It's 3:45 in the goddamned morning.
I haven't slept for shit for two weeks.
I've been fighting this for six weeks.
Nothing shuts it up.
It. Won't. Fucking. Stop.
So here I am, on my bed at 3:45 am, with a bottle of Maker's Mark in my hand and some of Yelawolf's trippier shit blasting in my headset. It's been a long damned time since I've done this. Years. Every sip brings tears to my eyes.
A bad idea? Most certainly. But not as bad as the alternative. Not nearly as bad.
Bottoms up, motherfuckers.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Over Already?
*Sigh*
We're leaving tomorrow.
I'm probably going to stay with L. tomorrow night and go back to my own house Friday.
But I really, really, really don't want to go.
*Sigh*
We're leaving tomorrow.
I'm probably going to stay with L. tomorrow night and go back to my own house Friday.
But I really, really, really don't want to go.
*Sigh*
You Can Find Me Where The Music Meets The Ocean
Day Two of the Great Florida Adventure
Today, L. and I went shopping during the heat of the day because neither of us handle the heat that well. After we came in from that, she napped while I did some work. Then, we went down to the beach for a late evening swim. Well, she waded in, and I intended to actually swim some.
But, of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I waded out onto the first sandbar, turned around to say something to Laura who was still sitting at the water's edge...and saw a big fucking sting ray behind me, less than six feet away. I'm pretty sure nobody's EVER seen a fat girl run that fast out of the water before.
So, yeah, so much for that swim. I'm not one of those people who's overly paranoid about sharks, but rays genuinely terrify me. Once I bailed out, I just stood on the shore with Laura and watched the tide coming in.
Then, we came in, showered, got dressed, and went to a nice restaurant, which gave me an excuse to put on a cute top and makeup and straighten my hair for the first time in forever. I had broiled grouper with a macadamia nut crust and an orange-ginger glaze. Oh. My. God. I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing with every bite I took. There was also a salad, rice pilaf, and grilled green beans as well. That easily ranked up there as one of the top five meals I've ever had in my life.
After that, we came back to the hotel and put on more comfortable clothes. L. had brought some liquor with her, so we made ourselves drinks. I broke the seal on a bottle of pineapple-coconut rum and mixed it with orange-pineapple-banana juice. (I only had one, though. I have no desire to die from liver failure via alcohol and crazy meds.) We took our drinks out on the deck, stretched out on a couple of lounge chairs, and watched the waves roll in and the stars in the sky.
Apparently, there are still stragglers from the meteor shower earlier in the month floating around because while we only sat out for a couple of hours, we saw about 5 shooting stars. Since we were closer to the hotel than we were last night, I was able to download a star map on my phone as well, which resulted in lots more constellation-hunting. AND I was able to identify Sagittarius as soon as we sat down out there, without the star map, LOL. Yay for learning!
Panama City Beach is actually not my favorite area on the Emerald Coast, but I don't care. I have my wonderful friend L. here with me, and I have the ocean and the sky. That's really all that matters. Well, I mean, the rum was nice, too, but not totally necessary. :p
I've missed having someone to talk to unreservedly about things. It's nice being able to speak frankly about anything without worrying about how it'll be perceived. There's a reason this girl has been my friend since our sorority days.
She has no idea how much I needed this, but I will always be grateful to her. Being near the ocean--especially at night, but even during the day--is a mystical experience for me. One day, I swear I will live near the sea. When I'm close to it, I'm as close to being happy as I'll probably ever be in my life...and I'm fine with that. I'm sure I will be poor, crazy, and alone my whole life, but if I can spend it near the coast, perhaps even with some friends, even if it's just when they're on vacation, I won't consider it a wasted life. The ocean makes me feel closer to God than I ever feel anywhere else.
So, yeah, like I said--mystical experience. And, yes, it sounds insane, but I'm actually quite level-headed (if a little sleep-deprived) at the moment.
Life is good right now. The feeling won't last long, but that makes it all the more precious, I suppose. There have been so few moments like this in my life that I refuse to ever let them slip through my fingers. I'll cling tightly to this place, to these memories, to get me through yet another long, hard fall and winter. And maybe one day, I can live somewhere that has no natural seasons--the tropics, the land of perpetual summer--and not have to go through this torment every year.
I love you, Mother Ocean.
Today, L. and I went shopping during the heat of the day because neither of us handle the heat that well. After we came in from that, she napped while I did some work. Then, we went down to the beach for a late evening swim. Well, she waded in, and I intended to actually swim some.
But, of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I waded out onto the first sandbar, turned around to say something to Laura who was still sitting at the water's edge...and saw a big fucking sting ray behind me, less than six feet away. I'm pretty sure nobody's EVER seen a fat girl run that fast out of the water before.
So, yeah, so much for that swim. I'm not one of those people who's overly paranoid about sharks, but rays genuinely terrify me. Once I bailed out, I just stood on the shore with Laura and watched the tide coming in.
Then, we came in, showered, got dressed, and went to a nice restaurant, which gave me an excuse to put on a cute top and makeup and straighten my hair for the first time in forever. I had broiled grouper with a macadamia nut crust and an orange-ginger glaze. Oh. My. God. I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing with every bite I took. There was also a salad, rice pilaf, and grilled green beans as well. That easily ranked up there as one of the top five meals I've ever had in my life.
After that, we came back to the hotel and put on more comfortable clothes. L. had brought some liquor with her, so we made ourselves drinks. I broke the seal on a bottle of pineapple-coconut rum and mixed it with orange-pineapple-banana juice. (I only had one, though. I have no desire to die from liver failure via alcohol and crazy meds.) We took our drinks out on the deck, stretched out on a couple of lounge chairs, and watched the waves roll in and the stars in the sky.
Apparently, there are still stragglers from the meteor shower earlier in the month floating around because while we only sat out for a couple of hours, we saw about 5 shooting stars. Since we were closer to the hotel than we were last night, I was able to download a star map on my phone as well, which resulted in lots more constellation-hunting. AND I was able to identify Sagittarius as soon as we sat down out there, without the star map, LOL. Yay for learning!
Panama City Beach is actually not my favorite area on the Emerald Coast, but I don't care. I have my wonderful friend L. here with me, and I have the ocean and the sky. That's really all that matters. Well, I mean, the rum was nice, too, but not totally necessary. :p
I've missed having someone to talk to unreservedly about things. It's nice being able to speak frankly about anything without worrying about how it'll be perceived. There's a reason this girl has been my friend since our sorority days.
She has no idea how much I needed this, but I will always be grateful to her. Being near the ocean--especially at night, but even during the day--is a mystical experience for me. One day, I swear I will live near the sea. When I'm close to it, I'm as close to being happy as I'll probably ever be in my life...and I'm fine with that. I'm sure I will be poor, crazy, and alone my whole life, but if I can spend it near the coast, perhaps even with some friends, even if it's just when they're on vacation, I won't consider it a wasted life. The ocean makes me feel closer to God than I ever feel anywhere else.
So, yeah, like I said--mystical experience. And, yes, it sounds insane, but I'm actually quite level-headed (if a little sleep-deprived) at the moment.
Life is good right now. The feeling won't last long, but that makes it all the more precious, I suppose. There have been so few moments like this in my life that I refuse to ever let them slip through my fingers. I'll cling tightly to this place, to these memories, to get me through yet another long, hard fall and winter. And maybe one day, I can live somewhere that has no natural seasons--the tropics, the land of perpetual summer--and not have to go through this torment every year.
I love you, Mother Ocean.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Southeast Of Disorder
I'm currently sitting in a hotel room on the beach in Panama City Beach with my dear friend L.
I just knew that I wouldn't be able to go to the beach this year because I'm so fucking broke, but a couple of weeks ago, L. informed me that she was taking me to the beach with her. I was like, "Oh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't have the money to go." She told me that she was going to cover the whole thing, all expenses paid. I told her I couldn't let her do that, and we went back and forth for awhile. But to make a long story short, she wouldn't let me say no, so...here I am.
We spent a couple of hours sitting on the beach tonight. We walked down to the water at first, and I let the waves wash over my feet and ankles for awhile. Then we moved back to the hotel lounge chairs and sat in them. From there, I could see my two favorite things in the whole world--the sky and the sea. There were large patches of clouds in the sky when we first sat down, and I said that I wished the clouds would move back so we could see more than just a couple of stars. And apparently, the sky gods were listening because as we sat there, the clouds split in half right above where we were sitting and pulled back little by little to reveal a wide expanse of sky and stars.
L. downloaded a sky map on her phone, and we fucked around with it for awhile, looking for constellations. There was one pretty much directly in front of us that I'd been looking at for awhile, as the app was downloading, and I said, "You know, that right there looks like it oughta be something." Turns out, it was Sagittarius--my zodiac sign, for anyone keeping score at home. That made me extremely happy for some reason.
We found several others, too. I told Laura that I had tried to watch the meteor shower earlier this month but that every time I'd tried, it'd been cloudy. Later, she saw a meteor and was all "Hey, I saw a meteor!" And I was like dammit, I missed it.
A little later, though, as I was staring off to the east, I saw one shoot across the sky, which made me inordinately happy. I squealed like child...or a lunatic. Your choice.
There is absolutely nothing I love more in this world than sitting on the beach at night and seeing that point on the horizon where the sky and the ocean meet. I could've stayed out there all night, but L. was getting chilly. I didn't wanna be an ass, so I came back inside with her.
I know what I want to happen when I die. I want all my donateable organs donated. I want my brain donated to the place where bipolars and schizophrenics can donate their brains after they die so that they can be studied in order to help the living crazy people. If I'm still young and attractive, I want to be dressed in the most obnoxious red dress that can be found for my funeral home viewing. That way, I can die as I lived--as a flamboyent redneck. If I'm old and ugly, I don't want to be exhibited. Just nail down the coffin and hide me from public view. Then, once that's done, I want to be cremated and scattered out to sea.
Why? Because in this world the ocean is the only thing big enough to quiet the demons that scream at me. Its vastness swallows me whole, enfolds me in its arms, and utters whatever voodoo necessary to silence them. I once thought I could find that in other places, but it was only temporary. But the ocean? It'll be here until long after all of us humans die off, and I want it to be this body's last resting place.
My soul, of course, will go back to the Great Cosmic Waiting Room to await the right time to be reborn. In my next life--which I pray to God is better than this one--I hope I'm reborn as a sailor. Or maybe I have been one before and just didn't know.
As a dreamer of dreams
And a traveling Bun,
I have chalked up many mile
Read dozens of books
About heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles....
I just knew that I wouldn't be able to go to the beach this year because I'm so fucking broke, but a couple of weeks ago, L. informed me that she was taking me to the beach with her. I was like, "Oh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't have the money to go." She told me that she was going to cover the whole thing, all expenses paid. I told her I couldn't let her do that, and we went back and forth for awhile. But to make a long story short, she wouldn't let me say no, so...here I am.
We spent a couple of hours sitting on the beach tonight. We walked down to the water at first, and I let the waves wash over my feet and ankles for awhile. Then we moved back to the hotel lounge chairs and sat in them. From there, I could see my two favorite things in the whole world--the sky and the sea. There were large patches of clouds in the sky when we first sat down, and I said that I wished the clouds would move back so we could see more than just a couple of stars. And apparently, the sky gods were listening because as we sat there, the clouds split in half right above where we were sitting and pulled back little by little to reveal a wide expanse of sky and stars.
