joannebest











{October 11, 2015}   Is This Hell?

hell2

I ate my anger last night,
as if the instigators of my fury would disappear
swallow by swallow, bite by bite,
me furiously chewing without pleasure,
like an alcoholic slamming down drink after drink
until they don’t consider themselves drunk,
but they consider you the cause of every wrong thing in the world,

Carmelo bars, caramel wrapped lovingly in chocolate followed by another bar,
piece after piece popped in a mouthful of sand where everything tastes like the desert,
eating without thought, without taste or pleasure, mindless zombie chomping on chocolate flesh,
Kisses, the chocolate ones, I grab that tag and yank, exposed chocolate in the palm of my handy waiting to melt in my mouth, not in my hands, call my name seductive,
no melt danger there when you eat so fast you don’t taste a thing,
stress eating they call it, but I just call it stupid, a lack of control on my part,
because I hurt no one but me and my favorite skinny jeans

I smoked too many cigarettes again,
after promising myself and my doctor I would quit,
I did quit once, for maybe a year but then my life fell apart so I grabbed onto the nearest mentholated excuse
and drew that acrid smoke into my lungs like it was clean healthy air,
knowing in my mind that just because I roll my own cigarettes doesn’t make it less hazardous to my health
the cost may be less for a carton of machine-rolled than a carton of store bought cigarettes
yet the cost to my health is beyond my means,
all the psychological games I play in my mind to stop me from smoking disappear along with the menthol smoke
and I feel disgust as I look at the wreckage I’ve left in my wake,
empty candy wrappers and an overflowing ashtray adds to my self-loathing
and I wonder when I lost control of my self

infighting and passive aggressive words thrown at me,
and how do you defend yourself against imagined sins when your accuser throws back another shot
as the mental flogging goes on and on and on,
only to be forgotten in the light of day as my self esteem shrinks till my heart is shriveled and Grinch-like
and I flinch at the slightest side-look, waiting for another shoe to drop
knowing all the while I am shoeless, guilty of nothing other than
someone else’s paranoia,
imagined sins and baseless accusations, all courtesy of Mr. Daniels, but you can call him Jack,
he comes with a title you see, but I only know him as the Court Jester
because it’s all a joke you know, those words weren’t meant I’m told, where is my sense of humor and
why don’t I have a drink and calm down

why don’t I have a drink and calm down for
nothing matters you see,
the rollercoaster ride continues and I’m not buckled in,
I twist and turn and morph into a dumpster,
come one, come all, give me your tired, your weary, your problems
bigger than mine, for I am Jan Brady and the middle child gets all the garbage
while trying to keep the boat afloat,
all those years of taking care reduced to ashes
as the trophy boys hold their hands open, waiting for their due
and me?
I just want my Mother.
I want that unconditional love but it is gone for all time and
I must carry on, carry them, carry the guilt for nothing until I wonder,
is this Hell?

What have I done with my life and where did I leave myself?
Because I am gone, I look in a mirror and wonder who is in there, peering back at me,
eyes so sad I could cry from the mere sight of me,
stability ripped away like a rug yanked from beneath me
metaphorically battered and interior bruising,
my previous protectors an illusion shattered,
my desire to sleep forever whispers in my ear like a song stuck in your head
an effort to shake it away, and so much easier to continue wearing my mask…

Don’t let them in, don’t let them too close,
the knife you feel in your back is real, but ignore the blood as you slowly bleed out
play the game and you lose, don’t play along and still, you lose it all,
alone, lost, afraid, a path of darkness ahead and darker still in my rearview mirror
Is anything real? Did I imagine all the good that has left me standing alone,
fighting for nothing
fearing everything
I am swept into a corner and still I wonder,
is this Hell?

depression3

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{August 7, 2015}   Where I’ve Been (And Why)

morning2Write what you can write when you can write else you may never be able to write again.

