feelings suck it's better to get them out. Practice what you preach darling. 

Okay. I got it out, I feel better. See, short and sweet non' sae bad ist? 

hmm...

Quoted from page 1 of "No Bad Parts" by Richard Schwarts in his book on "Internal Family Systems".

We were all raised in what I'll call the mono-mind belief system - the idea that you have one mind, out of which different thoughts and emotions and impulses and urges emanate. That's the paradigm I believed in, too, until I kept encountering clients who taught me otherwise. Because the mono-mind view is so ubiquitous and assumed in our culture, we never really questioned the truth of it. I want to help you take a look, a second look, at who you really are. I'm going to invite you to try on this different paradigm of multiplicity that IFS (internal family systems) espouses and consider the possibility that you and everyone else is a multiple personality. And that is a good thing. I'm not suggesting that you have multiple personality disorder (now called dissociative identity disorder), but I do think that people with the diagnosis are not so different from everybody else. What are called alters in those people are the same as what I call parts in IFS, and they exist in all of us. The only difference is that people with dissociative identity disorder suffered horrible abuse and their system of parts got blown apart more than most, so each part stands out in bolder relief and is more polarized and disconnected from the others. In other words, all of us are born with many sub-minds that are constantly interacting inside of us. This is in general what we call thinking, because the parts are talking to each other and to you constantly about things you have to do or debating the best course of action, and so on. Remembering a time when you faced a dilemma, it's likely you heard one part saying "Go for it!" and another saying, "don't you dare!" Because we just consider that to be a matter of having conflicted thoughts, we don't pay attention to the players behind those debates. IFS helps you not only start to pay attention to them, but also become the active internal leader that your system of parts needs.

i am living proof.

 Pagan polytheistic transcendental Christian deist

The Life and Morals of Jesus Christ 

The Jefferson Bible

hahahaha as defined by the dictionary there are many contradictory terms in that statement, but as far as what I believe? That's it. My faith has recently become very important to me. Not that in some way shape or form it hasn't always been, but it's a prominent feature in my daily thoughts. Without it I don't think I would have made it this far. 

When I think about what I believe and who I think watches it out for me the answer is so complicated even I don't understand it. But just because I don't understand it doesn't mean I don't know. Knowing and understanding are not always the same thing... at least when it comes to faith.

Regardless of what you believe, you can't tell me that I have survived all the terrible life choices and near death experiences by luck? That I got through my childhood and getting hit and dragged by a truck, then my intense teenage years, followed by years of addiction and a chaotic lifestyle. Went through alcoholism and hit rock bottom not once, but twice before I finally crawled somewhere safe. Then Hubs came along. And we helped each other grow. Part of this included going to school, which came with its own challenges, and most recently my Martha Mae CRV tried to fight a tree. Alas Martha Mae CRV did not survive, but she gave her life to protect mine. 

HONDAS ARE THE WAY TO GO. BUY HONDA. 

(unfortunately Honda is not reimbursing me for this)

It's seems like since dad died last Easter life has snowballed into what Therapist calls "cascading trauma" (sounds legit, need to read more). 

Ugh. I think I might've just decided to go back to school. 

When I say I can't stop listening to this album ME put on my Spotify I am not exaggerating. It's my current anti-anxiety album. It reminds me of how I obsessed over the Kesha album when it came out. The lyrics and vibe were exactly what I needed at that moment. Same with this one. I have mixed feelings about her singing about Jesus. We all know how I feel about that. I believe he existed and he wanted people to be nice to each other, but was he a wizard? Nahhhh. That's why I'll be celebrating Easter in pagan fashion this year instead of celebrating zombie Jesus day. It's intriguing how as Christians we wear signs of his ultimate punishment. It just seems odd to me to do that. The alters with the bloody dude hanging there are unnecessary. It's there to evoke feelings of guilt and shame. Cast they gaze upon my bloody corpse and anachronistically Aryan styled face and feel SHAMEFUL FOR YOUR SINS. YOU ARE A BAD PERSON AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD ABOUT BEING BAD, EVEN THOUGH MY FATHER MADE YOU THAT WAY.