L. downloaded a sky map on her phone, and we fucked around with it for awhile, looking for constellations. There was one pretty much directly in front of us that I'd been looking at for awhile, as the app was downloading, and I said, "You know, that right there looks like it oughta be something." Turns out, it was Sagittarius--my zodiac sign, for anyone keeping score at home. That made me extremely happy for some reason.
We found several others, too. I told Laura that I had tried to watch the meteor shower earlier this month but that every time I'd tried, it'd been cloudy. Later, she saw a meteor and was all "Hey, I saw a meteor!" And I was like dammit, I missed it.
A little later, though, as I was staring off to the east, I saw one shoot across the sky, which made me inordinately happy. I squealed like child...or a lunatic. Your choice.
There is absolutely nothing I love more in this world than sitting on the beach at night and seeing that point on the horizon where the sky and the ocean meet. I could've stayed out there all night, but L. was getting chilly. I didn't wanna be an ass, so I came back inside with her.
I know what I want to happen when I die. I want all my donateable organs donated. I want my brain donated to the place where bipolars and schizophrenics can donate their brains after they die so that they can be studied in order to help the living crazy people. If I'm still young and attractive, I want to be dressed in the most obnoxious red dress that can be found for my funeral home viewing. That way, I can die as I lived--as a flamboyent redneck. If I'm old and ugly, I don't want to be exhibited. Just nail down the coffin and hide me from public view. Then, once that's done, I want to be cremated and scattered out to sea.
Why? Because in this world the ocean is the only thing big enough to quiet the demons that scream at me. Its vastness swallows me whole, enfolds me in its arms, and utters whatever voodoo necessary to silence them. I once thought I could find that in other places, but it was only temporary. But the ocean? It'll be here until long after all of us humans die off, and I want it to be this body's last resting place.
My soul, of course, will go back to the Great Cosmic Waiting Room to await the right time to be reborn. In my next life--which I pray to God is better than this one--I hope I'm reborn as a sailor. Or maybe I have been one before and just didn't know.
As a dreamer of dreams
And a traveling Bun,
I have chalked up many mile
Read dozens of books
About heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles....
Friday, August 23, 2013
Dearest X
Dear X,
I know I'm running pretty late, but I still haven't forgotten. Happy Birthday.
I'm not going to lie: I thought seriously about putting a card in the mail for you for your birthday, like I did for Y. What stopped me, though, was the fear that it might upset you. So in lieu of that, I'll settle for doing what I do every year and posting another one of those letters I'll never send right here on my blog.
Even after all this time and all that happened, I still love you. I think about you every day. Sometimes, the desire to reach out to you is overwhelming. The only reason I don't give in is, again, the fear of upsetting you. I feel sure you're much happier in your life if I stay away, and I don't blame you at all for that. All I ever did was bring you grief.
I hope you're happy. I really, really do. I hope you're so ridiculously happy with your life that nothing in the world could ever bring you down. I hope you will be that happy today, tomorrow, and forever. You deserve it.
I'm a fool, but a part of me still hopes every morning when I wake up and check my email that I might have something from you. It's false hope. I know you won't be sending anything, and that's fine. I understand. But that last stubborn little faint spark of hope refuses to go out, so there it is. I won't ever reach out to you, no matter how strong the desire is, but if you ever reached out to me, I'd never turn you away out of pride...or out of anything else, actually. I'd be too happy to hear your voice or read your words to ever do that.
Even now, I still have your number in my phone. Hell, I don't even know if it's still *your* number. But I've still got it, regardless. And every time I scroll past it in my contacts, I feel a tiny smile come to my face. Then, the pain and the guilt come back, and the smile is forgotten, but the twinge happens every time I see your name in my phone.
I miss you. Desperately. I was unforgiveably cruel to you, partly because I was crazy, but mostly because you were everything I ever wanted to be and couldn't. I was envious, and rather than dealing with it myself, I let it bleed over into our relationship and hurt you time and time again. I'm so sorry. I know you don't believe it--and I can't say that I blame you--but I did love you then, and I still love you now.
I hope your birthday goes well and that the rest of your life does, too. I don't know how things are now, but I remember that back then, you used to be plagued with doubts about yourself. Please don't doubt yourself. We all have flaws, yes, but inside, you are good and kind and warm and competent and good at everything you do.
And, please, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is reach out, and I will be there, no questions asked.
Happy Birthday, my love.
~Bunny
I know I'm running pretty late, but I still haven't forgotten. Happy Birthday.
I'm not going to lie: I thought seriously about putting a card in the mail for you for your birthday, like I did for Y. What stopped me, though, was the fear that it might upset you. So in lieu of that, I'll settle for doing what I do every year and posting another one of those letters I'll never send right here on my blog.
Even after all this time and all that happened, I still love you. I think about you every day. Sometimes, the desire to reach out to you is overwhelming. The only reason I don't give in is, again, the fear of upsetting you. I feel sure you're much happier in your life if I stay away, and I don't blame you at all for that. All I ever did was bring you grief.
I hope you're happy. I really, really do. I hope you're so ridiculously happy with your life that nothing in the world could ever bring you down. I hope you will be that happy today, tomorrow, and forever. You deserve it.
I'm a fool, but a part of me still hopes every morning when I wake up and check my email that I might have something from you. It's false hope. I know you won't be sending anything, and that's fine. I understand. But that last stubborn little faint spark of hope refuses to go out, so there it is. I won't ever reach out to you, no matter how strong the desire is, but if you ever reached out to me, I'd never turn you away out of pride...or out of anything else, actually. I'd be too happy to hear your voice or read your words to ever do that.
Even now, I still have your number in my phone. Hell, I don't even know if it's still *your* number. But I've still got it, regardless. And every time I scroll past it in my contacts, I feel a tiny smile come to my face. Then, the pain and the guilt come back, and the smile is forgotten, but the twinge happens every time I see your name in my phone.
I miss you. Desperately. I was unforgiveably cruel to you, partly because I was crazy, but mostly because you were everything I ever wanted to be and couldn't. I was envious, and rather than dealing with it myself, I let it bleed over into our relationship and hurt you time and time again. I'm so sorry. I know you don't believe it--and I can't say that I blame you--but I did love you then, and I still love you now.
I hope your birthday goes well and that the rest of your life does, too. I don't know how things are now, but I remember that back then, you used to be plagued with doubts about yourself. Please don't doubt yourself. We all have flaws, yes, but inside, you are good and kind and warm and competent and good at everything you do.
And, please, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is reach out, and I will be there, no questions asked.
Happy Birthday, my love.
~Bunny
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
My Dearest Y
Dear Y,
Happy Birthday.
I hate that I can't be there with you, hate that I'm too broke to even pay my rent by myself this month, much less buy you a present. Hopefully, I can get you something before I see you again, but that's not that point.
Of course, I don't even know if you'd want me there or not. Sometimes I think I'm just selfishly forcing my company onto you, while you awkwardly deal with me the best way you can and get rid of me as soon as is politely possible, like someone would do with a crazy old aunt or something. But maybe that's just paranoia talking again.
Let's talk about something else.
Do you remember when you turned 21? It was on a Monday, I think. You were taking summer classes, and that Monday and Tuesday were the days that you were taking your finals. At least I think so, anyway. My memory is going in my old age.
But once Wednesday arrived, it was on and popping. You, me, and L. partied non-stop Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to celebrate your 21st birthday. It was a different bar every night. Wednesday, Pelham's. Thursday, The Sports Nut. Friday, the strip in Anniston--The Crimson Tiger, The Office, The Smoking Moose. And Saturday, the place that eventually became our go-to place for every celebration, for every bored weekend night, and, of course, for every heartache--A.J.'s.
I have to go right by A.J.'s every month when I go to pay my rent. I paid my rent today, so I saw it again. It doesn't have quite the allure during the daytime that it does at night. Of course, I haven't been inside since you, me, and L. went for your 24th birthday (a couple of weeks late) back in 2010. Everything had already changed by then, but I guess we were all trying desperately to pretend it hadn't. You were in the process of moving on to a different life. You weren't even living in the apartment with me anymore. L. was disappearing inside herself with her unhappy marriage. And me? I was sitting at the top of the highest hill on a roller coaster named Insanity, suspended in that one moment before everything lets go and the cars crash down in free-fall to the bottom.
I still have pictures. I was still growing out that horrendous haircut. You were wearing one of your purple-and-green print shirts. (Your favorite colors. Are they still your favorites? I feel eaten up with guilt inside because I don't even know the answer to that question anymore.) I was wearing fake eyelashes; and one of them never quite stuck on right, and it was pretty obvious. I knew it then. I just didn't give a shit.
I think we had fun. Did we? I know I didn't drink very much because I'm the one who drove back home. I only remember that because we got stuck in a license check going up the mountain on Greenbrier, which APD had set up in hopes of making some drunk driving arrests on people leaving the bars. We were in L.'s car. I was driving, she was riding shotgun, and you were giggling in the backseat. I showed the cop my license and L.'s insurance card. He asked us who'd been drinking, and you leaned forward from the backseat and squealed, "Me! It's my birthday!" The cop kinda chuckled, handed our stuff back to us, told us to be careful, and waved us on through.
So, yeah, I guess we had fun. How the fuck I ended up being the one who was safest for driving, God only knows. There is a certain kind of irony in that.
I haven't been back there since. I haven't been to any bar since, actually. For someone whose entire vocation for years was binge-drinking, it's quite an accomplishment.
I could say that I haven't gone because I saw the error of my ways or some such bullshit, but I'd be lying. (And what use is it to lie here?) I haven't gone to any of them--and especially that one in particular--because it just won't be the same without you.
You have no idea how proud I am of you. You knew what you wanted in life. You weathered the hardships starting out, and then you made yourself into what you wanted to be. We've all changed since then. Some of the changes have been for the better, and some for the worse. But regardless, I admire you for knowing what you wanted and doing what you had to do to get it.
But I've changed, too. Sometimes, I wish you could see it. But then maybe you do see it. I don't know. Maybe, no matter who I am, I just really don't have any place in your life anymore. I wish I did. I wish like hell that I did. But maybe I don't. I don't know.
Regardless, though, despite all that's happened in our lives, all the changes we've gone through, and all the bullshit we've endured, I never stopped loving you. Not even once. Not for a single second. I won't tell you this because I'm not going to guilt-trip you, but I love you more than anything in this whole world and always have, even when I made you feel like I didn't. I'm so sorry for all that I put you through, and I know I'll never be able to make it up to you.
I want to say that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. But prudence says that I shouldn't force myself into your space, into your life, just to assuage my guilt. I have used you like a crutch for much too long, and it made you hate me. I don't blame you. I hate me, too. It wasn't right. It just...wasn't. There's no way to justify it.
But still, I will always be here for you, every moment of every day. I'm trying to stay in the shadows as much as I can, but all I need from you is one word to come bounding out again, sword in hand, armor flashing, to fight off whatever dragon that you need slain. Or maybe I'll just be some weirdo in a tinfoil suit flailing around with a baseball bat, but perhaps it'll at least make you laugh.