Substitute any word that may apply to you and your passion and never ever neglect it, because you never know when your passion, or your ability to pursue your passion, may be taken away from you.

My recent passionless existence began with a near-crippling case of carpal tunnel rearing it’s ugly head a few months ago. I’ve already gone the surgery route but all I got for my trouble was two wrists more painful than before surgery and two hands constantly reminding me that I have to choose where when and how I use my small windows of pain-free time.

So I stopped writing.
And began a downward spiral.

Fibromyalgia, once closed off in a box somewhere in my mind escaped much like Pandora’s Box, only this time, hope fled as well and I experienced the most excruciating fibro-flare I’ve ever had.

I shut myself down, nearly every part of me, shut down. Caring about anything became a distant memory. I couldn’t even fake it anymore. Nothing made me smile. Nobody made me laugh. I stopped believing in anything good ever happening to me again. Ever. Sleep became the only thing I looked forward to and the sound of the phone ringing made me cringe. My computer may as well have been nothing more than a dust collector because I had no interest. In anything.

I may as well have stopped living because whatever it was I was doing, going through the motions, was not in any way shape or form a life.

Grief.
I thought I would have been over it already. I mean, it’s been over two years since my Mom died, why does it still feel like it happened yesterday?

My whole world has changed without her and I have a new understanding of the effects of grief. My family has imploded. I used to have two brothers but now I have one, my older brother has basically cut me out of his life, guilt-calls my Father maybe once a month while I twist myself pretzel-like to do everything I can to help out my Dad. He’s going on 89 and while he can still be as sharp as a tack, he’s fading away. Lost without my Mother, he’s reimagined their life together, turning it into a Love Story For The Ages. And while I know the real version was nothing like he wants to remember, I agree with him as my heart breaks a little bit more every time I see him.
My younger brother and I have become closer than ever, as my older brother doesn’t talk to him either. The eldest, as far as I understood it to be, was supposed to step up and help us out. Instead, after taking my Father to his lawyer and having a will drawn up with him as the executor (not my Father’s wishes, but as the only one of us who went to college, his opinion seems to be the only one that matters) my older brother, when he was still talking to my younger brother, told him if anything in the will was changed, he would take me to court and say that I forged documents. He has some resentment towards me because when Hurricane Irene destroyed our house he wanted to put my Parents in an assisted living place while my Parents just wanted their house back. I, with the help of my younger brother, moved Heaven and Earth to make that happen and it pissed him off that I, a girl who never went to college, was able to get them back home.

So I’ve been dealing with a lot health-wise, and the three things that made me happiest disappeared. No more daily phone calls and Mother/Daughter getaways, my BFF became my occasional F due to, well, life, and my writing became a distant memory. With virtually no one to truly confide in anymore, I began to think of myself as worthless, cold and uncaring about anything. Basically, I make myself sickeningly pathetic and I’m sick of it. I sometimes wish I could just breakdown and cry my eyeballs out, but my feelings have frozen and I feel unmeltable.

Even my Birthday came and went without fanfare, it took me weeks to open the Birthday Card my favorite Aunt Judy sent me, as if I wasn’t even worthy of a card. I feel like an idiot for allowing myself to fall this hard and I realize I’m the only one who can save me.

And then something happened to wake me up. Out of nowhere, I received something in the mail from some very special Miscreants. There was no return address so it wasn’t until I opened it that I realized what it was, a fun pack that to this very second still makes me smile, hard.

Somehow, I’ve managed to babble about nothing important to anyone but me myself and I, but I have to admit, I feel a little bit better.

I was Blessed enough to attend two Facebook events this past week, one was a release party for
Anastasia Vitsky‘s new book Taliaschild and the other was Decadent Publishing 5th Annivesary Party.

They both gave me life. Inspired me. Woke me up. Stirred something in my soul to remind me who I am.

I’m back, and this time, I’m back to stay. No more not answering comments, no more ignoring life. It’s time to live again, and a great part of my resurrection is you. And you. Also you.
While these words are not my own, the sentiment is a perfect truth : “Love is all that matters.”