...um...what? Why would you want to worship a deity that uses pain and punishment to test faith? Why would you worship a deity that would sacrifice a child for you? What? If a regular person did that would you think they were awesome and almighty, or would you think they were at the least fucking nuts, if not pure evil.

But hey, you do you boo. I don't believe in a vengeful God. As many times as I've tried I still can't put my believes into words... but that is a point I can make with confidence. My God wouldn't put me through pain to test my faith. That's dumb. Shit happens. Life happens. Karma happens. Everything happens for a reason, but not to test how I feel in my faith. Things happen to teach lessons and shape our lives and decisions. It's what we do with that Shit when it happens. Do we let the Shit get theb est of us? Or do we say fuck this shit, double down, and work harder to overcome it?

I've tried both. Guess which one ended up being the better choice in the end? Duhhh. I don't know how not to work hard. Even when I want to be a bum, I still find ways to make work for myself.

The other day I told my friend how it would be nice to have a break from hard work for once. I mentioned how I felt like I've been working hard my entire life and it would be nice to have a break to be sad, and scared, and lonely. I don't like to talk about being scared. I can tell people I'm afraid of the dark and wasps, but I won't talk about how afraid I was during The Thing.

This. This is why I haven't written in awhile. Writing makes me feel things, damnit.

How can I write a book if I don't write? What I need to start with is reading actual books. This social media blocker app is super clutch. That's probably why I'm here writing, I haven't been able to play on my phone all morning. REMINDER: Set up a timer for every morning this is bangarang. Funny how one simple thing can make such a big difference. I didn't ultra wake n bake this morning either, I started my day accomplishing a task before smoking. I'm going to fade that in so I can keep my mojo going. My mojo has been on fire since I've been cutting down. 

OH! I forgot to document the super ME moment I had the other day. I woke up sad, but was going through the motions and making coffee. For some reason that morning I decided to open Spotify on my phone instead of telling the robot lady good morning in order to get an NPR news brief and weather report. On the screen was an artist I have never seen before and the title of the album was Jesus Changed My Life. Well, we know how I feel about this type of thins above. So I checked recent listens. I knew Hubs wouldn't listen to that religious themes nonwithstanding; he abhors country music. My last listen was Tom Petty radio, Hubs listened to his HUBS PHAT BANGERS playlist and that was all trap and metal so nope. Nothing related. For funsies, I listened to the album and WOAH. I have not listened to an album obsessively like this since Linkin Park. The lyrics hit hard. Clearly Gma sent this to me. It's a guilty pleasure, I only rock it in my headphones. And no one reads this so I feel it's a safe space to confess. Or perhaps, if you are a rando reading this please don't judge me. If you like empowering women belting out some mildly religious lyrics in a pop country manner this gal is for you. Anywho. 

i am living proof

so many moments i've seen you still come through

when it looked hopeless you said i'm not done

and looking back i see what i've become

i am living proof there's a God that's real

i am living proof that your hands still heal

my life, my every breath

tell of your faithfulness

there's nothing you can't do

i am living proof

so many reasons, so many miracles

so many times you've done the impossible

so, in the shadows give me eyes to see

the power of heaven still alive in me

Wow. This is a long entry. I think the standing desk is a game changer.

 courtesy; the.smithsoniain.institute/katy.nichole

legendary.

 So the playlist I posted the other day is growing and evolving and I am kinda sorta hyperfixated on it. It's seriously just... epic. And I require some validation from other top tier music fans. 

I let my friend in on it to help collab because the vibe reminded me of his taste in music. It flows just right. I love it when I have a playlist that I'm proud of instead of a "oh god please don't judge me" moment.

I watched the movie One Day yesterday, it's one of my favorites. It's one of those that stays with you and every time I watch it I think about it for days after. 