Live. Laugh. Enjoy your birthday and every day of the rest of your life. In your darkest times, remember that you are loved beyond compare--not just by me but by many others. And if ever you need me, keep in mind that I am always lurking in the shadows, Louisville Slugger in tow.
Love,
Bunny
Happy Birthday.
I hate that I can't be there with you, hate that I'm too broke to even pay my rent by myself this month, much less buy you a present. Hopefully, I can get you something before I see you again, but that's not that point.
Of course, I don't even know if you'd want me there or not. Sometimes I think I'm just selfishly forcing my company onto you, while you awkwardly deal with me the best way you can and get rid of me as soon as is politely possible, like someone would do with a crazy old aunt or something. But maybe that's just paranoia talking again.
Let's talk about something else.
Do you remember when you turned 21? It was on a Monday, I think. You were taking summer classes, and that Monday and Tuesday were the days that you were taking your finals. At least I think so, anyway. My memory is going in my old age.
But once Wednesday arrived, it was on and popping. You, me, and L. partied non-stop Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to celebrate your 21st birthday. It was a different bar every night. Wednesday, Pelham's. Thursday, The Sports Nut. Friday, the strip in Anniston--The Crimson Tiger, The Office, The Smoking Moose. And Saturday, the place that eventually became our go-to place for every celebration, for every bored weekend night, and, of course, for every heartache--A.J.'s.
I have to go right by A.J.'s every month when I go to pay my rent. I paid my rent today, so I saw it again. It doesn't have quite the allure during the daytime that it does at night. Of course, I haven't been inside since you, me, and L. went for your 24th birthday (a couple of weeks late) back in 2010. Everything had already changed by then, but I guess we were all trying desperately to pretend it hadn't. You were in the process of moving on to a different life. You weren't even living in the apartment with me anymore. L. was disappearing inside herself with her unhappy marriage. And me? I was sitting at the top of the highest hill on a roller coaster named Insanity, suspended in that one moment before everything lets go and the cars crash down in free-fall to the bottom.
I still have pictures. I was still growing out that horrendous haircut. You were wearing one of your purple-and-green print shirts. (Your favorite colors. Are they still your favorites? I feel eaten up with guilt inside because I don't even know the answer to that question anymore.) I was wearing fake eyelashes; and one of them never quite stuck on right, and it was pretty obvious. I knew it then. I just didn't give a shit.
I think we had fun. Did we? I know I didn't drink very much because I'm the one who drove back home. I only remember that because we got stuck in a license check going up the mountain on Greenbrier, which APD had set up in hopes of making some drunk driving arrests on people leaving the bars. We were in L.'s car. I was driving, she was riding shotgun, and you were giggling in the backseat. I showed the cop my license and L.'s insurance card. He asked us who'd been drinking, and you leaned forward from the backseat and squealed, "Me! It's my birthday!" The cop kinda chuckled, handed our stuff back to us, told us to be careful, and waved us on through.
So, yeah, I guess we had fun. How the fuck I ended up being the one who was safest for driving, God only knows. There is a certain kind of irony in that.
I haven't been back there since. I haven't been to any bar since, actually. For someone whose entire vocation for years was binge-drinking, it's quite an accomplishment.
I could say that I haven't gone because I saw the error of my ways or some such bullshit, but I'd be lying. (And what use is it to lie here?) I haven't gone to any of them--and especially that one in particular--because it just won't be the same without you.
You have no idea how proud I am of you. You knew what you wanted in life. You weathered the hardships starting out, and then you made yourself into what you wanted to be. We've all changed since then. Some of the changes have been for the better, and some for the worse. But regardless, I admire you for knowing what you wanted and doing what you had to do to get it.
But I've changed, too. Sometimes, I wish you could see it. But then maybe you do see it. I don't know. Maybe, no matter who I am, I just really don't have any place in your life anymore. I wish I did. I wish like hell that I did. But maybe I don't. I don't know.
Regardless, though, despite all that's happened in our lives, all the changes we've gone through, and all the bullshit we've endured, I never stopped loving you. Not even once. Not for a single second. I won't tell you this because I'm not going to guilt-trip you, but I love you more than anything in this whole world and always have, even when I made you feel like I didn't. I'm so sorry for all that I put you through, and I know I'll never be able to make it up to you.
I want to say that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. But prudence says that I shouldn't force myself into your space, into your life, just to assuage my guilt. I have used you like a crutch for much too long, and it made you hate me. I don't blame you. I hate me, too. It wasn't right. It just...wasn't. There's no way to justify it.
But still, I will always be here for you, every moment of every day. I'm trying to stay in the shadows as much as I can, but all I need from you is one word to come bounding out again, sword in hand, armor flashing, to fight off whatever dragon that you need slain. Or maybe I'll just be some weirdo in a tinfoil suit flailing around with a baseball bat, but perhaps it'll at least make you laugh.
Live. Laugh. Enjoy your birthday and every day of the rest of your life. In your darkest times, remember that you are loved beyond compare--not just by me but by many others. And if ever you need me, keep in mind that I am always lurking in the shadows, Louisville Slugger in tow.
Love,
Bunny
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Today
Dear Z,
No, I have not forgotten.
But I sure hope you think I have, you sociopathic bastard.
~B.
No, I have not forgotten.
But I sure hope you think I have, you sociopathic bastard.
~B.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Hell, Layer 769
I know it's ridiculous, but I feel guilty of always whining here. Who the hell is gonna see it, first of all? That's the reason I started this thing in the first damn place, to say things that were on my mind somewhere that wouldn't hurt, bore, or annoy my friends. But I still feel bad about it, which is one reason I don't post nearly as much as I used to. There are only so many ways you can say "same shit, different day," after all.
As much as I feel bad about bitching, I'm going to do it, anyway. My hypocrisy knows no bounds, as it were.
I've been fretting over money and the future again. There's no need for me to go into detail or anything. It's just...I dunno. It gets harder and harder to make enough money to keep it together. Most months, I can't. And it's like, I know that to make more money, I have to work more, but when would I have time to work more? I already work my ass off constantly. And even if I *could* find and/or make more time to do more work, where am I gonna find reputable people who will pay me and not try to screw me out of every dime?
I had hoped that things would start looking up for me by now. Not necessarily that things would actually *be* better. Just that my perception of them would've changed with the onset of spring, but it hasn't happened yet. Which means all the stuff I chalked up to winter blues may be something more. Because I totally need more shit to worry about. *Eyeroll*
I find myself looking into the abyss again. I ran out of real reasons not to just step off into it a long time ago, so I've just been making shit up for the longest time. Every day, I get up, look into it, and lie to myself in order to put one foot in front of the other and make it through the day.
But it's getting harder and harder to come up with lies to tell myself. When I try to look ahead, all the future days of my life look no different from this one. Every time I think I've fallen as low as I can go, the bottom falls out from under me again, and I drop to yet another layer of hell.
Why can't I be like normal people? Why can't I just have a normal life with a normal job and live in a normal house and drive a normal car, etc., etc., etc.? It's easy to sit back and say, "Because I'm not normal," but let's be honest here. The one common denominator in all my failed endeavors...is me. What is so wrong with me that I can't do the things other people can?
Yes, I've been crazy all my life, but is that really the problem? I mean, other crazy people can do these things. I feel like I'm just...I dunno, defective in some way, I guess. Or maybe just defective in all ways. That's probably more like it.
It's not that I want to settle down and have a family. Oh, God, no. Please, anything but that. When God was handing out abilities, I clearly traded the nesting instinct for the ability to write badly. And I don't have a problem with that. But it would be nice to be able to live where I wanted, in the kind of place I wanted, and to have a job and finances that weren't always so precarious and a car I bought myself, rather than things that are always someone else's cast-offs. I just feel like my whole life's a house of cards, and the slightest breeze will just scatter the whole thing to the wind.
The worst part about it is that I'm so in over my head that I don't have the foggiest idea where to start on fixing it, or if it's even possible to fix it. So I just try desperately to tread water, which doesn't help and eventually just wears me out so that I sink farther and farther down.
I. Don't. Know. What. To. Do.
This is probably one of those times that I'd benefit from having a therapist. But having a therapist would require money, and having money requires working, and working requires me to somewhat be in my right mind, and somewhat being in my right mind would probably require me to...have a therapist.
Fuck. Do you see what I mean?
Vicious cycle. No escape. God, why do you hate me?
So every day, I'll just continue to look into the abyss and try to make up some sort of bullshit to get me through the day. Real hope is gone, so I'm clinging to false hope now. What happens when that runs out?
I don't know. I don't want to think about it.
As much as I feel bad about bitching, I'm going to do it, anyway. My hypocrisy knows no bounds, as it were.
I've been fretting over money and the future again. There's no need for me to go into detail or anything. It's just...I dunno. It gets harder and harder to make enough money to keep it together. Most months, I can't. And it's like, I know that to make more money, I have to work more, but when would I have time to work more? I already work my ass off constantly. And even if I *could* find and/or make more time to do more work, where am I gonna find reputable people who will pay me and not try to screw me out of every dime?
I had hoped that things would start looking up for me by now. Not necessarily that things would actually *be* better. Just that my perception of them would've changed with the onset of spring, but it hasn't happened yet. Which means all the stuff I chalked up to winter blues may be something more. Because I totally need more shit to worry about. *Eyeroll*
I find myself looking into the abyss again. I ran out of real reasons not to just step off into it a long time ago, so I've just been making shit up for the longest time. Every day, I get up, look into it, and lie to myself in order to put one foot in front of the other and make it through the day.
But it's getting harder and harder to come up with lies to tell myself. When I try to look ahead, all the future days of my life look no different from this one. Every time I think I've fallen as low as I can go, the bottom falls out from under me again, and I drop to yet another layer of hell.
Why can't I be like normal people? Why can't I just have a normal life with a normal job and live in a normal house and drive a normal car, etc., etc., etc.? It's easy to sit back and say, "Because I'm not normal," but let's be honest here. The one common denominator in all my failed endeavors...is me. What is so wrong with me that I can't do the things other people can?
Yes, I've been crazy all my life, but is that really the problem? I mean, other crazy people can do these things. I feel like I'm just...I dunno, defective in some way, I guess. Or maybe just defective in all ways. That's probably more like it.
It's not that I want to settle down and have a family. Oh, God, no. Please, anything but that. When God was handing out abilities, I clearly traded the nesting instinct for the ability to write badly. And I don't have a problem with that. But it would be nice to be able to live where I wanted, in the kind of place I wanted, and to have a job and finances that weren't always so precarious and a car I bought myself, rather than things that are always someone else's cast-offs. I just feel like my whole life's a house of cards, and the slightest breeze will just scatter the whole thing to the wind.
The worst part about it is that I'm so in over my head that I don't have the foggiest idea where to start on fixing it, or if it's even possible to fix it. So I just try desperately to tread water, which doesn't help and eventually just wears me out so that I sink farther and farther down.
I. Don't. Know. What. To. Do.
This is probably one of those times that I'd benefit from having a therapist. But having a therapist would require money, and having money requires working, and working requires me to somewhat be in my right mind, and somewhat being in my right mind would probably require me to...have a therapist.
Fuck. Do you see what I mean?
Vicious cycle. No escape. God, why do you hate me?
So every day, I'll just continue to look into the abyss and try to make up some sort of bullshit to get me through the day. Real hope is gone, so I'm clinging to false hope now. What happens when that runs out?