This time, I will not forget that.
And one last thing, I apologize to everyone I’ve seemingly ignored, it wasn’t you, it was me.
Love. It is once again in my heart, I would like nothing more than to spread it around.

a me I want to go back to these days (my Mom in the background, me and my Uncle)



{January 30, 2015}   Warning – Rant Ahead

rant

Warning: the following rant will most likely include profanity, snark, anger, venting, and a general sense of crankiness caused by, well, stuff. Unless I hit overload and wimp out.
Today was one of those days even before I knew it. Because it started off stress-free and lovely, which should have been my first sign. I mean aside from the ever-growing pile of used tissues and the lack of a voice when I first woke up because, bronchitis. Again.
Oh, and the snow outside, especially the icy lump in the middle of the driveway daring me to drive over it so I could take Father Dear to get his stitches removed. (I dropped it into first gear and the icy lumps lost. I was not about to allow my car to get stuck in the snow.)
It was the first time I left the house since before the Blizzard Of The Century That Wasn’t.
I live a very exciting life you know, especially in the winter when I get one of those inner-battles where my immune system always gets it’s ass kicked and I’m a puddle of lethargy trying my best to hide it.
(I’ve noticed a distinct lack of rant-ness going on here because too much time has passed since I wrote the first sentence. Never a good sign when you’re trying to rant.)
First Main Street was closed because of a fire, making me late-ish due to a stupid detour down a barely plowed road followed by a lack of my cousin who said he’d shovel Dad’s driveway and even do his laundry (mighty nice of him since he coincidentally only shows up when he needs to do his laundry or store his tools) while I took him to the doctor.
Obviously, my cousin didn’t show so I’m running up and down the basement steps to get the laundry started before we leave because yes, I actually have things of my own to do and laundry wasn’t in the memo.
This led to me unable to find my car keys for a good ten minutes, when I finally gave in and asked Dear Saint Anthony to please come around.
As usual, he did and I did. Find my keys.
Next, the awkward social situations I’m forced to improvise in the name of damage control when my Father is in smartass-to-strangers mode, his brand of humor.
Then the inevitable suggestion that we go to Burger King, the restaurant of Dear Daddy’s choice, and the drive-thru compromise because time is seriously not on my side.
A stop at Krauszers for Dad’s newspaper turned into a driving clusterfuck as a teenager girl driving the brand new car someone else paid for wouldn’t stop blowing her horn as my 88 year old Father was struggling to get out of my car (he refuses to let me help him or go in the store for him, plus there was enough room for her to drive around me, also, emergency blinker thingys were flashing).
It took everything I had to keep myself from jumping out of the drivers seat and having a word with the young miss.
Not really, it was more the sight of the neighbor up the street who happens to be a cop. I knew my Irish would take over and it wouldn’t be pretty.
I’m not confrontational but do the slightest thing to hurt any of mine and I go ballistic.
I’ve been known to grab bikers by their leather jackets and slam them into walls for wrongly harassing a friend while girl-shouting in his face.
But instead of a cat fight, I lit my first cigarette in awhile, bronchitis be damned because otherwise someone or something was going to see my fist. Or I would yell shrilly.
Back to Dad’s house to finish the laundry and move his car for him so it would be easier for him to get through the snow and what do ya know, somebody who shall remain nameless did a fake-out shovel and I had to shovel a path through the kind of snow that has a thick layer of ice on top. Did I mention I have bronchitis?
Sigh.
I can’t even muster up enough energy to rant properly.
I’m all flannel pajamas and piles of blankets trying to write with Fang Face Willy, no longer a kitten in size but still in attitude, diving into Drusilla and biting her neck while she speaks in cat-tongues I’ve never heard before but her grumbled growls really do sound like words. She puts her paw on his head, holds him in place then frantically licks his face till he submits and dashes off to try and have his way with me.
Since I’ve been interrupted so many times since I began writing this nearly 35 hours ago, I’m going to chalk this up to a rant as bad as everything that led up to me wanting to rant in the first place.
Kinda like a boring diary entry but here’s the thing, I’ve been spending way too much time writing and not posting I have decided to throw my hands in the air, not even reread this damn thing and post it to break my too-long-since-I-posted streak.
Maybe tomorrow I shall awake bronchitis-less, full of energy, a clear mind, no vampire cat trying to write his own rant.
I know! I’ll do “research” and read!
That’s a thing you know, gotta read if you wanna write, right?
I’m gonna regret posting this babble, but if I don’t break this non-posting streak, my regret will increase tenfold.
I’ll just throw on another comforter, cozy up with a book or ten and lose myself in someone else’s words so I can find my own.
I have a Love Spanks Event to attend next week, I have to stop being sick! Also, write. Ok, over and out until the next time dear ones.
https://governingana.wordpress.com/2015/01/17/announcing-love-spanks-2015/
cropped-spanks-lovespanks-amazon-2015.jpg