I was told I have legendary taste in music today, that was pretty cool. 

your garbage can is on fire

it's nothing personal.

today's playlist is epicccccc.

ope

 is it weird that I have somehow linked the duvet cover with my miserable work existence and I'm hesitant to put it back on?

well men may flirt with girls like that, but they don't marry them

APPARENTLY they will.

courtesy;gone.with.the.wind/

concerning hobbits...

not all who wander are lost

You ever hear a song and have no idea where you heard it from and can't remember the name. but you remember the way it makes you feel every time you hear it?

Man, I don't know if I'm explaining this well, perhaps I should provide context. Ahem. 

I typically start my mornings like most folks do, making my way to the kitchen to make coffee. Now, I don't know about the rest of y'all, but I have Robot Ladies (can't say her name for fear of inadvertently summoning her) in the major parts of my house. It helps with my ADHD, I can literally just shoutout "Hey Robot Lady (insert real name, ofc) add bananas to the list" and it does, it's fabulous. Anywho, I digress. The Robot Ladies are perfect for my ADHD ass, and keep me entertained and distracted long enough to help me stay in a room and stay focused long enough to complete a single task before I wander off on a side quest. One of my favorite pastimes is to ask it dumb questions and harass it. For those of you old enough to remember, AIM had a bot that you could ask questions to and talk to called SmarterChild. My bestie and I used to HARASS this bot and get it to say the most outrageous shit, it was glorious. So something along those lines, but with the Robot Lady.  NOTE: ALWAYS BE POLITE! You never know when the robot overlords will overthrow us and turn us into meat batteries. Another fun feature is that it frequently has monthly themes. For instance, when Despicable Me 4 came out it had a minions theme so a minion would greet you in the morning and tell silly jokes and other embarrassingly entertaining interactive elements. Today I asked the simple question of "Do you currently have any themes available?" and it began to serenade me with the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song, followed by a series of other equally awesome symphonic versions of songs. My brain glitched with The Hobbit theme came on, but when I heard it I got this overwhelming sense of peace and calm and warmth... It was a visceral reaction and it brought back some good memories. I love the fact that I can say that I have scene every LOTR and Hobbit movie in theaters.

I find myself spending a lot of time in my memories lately. Perhaps it's part of me rebuilding myself and discovering who I am again. The memories remind me of the other versions of myself and I sift through the good and bad and carefully select the pieces of Me that I want to bring into this version. Like the rocks I carefully search for on the lake bottom I inspect each one, checking for sharp edges or the glint of something shiny in the layers of sediment that have collected over the years to bring that rock into being. I weigh them in my hand, running my palms and fingertips across the surface, inspecting it by touch to decide if it is worth adding to my collection. I leave the heavy ones in the sand, noticing their colors and textures, but know that the rock is right where it belongs. Not gone, not forgotten, but not worth adding to my collection. I like the smooth ones that show the passage of time through the layers found within. The different colors of sediment stacked on each other, the lines blurring together to form a beautiful stone, worthy of my exclusive collection. I want this version to leave the heavy shit in the past, where it belongs, and to realize that there were beautiful parts of me in each version of myself, even if they were hidden by the sharp edges. I want to stack the best parts of myself together and blur the lines of time together to form a beautiful Me, worthy of receiving this next chance at life.

I want to be someone I'd be proud to call friend.

courtesy; jrr.tolkein/

if I smell like smoke it's only 'cuz I've been through hell

I'm still messed up, I just make different decisions now.