I don't know. I don't want to think about it.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
A Harsh Reminder
Ok, so...remember that job I was supposed to start soon? Yeah, so much for that. Stupid bitch's husband decided that it'd hurt their bottom line too much to pay dispatchers $2/call to dispatch out calls, so they basically told us all to go fuck ourselves because they'd decided they were going to use an automated system instead.
There was so much drama involved in this, but I don't even care enough to write it down. It was just a bunch of bullshit and a stupid woman who rolls over for an even dumber man. I've cried and I've raged already, and now I'm done with it.
I'm too old for this shit.
So I'm back to square one. I have a few ideas up my sleeve, but the fact still remains that I've been waiting for this stupid job, passing up other opportunities, and eating fucking ramen for 5 months because I thought there'd be a position for me. And in return, I got a "fuck you, not my problem."
But that's all right. It was just another reminder from the Universe that I can only depend on me, and trying to do otherwise is just a recipe for disaster. What's one more ass-fucking in a life full of forced sodomy, right?
The worst part of it all is that I'm out of my prescription acid reflux medicine and have been having to take the weaker over-the-counter generic of it. I said before that stress made my stomach hurt like whoa, and it's totally been doing it today. I could double up on the dose of the OTC stuff, but I don't know when I'll ever have any money to buy any more, so I've been trying to ration. At the moment, though, I feel like my stomach/esophagus/whatever has tied itself into knots and lit itself on fire.
Fuck. My. Life.
Oh, well. If this was how it was going to be, I'm glad I found out now rather than later, anyhow. I will not be dictated to by some man with a bug up his ass. I've already been down that road, and we see how that turned out. Let's just be grateful that I've rid myself of yet another couple of sociopaths in my life.
On to other things.
There was so much drama involved in this, but I don't even care enough to write it down. It was just a bunch of bullshit and a stupid woman who rolls over for an even dumber man. I've cried and I've raged already, and now I'm done with it.
I'm too old for this shit.
So I'm back to square one. I have a few ideas up my sleeve, but the fact still remains that I've been waiting for this stupid job, passing up other opportunities, and eating fucking ramen for 5 months because I thought there'd be a position for me. And in return, I got a "fuck you, not my problem."
But that's all right. It was just another reminder from the Universe that I can only depend on me, and trying to do otherwise is just a recipe for disaster. What's one more ass-fucking in a life full of forced sodomy, right?
The worst part of it all is that I'm out of my prescription acid reflux medicine and have been having to take the weaker over-the-counter generic of it. I said before that stress made my stomach hurt like whoa, and it's totally been doing it today. I could double up on the dose of the OTC stuff, but I don't know when I'll ever have any money to buy any more, so I've been trying to ration. At the moment, though, I feel like my stomach/esophagus/whatever has tied itself into knots and lit itself on fire.
Fuck. My. Life.
Oh, well. If this was how it was going to be, I'm glad I found out now rather than later, anyhow. I will not be dictated to by some man with a bug up his ass. I've already been down that road, and we see how that turned out. Let's just be grateful that I've rid myself of yet another couple of sociopaths in my life.
On to other things.
Friday, March 8, 2013
I'm Going Where?
So I'm going to Birmingham this weekend.
Yeah, I blinked a time or two myself when I said it out loud earlier. It almost seemed like I'd somehow gotten transported back to 2009 by accident or something. Although I suspect there won't be any drama this time because it's Kitty I'm going to see.
Ok, truth be told, this ain't the first time I've been to her new house. She came over here Friday before last, and I went back with her that Saturday afternoon and came back to my house on Sunday. I helped her do a few things around the house, and we shopped for home decor. And I did the fake flower arrangements on her fireplace mantle, LOL.
But even so, that was just a quick overnight jaunt, and to be honest, it shook me up quite enough inside. It wasn't her fault, of course, and it's not like I wasn't expecting it. But still, just being there and going to some of the old places seemed incongruous. In other words, it was heart-wrenching.
So I expect this weekend will be rough as well. But spending time with the most important person in my life is way more important than my personal hang-ups, so when she invited me, I didn't think twice about saying yes. I'll deal with the pain later.
I've got baggage from that stupid place, though, that goes way back before I ever even thought of any of them. It's where they sent me to the specialist when I was 6. About the ugly thing on my leg, you know. I went to appointment after appointment after appointment, but it didn't matter. The doctor knew there was nothing they could do. My parents knew there was nothing they could do. Even I knew. But I guess we kept going back in hopes of some sort of miracle, even as we watched the ugly spot spread and destroy the fat and connective tissue on the outside of my thigh. By the time I was 10, I'd given up. My whole outer right thigh looked like hell--the lesion looked worse then than it does now because it was still spreading, not burned out yet like it (more or less) is now--and I walked with a strange gait that wasn't quite a limp but wasn't quite *not* a limp, either, because the disease had made the affected leg shorter than the other.
I try not to talk about this shit because I'm fully aware that it's just a batch of first world problems. The doctor did, after all, tell me I was lucky the shit wasn't on my face, as that's apparently fairly common in people with this stupid disease.
But, yeah, that town and I go back a long way, and very little of it has ever been pleasant. That's where they told me my granny, the one and only person in this world who I think ever came close to understanding me, only had 6 months to live, after all. That was my freshman year in college, and I've felt adrift ever since.
I try not to let it bother me. Funny how often it seems to happen, though.
I remember back before Christmas, I'd met Kitty at a Ruby Tuesday back this side of that accursed shithole. This was before she moved into her new house (clearly). We were eating, and she started getting calls to her phone. Apparently, she had set the ADT alarm thingie wrong at their house on the way out, and the motion sensor thing kept going off. We finished eating, but it became obvious that it wasn't going to stop happening. We'd intended to do a little shopping after we ate, so, rather than abandon me for 45 minutes to go turn it off and meet me back where we were, she asked if I wanted to ride with her over there. I didn't *want* to, but I didn't want to make life more complicated for her, so I agreed.
I didn't go in, of course. When she hopped out, I smiled like everything was ok and sat quietly to wait while she did what she had to do inside. But just being there in her truck in the driveway was like having a stake through the heart. I'm pretty sure I talked to God more in the 5 minutes I sat out there in the driveway than I ever did in the nearly two years that I was actually welcome there.
"Why are you punishing me like this?" I asked, knowing that there wouldn't be an answer.
But somewhere in the night, the answer came back: "Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's you who's punishing yourself."
All my other thoughts came to a halt. The "answer" I got wasn't like a great voice from the Heavens or anything. It was just a vague feeling down deep inside me, but it was powerful enough to put the quietus on all the guilt and the pain and the suffering. It stunned my brain into a shocked silence, enough so that when Kitty came back, I was able to smile and not sound like a basket case.
It still hurts, though. The guilt, the pain, the suffering--they haven't gone away. I don't know that they ever will. I don't know who's punishing me, but there's no doubt in my mind that I deserve it.
I have more I want to say, but I'll do it later. It's time for my spinach pizza to come out of the oven. For now, I'll just say that I'm going to push it all aside and enjoy my time with Kitty this weekend. I'll deal with the pain and shit later. Kitty is far more important than my flogging myself over what should've been.
Yeah, I blinked a time or two myself when I said it out loud earlier. It almost seemed like I'd somehow gotten transported back to 2009 by accident or something. Although I suspect there won't be any drama this time because it's Kitty I'm going to see.
Ok, truth be told, this ain't the first time I've been to her new house. She came over here Friday before last, and I went back with her that Saturday afternoon and came back to my house on Sunday. I helped her do a few things around the house, and we shopped for home decor. And I did the fake flower arrangements on her fireplace mantle, LOL.
But even so, that was just a quick overnight jaunt, and to be honest, it shook me up quite enough inside. It wasn't her fault, of course, and it's not like I wasn't expecting it. But still, just being there and going to some of the old places seemed incongruous. In other words, it was heart-wrenching.
So I expect this weekend will be rough as well. But spending time with the most important person in my life is way more important than my personal hang-ups, so when she invited me, I didn't think twice about saying yes. I'll deal with the pain later.
I've got baggage from that stupid place, though, that goes way back before I ever even thought of any of them. It's where they sent me to the specialist when I was 6. About the ugly thing on my leg, you know. I went to appointment after appointment after appointment, but it didn't matter. The doctor knew there was nothing they could do. My parents knew there was nothing they could do. Even I knew. But I guess we kept going back in hopes of some sort of miracle, even as we watched the ugly spot spread and destroy the fat and connective tissue on the outside of my thigh. By the time I was 10, I'd given up. My whole outer right thigh looked like hell--the lesion looked worse then than it does now because it was still spreading, not burned out yet like it (more or less) is now--and I walked with a strange gait that wasn't quite a limp but wasn't quite *not* a limp, either, because the disease had made the affected leg shorter than the other.
I try not to talk about this shit because I'm fully aware that it's just a batch of first world problems. The doctor did, after all, tell me I was lucky the shit wasn't on my face, as that's apparently fairly common in people with this stupid disease.
But, yeah, that town and I go back a long way, and very little of it has ever been pleasant. That's where they told me my granny, the one and only person in this world who I think ever came close to understanding me, only had 6 months to live, after all. That was my freshman year in college, and I've felt adrift ever since.
I try not to let it bother me. Funny how often it seems to happen, though.
I remember back before Christmas, I'd met Kitty at a Ruby Tuesday back this side of that accursed shithole. This was before she moved into her new house (clearly). We were eating, and she started getting calls to her phone. Apparently, she had set the ADT alarm thingie wrong at their house on the way out, and the motion sensor thing kept going off. We finished eating, but it became obvious that it wasn't going to stop happening. We'd intended to do a little shopping after we ate, so, rather than abandon me for 45 minutes to go turn it off and meet me back where we were, she asked if I wanted to ride with her over there. I didn't *want* to, but I didn't want to make life more complicated for her, so I agreed.
I didn't go in, of course. When she hopped out, I smiled like everything was ok and sat quietly to wait while she did what she had to do inside. But just being there in her truck in the driveway was like having a stake through the heart. I'm pretty sure I talked to God more in the 5 minutes I sat out there in the driveway than I ever did in the nearly two years that I was actually welcome there.
"Why are you punishing me like this?" I asked, knowing that there wouldn't be an answer.
But somewhere in the night, the answer came back: "Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's you who's punishing yourself."
All my other thoughts came to a halt. The "answer" I got wasn't like a great voice from the Heavens or anything. It was just a vague feeling down deep inside me, but it was powerful enough to put the quietus on all the guilt and the pain and the suffering. It stunned my brain into a shocked silence, enough so that when Kitty came back, I was able to smile and not sound like a basket case.
It still hurts, though. The guilt, the pain, the suffering--they haven't gone away. I don't know that they ever will. I don't know who's punishing me, but there's no doubt in my mind that I deserve it.
I have more I want to say, but I'll do it later. It's time for my spinach pizza to come out of the oven. For now, I'll just say that I'm going to push it all aside and enjoy my time with Kitty this weekend. I'll deal with the pain and shit later. Kitty is far more important than my flogging myself over what should've been.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Strange Things Overheard In Bunny's House At 2 AM
I have some of the best and most hilarious conversations sometimes. (Context: My best guy friend, B., in Huntsville, and I have a running "evil Bunneh" joke going that pops up semi-regularly in other conversations.)