{January 19, 2015}   High School Redux

You. Yeah, you over there. Let go of my Eggo and your Ego.(with a side of fever)

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. Yeah, I know, I guess pretty much everyone goes through this phase with the ever-expanding, always-changing, out-of-our-own-control, time-eating cyber-version of high school.
Like most of our high school experiences, it’s a mixture of good and bad but I have to admit, sometimes FB flat out makes me cranky.
I’m happy to be able to talk to Family I haven’t seen since I was in the single digits, good friends I’ve lost contact with as everyone scattered to live their own lives, start their own Families, you know, the good.
Meeting new people I never would have met in real life without Facebook, wonderful people from around the world and sometimes folks who lived in my own town whose paths never crossed mine. Or maybe we never had things in common until we became whoever it is we became.
That’s part of the good.
And then there’s the bad, aka High School Redux, where the same cliques in high school pick up from where they left off and carry on, still forever 17 in their minds.
You know who I’m talking about; those girls who turned their backs on you because you weren’t cool enough to be a cheerleader (somehow it never occurred to them perhaps I didn’t want to be a cheerleader), those same girls stuck in a time-loop as they post pictures of themselves in their cute little Halloween kitty-costumes that are no longer flattering but dammit, they’re divorced and the zillionth class reunion is around the corner and “sigh, maybe he’ll be there and this time I’ll get the football hero…sigh…”.
Selfie-Queens who post pictures of themselves like it’s a popularity contest and they aren’t satisfied until they get 1000 ‘likes’ from 1000 strangers feeding their ego.
As you may have picked up, I’m not big on the whole selfie thing.
Maybe I’m camera shy. Maybe I don’t want to splatter my ‘wall’ with pictures of me. Maybe I don’t have an out of control ego that needs to be fed on a constant basis. (No, I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about you.)
Whatever the reason, I don’t really care to be the center of attention which is a weird thing for a lead singer to say. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, in fact I love seeing photographs of my friends and Family, I love seeing pictures of new people I’ve ‘met’ and learning more about them and their lives.
But it’s just part of my personality to observe, stay in the background and figure things out, fill my mind with stuff so I can spew my own words onto the paper/screen.
My lack of selfies has been commented on (behind my back of course, just like high school) by a girl who was once my BFF until we lost touch. She has decided I put up pictures of myself like “those girls who hide behind their hair so you can’t see their face”. Apparently, this once-former model, who used to worship my every move, has no use for me anymore because she looked at my political leanings and decided I’m scum.
I’ve been stalked, hacked, backstabbed, ignored, you know, just like high school.
That’s the bad part.
I guess in the long run, the good outweighs the bad because I’ve ‘met’ some of the most awesome people anyone could hope to ‘meet’.
Maybe I’m just playing favorites because I rather spend more time here at WordPress than Facebook, or maybe I’m just cranky because my cold turned into bronchitis which translates into a good couple weeks of me being sick.
And I’m cranky because even though I’ve been writing every day I’ve been saving everything to draft instead of posting like I should.
I wonder if the 17 phone calls a day from my Dad has anything to do with my bad moody?
Or I’m picking on Facebook because I sometimes let it eat too much of my time, and I also know that FB can cause a lot of destruction to real-life life when it turns into the high school cafeteria and I’m standing alone with a full tray and nowhere to sit.
Maybe it bugs me to realize someone I once traded secrets with is now as one dimensional as a photograph.
Yeah, I’m a weirdo, an outcast, a rebel without a cause and plain old stubborn. And yeah, I really don’t like to have my picture taken, I prefer to be the one taking the pictures and capturing the moment, not because I’m trying to hide behind my hair, not because I don’t look good in pictures and don’t spend money on cosmetic surgery in a desperate attempt to look forever 17. But because I’m beautiful just as I am, as we (almost) all are, inside and out.
And the fact that I know this to be true will not be rattled by the words of someone who is still living mentally in high school.
I know who I am.
And thankfully, dearest readers, so do you.
And since we’re on the subject of high school and pictures, here’s me when I was a senior in high school, not hiding behind hair. I’d put a ‘selfie’ taken right this very second, but I think that means the terrorist win.
Or something like that.
I was 18, cut me some slack!