I'm extra emotional today, got a touch of the hormones. (PMS, that is) As it is Sunday, I watched church this morning. Today was a combined service led by some individuals from Celebrate Recovery. There were a few who spoke and commented how they struggled with codependency and anxiety. Now that's interesting. I know those are concerns, as I have those problems, but I never thought about  CR working for those particular concerns. I struggled to identify with those speakers, but when the last gentleman got up and talked about his first DUI, then his second a year later. His anger, his struggles... That I identified with. That made me cry. That got me in the feels. hmm, I wonder why... Oh, I forgot to mention, I have to watch my church services on YouTube as I still attend the church I grew up in, even though I now live hours away. That's one good thing that came out of COVID, I suppose. They became more consistent with the live streams, and I returned to attending church most Sundays. But I don't want to talk much more about religion, I sorta covered that in a previous post. The point of this one is that one of the young ladies mentioned working at my old high school, which led to me looking up the school website, and it made me nostalgic as all hell. I am so frickin' homesick. Even with all the bullshit I went through in that town and that county, I want to go home. Though my pragmatic brain kicks on in the background and I remind myself that when we're homesick and looking back we tend to gloss over the bullshit and see those memories through rose-colored glasses. 

courtesy;lainey.wilson/

stage beauty

you know me or you think you do you, you just don't seem to see

I've been waiting all this time to be something I can't define

so let's cause a scene, clap our hands and stomp our feet or something

yeah, something, I've just got to get myself over me

and I hate what I've become

courtesy; the.format

yeah, I'm not such a sweet thing

I want to take the pre-conceived

out from underneath your feet

we could shake it off

instead we'll plant some seeds

we'll watch them as they grow,

and with each new beat

from your heart the roots grow deeper

the branches will they reach for what?

nobody really knows

but underneath it all

there's this heart all alone

what about when it's gone?
and it really won't be so long
sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singing from at all

there's a world we've never seen
there's still hope between the dreams
the weight of it all
could blow away with a breeze

today's playlist

I.... don't even know what to write. Today was such an expulsion of emotions and I trauma dumped on my friend and I feel bad about it because I don't want her to have to carry that weight too. Sooo I decided to pull this up. I missed a couple days anyway and need to write. When I write I feel better, even if I don't write anything worth reading. 

I'm in song lyric communication mode today. I'm trying to be intentional with my song selection as a result.

3:22am: I fell asleep shortly after writing this. Upon awaking I felt like the slate had been wiped clean and my mood had reset back to baseline. It's always nice to get the emotions under control, however I sometimes question my baseline existence because I've also taught myself to suppress a lot of things so like... yeah it's baseline I feel 'normal' but is my 'normal' my best? I want to live my best life. I'm tired of settling. I don't have time to keep settling. 

I just… idk. I don’t like the life I had anymore, it’s like I woke up. And I think, why the hell am I putting in all this work every day to get up and heal if all I’m healing for is to go to a job I hate and live as a person who owns only beiges and greys. There’s no point in getting better if it means I have to go back to a life I don’t wanna lead anymore yknow? So I want to make my life be one that I want to live instead of settling.

I know I’m supposed to be here for a reason the universe has been telling me this for years, but I can’t figure out what the fuck it is. I thought ABA was it so I jumped in and gave it my everything and it burnt me out and stole my identity, then I almost died driving home from that job… so idk it seems to me that’s not what IT is either...  Maybe it’s my book. If I keep saying it enough it'll happen, that's how that works right?

I'm going to write a book. I'm going to publish a book.

 I'm going to write a book. I'm going to publish a book.

Funny, now that I've got the idea in my head the brainstorming doesn't stop. How I want to format the book, other things I'll want to write beyond my memoirs... Short stories, kids books, young adults... We all know what happens when I set my cap on something... yep, that's right. I hyper focus on it for 5 minutes then move on to the next thing because finishing things has never been my strong suit.

But this is something I've wanted to do since as long as I can remember. And I know that there will only be a few things in this life I ever truly finish, and I want this to be one of them. Hah. I'm making this huge deal out of a book that I haven't even started that even once it's published the only people who will buy it will be my family. I don't want Harry Potter fame, but it would be nice to know that my stories made an impact on someone. Weird to whine about it in a blog I plan to incorporate into the book. Weirdo.

NOTE: I know it's weird I put a Jack Johnson song under a picture of the band Deer Tick, but the path my neurospicy brain took to put that thought together made it make sense in my brain so tough tittywampus.

courtesy; joan.jett/jack.johnson