Me: I wish I were smart enough to understand science and math. On the other hand, can you imagine me as a nuclear physicist? Probably not the best idea.
Him: Jesus, a soap opera villain who could give herself superpowers? No, thank you.
Me: HAHA! Exactly.
Me: I wish I were smart enough to understand science and math. On the other hand, can you imagine me as a nuclear physicist? Probably not the best idea.
Him: Jesus, a soap opera villain who could give herself superpowers? No, thank you.
Me: HAHA! Exactly.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Damn...Just...Damn
This is a very odd post for me to write, but I don't want to bore my friends with my thoughts on the matter, so I'm posting them here.
I finished my work that absolutely had to be done ASAP yesterday, and I've been rewarding myself by screwing around and doing a whole lot of nothing today.
Well, I was sitting here playing Neopets (shut up) when my mother called. She was calling to say that my second cousin? third cousin? something? hung himself today.
I'm a little shell-shocked.
First of all, let me just say that we weren't close. So if you happen to be reading this, please don't feel any sympathy for me. Feel it for his family instead.
On the other hand, I'm a lot more shaken over it than I should be, considering I saw him maybe once or twice in my life and wouldn't know him if I'd passed him on the street.
I'm sorry that he's gone. I'm sorry for his family who's already suffered so much--his 15-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident shortly before Christmas. I'm sorry for the pain that he felt that drove him to do this. It takes some balls to hang yourself, after all. It's not a "cry for help" like slitting your wrists. If you hang yourself, you truly wanted to go. I'm sorry for all that.
But what bothers me the most--and I would never say this to anyone because I don't want to make someone else's loss about me--is seeing how the old demons affect all of us.
He was related to me on my mother's side. You know, the side where the crazy comes from. Now that he's gone, people will think he killed himself because his daughter died (spoiler: he didn't; it's never that simple), or they'll say things like they don't understand why he did it, blah, blah. Those people are all dicks.
I've stood on that same precipice that he stood on this morning (or whenever it was). I had the same demons screaming in my ear, telling me that all hope was gone, pushing me toward the edge. I've looked into the abyss and had the abyss look back at me. And literally the only difference between him and me is that when he looked into it, he didn't find anything there to hold him back. That's it. That's the only difference.
It's sad to me that so many of us, so many on the Tapley side of the family, are so sick. The demons infect all of our minds. Some of us have more of them than others. But the genetic dice just don't roll 7s for any of us. It's gone on for at least 5 generations, and even as the bloodline is diluted, it's still not enough to exorcise them. There are so many who have drunk themselves to death, so many who are strung out on drugs, so many who are in jail (which is where he hung himself, actually), so many who are too ill to function in society. And you know what? There but for the grace of God go I.
To my knowledge, I am one of the few--and perhaps the only--one of us who's medicated. But who's to say that someday, when I'm in my 40s, physically and mentally sick, poor, and all alone in the world, perhaps on one of those late autumn nights that make my demons speak so loudly and so seductively, I won't look into the abyss myself and find absolutely to nothing save me and then simply step off into eternity?
I don't mourn for myself, but for all of those who did nothing but be born into the genetic cesspool that is my family. In our cases, it's not a matter of having a couple of screwy black sheep or a few who went wrong somewhere. We're all sick, all dysfunctional, all fundamentally broken. There are too many of us who are fucked up in the exact same ways for it to be some sort of coincidence. We are ill because we were born this way. Even if I wanted children, I wouldn't have them because what kind of horrible person would knowingly pass this curse on to a child?
I look at my cousin (my only first cousin, or, more accurately, the only one I semi-claim). He was an alcoholic by the time he was 15 years old. They covered for him, of course. They're Baptists to the core, after all. Then, I think of his kid. The little girl's not even a year old yet, and even though she doesn't know it and won't know it for a long time, she's cursed. She'll carry her own demons for the rest of her life, for no other reason than because she had the misfortune of being born with genetic crazy. And when I think about that, when I think about a poor little child who didn't ask to be here, being forced to live with this curse, I have to truly ask the Universe if there really is a benevolent God. What kind of God would allow that?
Slight tangent: At my great-uncle's funeral last week, two different preachers spoke. They talked about God and Jesus and Heaven and all the things preachers say at funerals. And I sat there, stewing in absolute agony because I'm an empathic sponge who soaks up the emotions of everyone around me and internally intensifies them tenfold. Hell, I wasn't even particularly close to the man, and I probably cried more than anybody there because I feeling my own nebulous, vague feelings of sadness and then the pain of everyone else in the room, times ten. But I digress.
As I sat there, listening to those preachers and trying to distract myself by discreetly watching the other people in the chapel, I was struck by how many people seemed to sincerely believe what was being said. I envy those people. I wish I could just simply...believe. But I can't. I'm plagued with doubts and fears, and, ultimately, I don't believe it's healthy to be as narrow-minded and intolerant as those who buy into everything they're told lock, stock, and barrel tend to be. But in my darkest hours, I do wish that I could be so unshakeable in my beliefs that I could cling to them in spite of everything the way that other people do.
But it's not that easy for me. It never has been. I have too many questions.
I do believe that there is something greater than we are. There is something else out there. I'm almost certain. But what is it? I can't really go any farther than that.
I can't believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent God. I've seen too many things to think that God can be all those things. I've stood at the crossroads in the darkest hour of the night with demons whispering in my ear, the crossroads where the only choices are life and death. I've cried out to God to help me and gotten no answer. I've reached out to other people--the people I loved most in the world--and begged them to help me because I didn't want to die but I couldn't hold the demons off myself any longer. And I watched while those people turned away and left me to figure it out for myself. I've known beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I died, there was not one single solitary soul in the world who would give a shit one way or the other. And my suffering pales in comparison to others'. How anyone can look around and see all this and still believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent God is a mystery to me.
But I do know that there's something out there, some sort of higher consciousness, something that we're evolving toward. I believe in reincarnation. I believe that there are people in the world we're connected to, whether we like it or not. I've seen too much in my life *not* to believe in these things. I even believe that, ultimately, Jesus and Buddha and Krishna and others were all the same person, the same soul, appearing to different people in different times to show them what they needed to see. But can I believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-benevolent God? No. No. I just...can't. I envy those who can, but I don't have the ability.
The most satisfying explanation I've been able to find is that God is all-benevolent, but not all-powerful and not necessarily even all-knowing. That's not to say he/she/it is not a powerful being. Certainly, he/she/it is more powerful than all humans that ever were combined. He/she/it is just not powerful enough to help all of us, all the time, and that's why we're supposed to help each other and, in some cases, ourselves. But even that doesn't completely satisfy me. I think I'll be searching for the truth my whole life, which, in some ways, is better than unquestioning acceptance. Much harder, yes, but perhaps better.
If certain branches of Hinduism are believed, our souls choose our incarnations and that the choices we make influences the experience we have in each of our lives and that those experiences are what ultimately lead us to God. I've often thought that if that were true, then I must've been a moron to choose the life I live. But perhaps I chose it because it's the path of the seeker. Perhaps if I hadn't gone through all the things I've gone through, I either wouldn't believe at all or I'd just swallow whatever my preacher told me, hook, line, and sinker. Then, I would never have found the path that, maybe, will lead me toward God.
Or maybe it's all just a bunch of bullshit, and we'll be nothing more than worm food when we die. I don't know.
Rest in peace, cousin. You deserved a hell of a lot better hand than you were dealt in this life. Maybe you'll get a royal flush next go-round.
I finished my work that absolutely had to be done ASAP yesterday, and I've been rewarding myself by screwing around and doing a whole lot of nothing today.
Well, I was sitting here playing Neopets (shut up) when my mother called. She was calling to say that my second cousin? third cousin? something? hung himself today.
I'm a little shell-shocked.
First of all, let me just say that we weren't close. So if you happen to be reading this, please don't feel any sympathy for me. Feel it for his family instead.
On the other hand, I'm a lot more shaken over it than I should be, considering I saw him maybe once or twice in my life and wouldn't know him if I'd passed him on the street.
I'm sorry that he's gone. I'm sorry for his family who's already suffered so much--his 15-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident shortly before Christmas. I'm sorry for the pain that he felt that drove him to do this. It takes some balls to hang yourself, after all. It's not a "cry for help" like slitting your wrists. If you hang yourself, you truly wanted to go. I'm sorry for all that.
But what bothers me the most--and I would never say this to anyone because I don't want to make someone else's loss about me--is seeing how the old demons affect all of us.
He was related to me on my mother's side. You know, the side where the crazy comes from. Now that he's gone, people will think he killed himself because his daughter died (spoiler: he didn't; it's never that simple), or they'll say things like they don't understand why he did it, blah, blah. Those people are all dicks.
I've stood on that same precipice that he stood on this morning (or whenever it was). I had the same demons screaming in my ear, telling me that all hope was gone, pushing me toward the edge. I've looked into the abyss and had the abyss look back at me. And literally the only difference between him and me is that when he looked into it, he didn't find anything there to hold him back. That's it. That's the only difference.
It's sad to me that so many of us, so many on the Tapley side of the family, are so sick. The demons infect all of our minds. Some of us have more of them than others. But the genetic dice just don't roll 7s for any of us. It's gone on for at least 5 generations, and even as the bloodline is diluted, it's still not enough to exorcise them. There are so many who have drunk themselves to death, so many who are strung out on drugs, so many who are in jail (which is where he hung himself, actually), so many who are too ill to function in society. And you know what? There but for the grace of God go I.
To my knowledge, I am one of the few--and perhaps the only--one of us who's medicated. But who's to say that someday, when I'm in my 40s, physically and mentally sick, poor, and all alone in the world, perhaps on one of those late autumn nights that make my demons speak so loudly and so seductively, I won't look into the abyss myself and find absolutely to nothing save me and then simply step off into eternity?
I don't mourn for myself, but for all of those who did nothing but be born into the genetic cesspool that is my family. In our cases, it's not a matter of having a couple of screwy black sheep or a few who went wrong somewhere. We're all sick, all dysfunctional, all fundamentally broken. There are too many of us who are fucked up in the exact same ways for it to be some sort of coincidence. We are ill because we were born this way. Even if I wanted children, I wouldn't have them because what kind of horrible person would knowingly pass this curse on to a child?
I look at my cousin (my only first cousin, or, more accurately, the only one I semi-claim). He was an alcoholic by the time he was 15 years old. They covered for him, of course. They're Baptists to the core, after all. Then, I think of his kid. The little girl's not even a year old yet, and even though she doesn't know it and won't know it for a long time, she's cursed. She'll carry her own demons for the rest of her life, for no other reason than because she had the misfortune of being born with genetic crazy. And when I think about that, when I think about a poor little child who didn't ask to be here, being forced to live with this curse, I have to truly ask the Universe if there really is a benevolent God. What kind of God would allow that?
Slight tangent: At my great-uncle's funeral last week, two different preachers spoke. They talked about God and Jesus and Heaven and all the things preachers say at funerals. And I sat there, stewing in absolute agony because I'm an empathic sponge who soaks up the emotions of everyone around me and internally intensifies them tenfold. Hell, I wasn't even particularly close to the man, and I probably cried more than anybody there because I feeling my own nebulous, vague feelings of sadness and then the pain of everyone else in the room, times ten. But I digress.
As I sat there, listening to those preachers and trying to distract myself by discreetly watching the other people in the chapel, I was struck by how many people seemed to sincerely believe what was being said. I envy those people. I wish I could just simply...believe. But I can't. I'm plagued with doubts and fears, and, ultimately, I don't believe it's healthy to be as narrow-minded and intolerant as those who buy into everything they're told lock, stock, and barrel tend to be. But in my darkest hours, I do wish that I could be so unshakeable in my beliefs that I could cling to them in spite of everything the way that other people do.
But it's not that easy for me. It never has been. I have too many questions.
I do believe that there is something greater than we are. There is something else out there. I'm almost certain. But what is it? I can't really go any farther than that.
I can't believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent God. I've seen too many things to think that God can be all those things. I've stood at the crossroads in the darkest hour of the night with demons whispering in my ear, the crossroads where the only choices are life and death. I've cried out to God to help me and gotten no answer. I've reached out to other people--the people I loved most in the world--and begged them to help me because I didn't want to die but I couldn't hold the demons off myself any longer. And I watched while those people turned away and left me to figure it out for myself. I've known beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I died, there was not one single solitary soul in the world who would give a shit one way or the other. And my suffering pales in comparison to others'. How anyone can look around and see all this and still believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent God is a mystery to me.
But I do know that there's something out there, some sort of higher consciousness, something that we're evolving toward. I believe in reincarnation. I believe that there are people in the world we're connected to, whether we like it or not. I've seen too much in my life *not* to believe in these things. I even believe that, ultimately, Jesus and Buddha and Krishna and others were all the same person, the same soul, appearing to different people in different times to show them what they needed to see. But can I believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-benevolent God? No. No. I just...can't. I envy those who can, but I don't have the ability.
The most satisfying explanation I've been able to find is that God is all-benevolent, but not all-powerful and not necessarily even all-knowing. That's not to say he/she/it is not a powerful being. Certainly, he/she/it is more powerful than all humans that ever were combined. He/she/it is just not powerful enough to help all of us, all the time, and that's why we're supposed to help each other and, in some cases, ourselves. But even that doesn't completely satisfy me. I think I'll be searching for the truth my whole life, which, in some ways, is better than unquestioning acceptance. Much harder, yes, but perhaps better.
If certain branches of Hinduism are believed, our souls choose our incarnations and that the choices we make influences the experience we have in each of our lives and that those experiences are what ultimately lead us to God. I've often thought that if that were true, then I must've been a moron to choose the life I live. But perhaps I chose it because it's the path of the seeker. Perhaps if I hadn't gone through all the things I've gone through, I either wouldn't believe at all or I'd just swallow whatever my preacher told me, hook, line, and sinker. Then, I would never have found the path that, maybe, will lead me toward God.
Or maybe it's all just a bunch of bullshit, and we'll be nothing more than worm food when we die. I don't know.
Rest in peace, cousin. You deserved a hell of a lot better hand than you were dealt in this life. Maybe you'll get a royal flush next go-round.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Swinging In For A Moment
I made a peach cobbler today because I am awesome.
This was the recipe I used: Easy Peach Cobbler. I used a much bigger can of peaches (25 oz.), though, and drained off half the syrup. I put some vanilla in the batter, too. Now I'm just waiting for the thing to cool enough for me to eat it.
In other news, my great-uncle died today. He'd been sick for awhile with lung cancer that had metastasized. We weren't really close, but I'm sorry for his wife (my mother's aunt) and his family. And because I'm not completely rotten to the core, I'm going to go down there Wednesday to go to the funeral home with them. Then, I'll most likely stay at my mama's house and go to the funeral on Thursday.
I guess the only good thing about it is that it kinda brought their little family back together again. Their daughter was estranged from them because she married someone they didn't approve of. (I thought that was kinda terrible, personally, but nobody asked me.) Anyway, my mama let their daughter (who's, what, my second cousin?) know that he was sick back in, I think, August. (Our part of the family was never estranged from her, FYI. It was just her mother and father who more or less disowned her.) She wanted to come and see her daddy, so she called her mama and asked if she could come. I was glad that they let her come.
Anyway, she asked my mother to please go with her because she was pretty nervous, and Mother did. I think a lot of shit got patched up, some 30-odd years later, and she got to spend several months with her daddy before he died. I was very happy that happened because I think the whole deal was extremely sad to begin with. And now, at least, my great-aunt has her daughter to be there for her now, and vice-versa.
Ok, going to get some of that damn pie now. I hope it's good.
Edit: It's really, really good, even if I did make it. I highly recommend that there recipe, with my minor alterations.
This was the recipe I used: Easy Peach Cobbler. I used a much bigger can of peaches (25 oz.), though, and drained off half the syrup. I put some vanilla in the batter, too. Now I'm just waiting for the thing to cool enough for me to eat it.
In other news, my great-uncle died today. He'd been sick for awhile with lung cancer that had metastasized. We weren't really close, but I'm sorry for his wife (my mother's aunt) and his family. And because I'm not completely rotten to the core, I'm going to go down there Wednesday to go to the funeral home with them. Then, I'll most likely stay at my mama's house and go to the funeral on Thursday.
I guess the only good thing about it is that it kinda brought their little family back together again. Their daughter was estranged from them because she married someone they didn't approve of. (I thought that was kinda terrible, personally, but nobody asked me.) Anyway, my mama let their daughter (who's, what, my second cousin?) know that he was sick back in, I think, August. (Our part of the family was never estranged from her, FYI. It was just her mother and father who more or less disowned her.) She wanted to come and see her daddy, so she called her mama and asked if she could come. I was glad that they let her come.
Anyway, she asked my mother to please go with her because she was pretty nervous, and Mother did. I think a lot of shit got patched up, some 30-odd years later, and she got to spend several months with her daddy before he died. I was very happy that happened because I think the whole deal was extremely sad to begin with. And now, at least, my great-aunt has her daughter to be there for her now, and vice-versa.
Ok, going to get some of that damn pie now. I hope it's good.
Edit: It's really, really good, even if I did make it. I highly recommend that there recipe, with my minor alterations.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Valentine's Day
Even though I've never had anyone but my parents and Kitty do something nice for me for Valentine's Day, I still like the holiday. It's super-cute, for one. And I like sharing the lurve with people. Holidays are kinda important to me, even if they seem stupid to other people. I dunno, call me the eternal optimist or something.
So you can imagine how delighted I was when not one but two of my friends posted this on my Facebook wall today:
It was in a Cracked photoplasty. And since I have a thing for Russia, tyrants, dictators, and sociopaths, it immediately made them think of me, apparently.
I love it!
My darling friends know me so, so, so well. :D
So you can imagine how delighted I was when not one but two of my friends posted this on my Facebook wall today:
It was in a Cracked photoplasty. And since I have a thing for Russia, tyrants, dictators, and sociopaths, it immediately made them think of me, apparently.
I love it!
My darling friends know me so, so, so well. :D
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The Universe Has It Out For Me
*Sigh*
When it rains, it pours.
The last 2-3 weeks have just been an outright clusterfuck.
Let's see, week before last, I started feeling ill. At first, I thought I might have that stupid stomach virus that's been going around. But I wasn't throwing up or anything. My stomach just hurt and hurt and hurt so bad. The only way I could get away from it was to sleep, which I could only do for a couple of hours at a time because it woke me up, hurting. It hurt, and I felt nauseated, which is terrible for me because, in case I've never mentioned it before, I'm absolutely phobic of vomiting. I would rather be shot than to be sick to my stomach.
Luckily, I never actually was sick, but I felt so ill. It dragged on and on and on, painfully and nauseously. I got to where I couldn't eat or even drink anything. And sleep was more or less out of the question. Finally, after a week of that shit (and about 3 days of not eating, barely drinking, and hardly sleeping), I went to my mama's house to go to the doctor.
The verdict was acid reflux. Yes, I'm embarrassed that I went to the doctor for something so stupid. But, hell, how was I supposed to know? I really thought I was dying. But apparently, between my shitty diet, my propensity to inhale handfuls of Tylenol/Advil/Aleve/aspirin to get rid of headaches, my caffeine addiction, and the incessant stress and worry of my life, I managed to break my insides or something. She wrote me a prescription for Prevacid, and I felt better after the first one. After about 3 days, I was back to normal.
I ended up staying at my parents' for about 5 days so Daddy could change the squealing belt on my truck. I got behind on work, but that's really nothing unusual in my life. I came back home on Sunday, and the leaky-ass faucet in my bathtub had been repaired, which made me happy.
I did what I had to do on Sunday and then spent Monday running errands and shit, so I could go hard at work for the rest of the week. On my way back from dropping my rent check off Monday, the battery light on my truck came on. Luckily, I was within a couple of miles of the house. It was dark, so I couldn't check it until the next day. My first thought was that the new belt Daddy had put on had either broken or slipped, but nope. Belt's still intact, and the pulleys spin fine as well. Sooo...that leaves the goddamned alternator.
So I went to the Dollar General a couple of miles up the road Tuesday to buy some groceries to get me by until Daddy can get home and fix my truck. The charge on the battery hasn't noticeably dropped, but I haven't gone far yet, either. I don't want to push my luck. I mean, it's not like I have any friends I can call to come get me. *Eyeroll*
So I've been stuck in the house, which makes me go stir-crazy in practically no time. I had family drama Tuesday night. Oh, and my great-uncle is dying, so that's great. Yesterday was relatively calm and productive, at least for me. Which, of course, means that all hell broke loose today.
One of my clients starting bitching about her blogs and when she gets them--which she pays a discounted rate for, so I'm not too sure what the big fucking deal is. That pissed me off. Then, I ended up on the phone with my lovely boss T. for, like, an hour. I didn't mind that because she's fun to talk to, but it just got me behind. THEN, I realized that my sites had been hacked. And not just one or two of them. The motherfuckers got TWENTY-TWO sites.
Now, I have to go through 22 sites, reinstall Wordpress on each one, redo the themes, change the Wordpress passwords, and change the database passwords. I've done 9 so far. And I still have a pile of client work to do, too.
And to top it all off? My stomach, which was fine up until today, is killing me again. I've been taking my meds like I'm supposed to, and I've had a couple of antacids today, too, but I feel like I'm being jabbed between my tits with a red hot poker. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm PMS-ing Why the fuck not?
I know there are a lot of factors contributing to it, but I think it's telling that today, when the shit hit the fan, the pain came roaring back with a vengeance. But...more on that later. I still have 13 sites to clean up and a ton of stuff for paying customers as well. I wanna curl up in my bed and cry, but what good would it do?
FML.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Writing Blog Update
And now, from the black, black sea of despair, self-loathing, and insomnia, comes a long-awaited (by no one) update to my writing blog--a poem called "Wormwood."
Saturday, January 26, 2013
I Hate You, Brain
Sigh.
My circadian rhythm has gone from screwy to non-existent. Sometimes, I sleep during the day; sometimes, I sleep at night. It has neither rhyme nor reason anymore, and it's frustrating as hell because it's throwing everything off. I don't even know what day it is anymore.
I've used the Ambien so much lately, trying to regulate things, that it doesn't seem to work anymore. So I'm leaving that off for the time being in hopes that it'll regain its effectiveness eventually.
I go for days without sleeping, and then I go down for way too damn long. I'm having to use the over-the-counter sleeping pills again, the ones that knock me out for hours on end. I went to bed at 8 pm last night and didn't get up until 3:30 pm today. Oh, and I napped about 2 hours before officially going to bed last night. So that's, what, nearly 22 hours of sleep? And the worst thing of it all is that I could go back to sleep right now.
It's messed up my working, messed up my taking my meds, messed up all kinds of things. WTF, brain? Just...WTF? I HATE YOU.
That is all.
My circadian rhythm has gone from screwy to non-existent. Sometimes, I sleep during the day; sometimes, I sleep at night. It has neither rhyme nor reason anymore, and it's frustrating as hell because it's throwing everything off. I don't even know what day it is anymore.
I've used the Ambien so much lately, trying to regulate things, that it doesn't seem to work anymore. So I'm leaving that off for the time being in hopes that it'll regain its effectiveness eventually.
I go for days without sleeping, and then I go down for way too damn long. I'm having to use the over-the-counter sleeping pills again, the ones that knock me out for hours on end. I went to bed at 8 pm last night and didn't get up until 3:30 pm today. Oh, and I napped about 2 hours before officially going to bed last night. So that's, what, nearly 22 hours of sleep? And the worst thing of it all is that I could go back to sleep right now.
It's messed up my working, messed up my taking my meds, messed up all kinds of things. WTF, brain? Just...WTF? I HATE YOU.
That is all.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
I Still Miss You
I've changed the presets in my truck
So those old songs don't sneak up
They still find me
And remind me
Yeah, you come back that easy
Try restaurants I've never been to
Order new things off the menu
That I never tried
'Cause you didn't like
Two drinks in, and you were by my side
I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
And I still miss you
I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you
I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you
I still miss you
I never knew 'til you were gone
How many pages you were on
It never ends
I keep turnin'
Line after line, you're there again
I don't know how to let you go
You're so deep down in my soul
I feel helpless, so hopeless
It's a door that never closes
No, I don't know how to do this
I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
And I still miss you
I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you
I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
But I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you
I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
But I still miss you
I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you
I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you
I still miss you
I still miss you
Sunday, January 20, 2013
January 20th
January 20th--just another reminder of one more thing I've lost.
Too bad this one was the most important.
Too bad this one was the most important.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Can I Please Change My Fucking Latitude Already?
I hate winter.
I hate it with the flaming passion of a thousands suns.
It doesn't matter what I do, how hard I try, I cannot seem to shake the shitty feeling for any length of time in the fall or winter.
When my doctor upped my Lamictal back in November, I felt great...for a couple of weeks. Post-Christmas, I was excited about the new year. That lasted for about...three or four days. Now, I hate everyone and everything and haven't done a single, solitary thing on that list of shit I was hoping to get accomplished this year. And the idea of even attempting it exhausts me.
I sleep too much (11 hours last night). I eat too much (let's not even go there). And I don't do nearly enough. I just sit here and seethe in blackness and hatred.
Extra Wellbutrin and extra caffeine helped for a few days, but I think my body's adjusted to it by now, so I've cut back. No sense in wasting the shit if it's not helping anyway. I'll save it for another time, when it might actually do some good.
I hate myself. For what? Everything. What haven't I fucked up in my life? Let's see, I'm 29 years old. I still live in shitty Alabama in a shitty town in a shitty apartment. I flunked out of grad school. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. I have three friends in the whole world, none of whom even live in the same county. I have one of the most ignoble jobs in the world. I'm fat and physically unhealthy and exhausted. I'm bipolar and apparently have seasonal affective on top of it. I killed everything that even came close to making me happy for me by virtue of being crazy and an idiot. And the worst part of it all is that there's absolutely no prospect of it ever getting any better. The rest of my life will be this way because, even though I try so hard, everything I touch turns to shit, and I have the worst luck on the planet.
Lately, I've been thinking about how unfair it is, that I'm essentially a cripple because I'm crazy. Yes, I know, life's not fair, blah, blah, blah. I wonder what kinds of horrible things I did in my past lives to merit this shit. Of course, in some traditions, they say that our souls choose each incarnation that we're born into. If that's true, I'd love to know what kind of retarded bullshit I was thinking when I picked this. Note to self: Never again.
Intellectually, I know this is caused by a lack of sunlight, and the fact that I'm back to sleeping until it's dark outside is not helping in the least. Emotionally? I wonder if I've died and gone to hell but somehow am not aware of it.
One of the reasons I want to move to the tropics (aside from the ocean, the warmth, and the fact that it's an excellent place to run the hell away from your problems) is that seasonal affective is basically unheard of there. And it makes sense--there's not that much variation in the lengths of the days and nights and, of course, it's always warm.
Changes in latitude, changes in attitude, as Mr. Buffett would say.
So. Tired. Of. Fighting. It.
I'm going to keep doing it because I don't know anything else, but fuck. It'd be nice if it didn't seem like a constant struggle.
Ok, I can't decide which Seneca quote I should use to close out this blog (like some pretentious douchebag), so I'll just go with both of them.
"There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse."
"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."
I hate it with the flaming passion of a thousands suns.
It doesn't matter what I do, how hard I try, I cannot seem to shake the shitty feeling for any length of time in the fall or winter.
When my doctor upped my Lamictal back in November, I felt great...for a couple of weeks. Post-Christmas, I was excited about the new year. That lasted for about...three or four days. Now, I hate everyone and everything and haven't done a single, solitary thing on that list of shit I was hoping to get accomplished this year. And the idea of even attempting it exhausts me.
I sleep too much (11 hours last night). I eat too much (let's not even go there). And I don't do nearly enough. I just sit here and seethe in blackness and hatred.
Extra Wellbutrin and extra caffeine helped for a few days, but I think my body's adjusted to it by now, so I've cut back. No sense in wasting the shit if it's not helping anyway. I'll save it for another time, when it might actually do some good.
I hate myself. For what? Everything. What haven't I fucked up in my life? Let's see, I'm 29 years old. I still live in shitty Alabama in a shitty town in a shitty apartment. I flunked out of grad school. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. I have three friends in the whole world, none of whom even live in the same county. I have one of the most ignoble jobs in the world. I'm fat and physically unhealthy and exhausted. I'm bipolar and apparently have seasonal affective on top of it. I killed everything that even came close to making me happy for me by virtue of being crazy and an idiot. And the worst part of it all is that there's absolutely no prospect of it ever getting any better. The rest of my life will be this way because, even though I try so hard, everything I touch turns to shit, and I have the worst luck on the planet.
Lately, I've been thinking about how unfair it is, that I'm essentially a cripple because I'm crazy. Yes, I know, life's not fair, blah, blah, blah. I wonder what kinds of horrible things I did in my past lives to merit this shit. Of course, in some traditions, they say that our souls choose each incarnation that we're born into. If that's true, I'd love to know what kind of retarded bullshit I was thinking when I picked this. Note to self: Never again.
Intellectually, I know this is caused by a lack of sunlight, and the fact that I'm back to sleeping until it's dark outside is not helping in the least. Emotionally? I wonder if I've died and gone to hell but somehow am not aware of it.
One of the reasons I want to move to the tropics (aside from the ocean, the warmth, and the fact that it's an excellent place to run the hell away from your problems) is that seasonal affective is basically unheard of there. And it makes sense--there's not that much variation in the lengths of the days and nights and, of course, it's always warm.
Changes in latitude, changes in attitude, as Mr. Buffett would say.
So. Tired. Of. Fighting. It.
I'm going to keep doing it because I don't know anything else, but fuck. It'd be nice if it didn't seem like a constant struggle.
Ok, I can't decide which Seneca quote I should use to close out this blog (like some pretentious douchebag), so I'll just go with both of them.
"There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse."
"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
She Only Drinks Coffee At Midnight
Proof that God loves me and wants me to be happy:
Daddy bought me that giant mug when we were at Walmart Saturday. Today's its inaugural run. It holds between 1/2 and 3/4 of a pot of coffee. Also, I heard "Meet Virginia" on the radio earlier. I don't know what that has to do with this post, but it at least explains the title.
Daddy bought me that giant mug when we were at Walmart Saturday. Today's its inaugural run. It holds between 1/2 and 3/4 of a pot of coffee. Also, I heard "Meet Virginia" on the radio earlier. I don't know what that has to do with this post, but it at least explains the title.
Monday, January 14, 2013
More Letters That Can Never Be Sent
Dear X,
I'm so happy for you. No, really, I am. I wish I could tell you to your face, but I'm not that much of a presumptuous asshole. I'm not going to ruin anything by sticking my nose in it in any shape, form, or fashion.
At one point, I thought I'd be upset, but no. I was months ago when I found out, but now? I'm just happy for you--so, so happy. Maybe a little sad and wistful that I can't be a part of it in any way, but it doesn't take away from the fact that my bruised and battered heart is still smiling for you.
Don't ever doubt that I love you and feel happy for no other reason than that I know that you are. And I'll show you that by staying away, so as not to ruin your happiness. But if you ever need anything, anytime, anywhere, you know where to find me. Maybe I won't fuck it up so badly in the next lifetime.
Congratulations, my love. May the happiness you feel today be nothing in comparison to what you will feel for the rest of your life.
~Bunny
Dear Y,
Thank you for being there. In some small, strange way, I feel that, since a part of me is always with you, I can be there, too, in a weird, vicarious way. Thank you so much for that and for everything else, too.
Don't ever doubt that I love you as well, and that I'll be there for you any time you need me, anytime at all.
Be happy, honey. Be happy for them, and be happy with your own life. God knows, you of all people deserve it.
~Bunz
Dear Z,
Don't fuck it up, you stupid sonofabitch.
~B. Rabbit
I'm so happy for you. No, really, I am. I wish I could tell you to your face, but I'm not that much of a presumptuous asshole. I'm not going to ruin anything by sticking my nose in it in any shape, form, or fashion.
At one point, I thought I'd be upset, but no. I was months ago when I found out, but now? I'm just happy for you--so, so happy. Maybe a little sad and wistful that I can't be a part of it in any way, but it doesn't take away from the fact that my bruised and battered heart is still smiling for you.
Don't ever doubt that I love you and feel happy for no other reason than that I know that you are. And I'll show you that by staying away, so as not to ruin your happiness. But if you ever need anything, anytime, anywhere, you know where to find me. Maybe I won't fuck it up so badly in the next lifetime.
Congratulations, my love. May the happiness you feel today be nothing in comparison to what you will feel for the rest of your life.
~Bunny
Dear Y,
Thank you for being there. In some small, strange way, I feel that, since a part of me is always with you, I can be there, too, in a weird, vicarious way. Thank you so much for that and for everything else, too.
Don't ever doubt that I love you as well, and that I'll be there for you any time you need me, anytime at all.
Be happy, honey. Be happy for them, and be happy with your own life. God knows, you of all people deserve it.
~Bunz
Dear Z,
Don't fuck it up, you stupid sonofabitch.
~B. Rabbit
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
There's A New Horizon & The Promise Of A Favorable Wind....
Well, I suppose it's Happy 2013 now, hmm?
Ok, I'm actually more excited about it than the nonchalant sentence above would lead one to think.
My whole life, 13's been my lucky number. Well, as far back as I can remember, anyhow. It was my daddy's, too, and he used it for his race car number back in the 70s, before my mother more or less forced him to give up racing (before I was born). I took up the tradition later; my softball number the entire time I played was 13, and at every horse show, I always tried to choose a number with a 13 in it.
So I figure if I'm going to have a good year ever, it's going to be this one.
On the other hand, I don't plan to leave it all to luck, either. I'm not going to make any "resolutions" because I never keep the damn things, but I'm going to try to set up some general guidelines for my life for the next year, I suppose you could say.
So without further ado, the shit I'm going to do for myself and why.
1.) I'll be starting a new job in 6-7 weeks. It's a work at home job in the same field, but it's a dispatcher position, so I'll be working set hours. As far as I know, it'll be 5 pm to 1 am, Thursday through Monday, which means Tuesday and Wednesdays are my days off. I'll also be taking calls as well outside that dispatch shift (about 20 hours a week) and continuing to do SEO, writing, and affiliate work.
I hope that that means my finances will finally become stable, which they have not been since...well...ever. My father also received a lump sum retirement check from his 15 years at the cotton mill, and he paid off the loan we took out in mid-2010 to pay off my credit cards. (Of course, I have credit card debt again, but it's not nearly as much as it was pre-loan.) So that's quite a bit of money I don't have to worry about coming up with each month. In light of that, I'm going to do my best to start being more careful with money and try to start saving some as well as paying off some old bills. As I start becoming more financially secure, I'm going to start dropping some of this extraneous BS that doesn't pay very well and only gives me more headaches than it's worth.
2.) My house--aside from my room--is more or less clean. I'm going to do my best to keep it that way and hopefully start working on this monstrosity that is my bedroom as well.
3.) I'm going to continue doing what I do as far as taking care of my mental health. It's taken me a while to get to this place of relative stability, and I know just how fleeting it can be if I don't stay on top of it.
4.) Speaking of health, it's time to do something about my physical health. I am very near that point of no return when it comes to weight. I haven't been kind to my body over the years, and with my age and weight, it's starting to tell on me. Joints I ruined back when I was athletic are no longer able to support me very well. It's a sobering thought when you realize your body is breaking down under its own weight.
I'm not going to resolve to lose weight or eat better or whatever. I'm just going to try to be a little more active, trade a few of my full-sugar drinks and snacks for sugar-free ones, and maybe not eat as much fast food. At the moment, I don't have the money to fund the kind of diet it takes for me to lose weight, so I'm just going to start light and go from there.
I got a pair of roller skates for Christmas, so I'm going to start doing that. (Tried it earlier in the kitchen, and, boy, am I going to have to practice before I can go out in public and do it. It's been years since I skated, and the skates I have now are totally different from the ones I used to have, so I've gotta get used to it again.) I also have a yoga DVD I've been doing on and off, and I'm going to try to do it more "on" now than "off."
5.) I am going to start working on my Spanish again. I got a new book for Christmas, and I still have my old Spanish textbook from college. Then, there's the Internet for things like instructional videos and Telemundo. I'm not going to be a pretentious douche about it. I've just been thinking seriously the last few months about becoming an expatriate to somewhere in the tropics--probably Isla Mujeres, Mexico, since I went there years and years ago and loved it, and Mexico is cheap as hell to live in. I can't make any definite moves toward it now, given my financial situation, but I can definitely work on my language skills. Even if I can't go be a female Jimmy Buffett, it'll enrich my brain to improve my Spanish. I doubt I'll ever get super-fluent, but maybe I can order a cheeseburger without being laughed at.
6.) Speaking of self-enrichment, it's time I started writing again. Yes, I've done this many times before and promptly stopped. But the truth is, I ain't getting any younger.
When I was in high school, I wanted to write all kinds of compelling poems and short stories in my 20s and then die in a blaze of glory at the age of 29, so that my genius would be remembered forever and that I'd always captivate people's minds because of my brilliant work and my early death, blah, blah, blah.
Now, I realize that even though I've hit 29, I haven't written the first thing in the "publishing" sense. Mind you, I don't want to die at 29 anymore, but I would still love to write some things before I do croak. So that's going to be another thing on my list. I'm not going to be a pretentious douche about this, either: No going on and on about the "novel" I'm writing without ever really doing anything or whatever it is d-bag "Authors" do. I'm just gonna write, and if I come up with anything I like, I'm going to try to publish it. The end.
7.) I've always wanted to do makeup tutorial videos, a la Michelle Phan. I don't know for sure that I will do them this year, but I'm going to give it some serious thought. There may not be a single, solitary person in the world who gives a shit, but I think it'll be fun, and my life is in serious need of some fun these days.
8.) I want to try to mend some things I broke over the years.
9.) I'm going to try to be kinder than necessary and live more according to the ideals in my head, not for my own benefit or to make myself look good, but for the benefit of others.
10.) I'm going to try to start facing things head-on now instead of running from them and letting them snowball. I'm too old to spend the rest of my life worrying and fretting it away. It's time to start dealing with shit and then trying to put it behind me. That's really all you can do, I think.
So, yeah. 2010 was about hitting rock bottom. 2011 was about making sure I wasn't digging the hole underneath me even deeper. 2012 started out with grand aspirations, but I got derailed and ended up spending the last half of the year just trying to tamp the ground underneath me down so that I could have a somewhat solid foundation under men. Now, 2013 is going to be about rebuilding my life and not letting external influences push me back down the hole.
Now, some LeAnn Rimes for the soundtrack to this blog:
I have walked through the fire
And crawled on my knees
Through the valley of the shadow of doubt
Then, the truth came shinin' like a light on me
And now, I can see my way out
Ok, I'm actually more excited about it than the nonchalant sentence above would lead one to think.
My whole life, 13's been my lucky number. Well, as far back as I can remember, anyhow. It was my daddy's, too, and he used it for his race car number back in the 70s, before my mother more or less forced him to give up racing (before I was born). I took up the tradition later; my softball number the entire time I played was 13, and at every horse show, I always tried to choose a number with a 13 in it.
So I figure if I'm going to have a good year ever, it's going to be this one.
On the other hand, I don't plan to leave it all to luck, either. I'm not going to make any "resolutions" because I never keep the damn things, but I'm going to try to set up some general guidelines for my life for the next year, I suppose you could say.
So without further ado, the shit I'm going to do for myself and why.
1.) I'll be starting a new job in 6-7 weeks. It's a work at home job in the same field, but it's a dispatcher position, so I'll be working set hours. As far as I know, it'll be 5 pm to 1 am, Thursday through Monday, which means Tuesday and Wednesdays are my days off. I'll also be taking calls as well outside that dispatch shift (about 20 hours a week) and continuing to do SEO, writing, and affiliate work.
I hope that that means my finances will finally become stable, which they have not been since...well...ever. My father also received a lump sum retirement check from his 15 years at the cotton mill, and he paid off the loan we took out in mid-2010 to pay off my credit cards. (Of course, I have credit card debt again, but it's not nearly as much as it was pre-loan.) So that's quite a bit of money I don't have to worry about coming up with each month. In light of that, I'm going to do my best to start being more careful with money and try to start saving some as well as paying off some old bills. As I start becoming more financially secure, I'm going to start dropping some of this extraneous BS that doesn't pay very well and only gives me more headaches than it's worth.
2.) My house--aside from my room--is more or less clean. I'm going to do my best to keep it that way and hopefully start working on this monstrosity that is my bedroom as well.
3.) I'm going to continue doing what I do as far as taking care of my mental health. It's taken me a while to get to this place of relative stability, and I know just how fleeting it can be if I don't stay on top of it.
4.) Speaking of health, it's time to do something about my physical health. I am very near that point of no return when it comes to weight. I haven't been kind to my body over the years, and with my age and weight, it's starting to tell on me. Joints I ruined back when I was athletic are no longer able to support me very well. It's a sobering thought when you realize your body is breaking down under its own weight.
I'm not going to resolve to lose weight or eat better or whatever. I'm just going to try to be a little more active, trade a few of my full-sugar drinks and snacks for sugar-free ones, and maybe not eat as much fast food. At the moment, I don't have the money to fund the kind of diet it takes for me to lose weight, so I'm just going to start light and go from there.
I got a pair of roller skates for Christmas, so I'm going to start doing that. (Tried it earlier in the kitchen, and, boy, am I going to have to practice before I can go out in public and do it. It's been years since I skated, and the skates I have now are totally different from the ones I used to have, so I've gotta get used to it again.) I also have a yoga DVD I've been doing on and off, and I'm going to try to do it more "on" now than "off."
5.) I am going to start working on my Spanish again. I got a new book for Christmas, and I still have my old Spanish textbook from college. Then, there's the Internet for things like instructional videos and Telemundo. I'm not going to be a pretentious douche about it. I've just been thinking seriously the last few months about becoming an expatriate to somewhere in the tropics--probably Isla Mujeres, Mexico, since I went there years and years ago and loved it, and Mexico is cheap as hell to live in. I can't make any definite moves toward it now, given my financial situation, but I can definitely work on my language skills. Even if I can't go be a female Jimmy Buffett, it'll enrich my brain to improve my Spanish. I doubt I'll ever get super-fluent, but maybe I can order a cheeseburger without being laughed at.
6.) Speaking of self-enrichment, it's time I started writing again. Yes, I've done this many times before and promptly stopped. But the truth is, I ain't getting any younger.
When I was in high school, I wanted to write all kinds of compelling poems and short stories in my 20s and then die in a blaze of glory at the age of 29, so that my genius would be remembered forever and that I'd always captivate people's minds because of my brilliant work and my early death, blah, blah, blah.
Now, I realize that even though I've hit 29, I haven't written the first thing in the "publishing" sense. Mind you, I don't want to die at 29 anymore, but I would still love to write some things before I do croak. So that's going to be another thing on my list. I'm not going to be a pretentious douche about this, either: No going on and on about the "novel" I'm writing without ever really doing anything or whatever it is d-bag "Authors" do. I'm just gonna write, and if I come up with anything I like, I'm going to try to publish it. The end.
7.) I've always wanted to do makeup tutorial videos, a la Michelle Phan. I don't know for sure that I will do them this year, but I'm going to give it some serious thought. There may not be a single, solitary person in the world who gives a shit, but I think it'll be fun, and my life is in serious need of some fun these days.
8.) I want to try to mend some things I broke over the years.
9.) I'm going to try to be kinder than necessary and live more according to the ideals in my head, not for my own benefit or to make myself look good, but for the benefit of others.
10.) I'm going to try to start facing things head-on now instead of running from them and letting them snowball. I'm too old to spend the rest of my life worrying and fretting it away. It's time to start dealing with shit and then trying to put it behind me. That's really all you can do, I think.
So, yeah. 2010 was about hitting rock bottom. 2011 was about making sure I wasn't digging the hole underneath me even deeper. 2012 started out with grand aspirations, but I got derailed and ended up spending the last half of the year just trying to tamp the ground underneath me down so that I could have a somewhat solid foundation under men. Now, 2013 is going to be about rebuilding my life and not letting external influences push me back down the hole.
Now, some LeAnn Rimes for the soundtrack to this blog:
I have walked through the fire
And crawled on my knees
Through the valley of the shadow of doubt
Then, the truth came shinin' like a light on me
And now, I can see my way out
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