{January 15, 2015}   I Should Be Writing

writingggggg
catoncomputer1
I’ve been hemming and hawing like a, uh, (an?) heming-haw-er.
It is a thing you know.
It stares at me from everywhere, “You Should Be Writing”.
My screensaver, my Twitter and Facebook thingy, fingers pointing at me in accusation and reminder. Little post-it notes in random places. My head constantly whispers the words, a litany, ‘write little girl, write’, as words of genius, life changing words that can save the entire world with their power fill my head, tumble ass over head in this brain o’mine as I crack my fingers, stretch my mental muscles and prepare to dive right in, a writing force to be reckoned with. A vicious word-tiger ready to pounce.
And then there is William.
He’s the one who pounces and I have the scratches to prove it.
How in the world did I wind up with a 4 month old Siamese kitten obsessed with my computer? Specifically the keyboard. Even more specifically, when it’s open to a blank WordPress page.
But it doesn’t stay blank for long.
It get filled up in a flash with whatever William wants.
Yep, it’s not me. It’s FangFace. He likes to touch random keys with his delicate yet sharp kitten paws.
He likes to stretch across my keyboard, roll over, then stare me in the eye with his person-in-a-cat-face-human-like eyes daring me to move him.
Talk about a battle of the blues, we stare at each other seeing who can hold out longer in a good old fashioned staring contest. ‘Don’t blink’ my mind demands, ‘you are the Alpha, he’s a tiny ball of fur, don’t blink!’
And then William, without breaking eye contact, opens up his fang-filled mouth and says “Meep” and bam! Just like that he wins because I can’t stop myself from laughing.
I am a bad kitten-mother.
He has me wrapped around his fingers/paw-claws making it more than a little difficult to write.
computercat
So I finally break my kitten hostage ties, wherein I’m the hostage of course, only to be hit over the head with the Head Cold From Hell, now with new and improved versions of the flu (immunity not included, previous flu-shot does not prevent this strain and am I gonna turn into a weird hybrid of a vampire-cat?) and what suffers the most? Say it with me: my writing.
Just like that it tumbles to the bottom of the list as I muster up any energy I can so I’m able to:
1.) Pretend I’m fine
2.) Take my Dad to his skin cancer doctor (while cancelling my own doctor appointment)
3.) Make believe I’m not going to hurl as I see the amount of blood pouring down my Father’s face as I crack jokes to keep my Dad distracted (usually making myself the brunt of said jokes because, umm, just because it’s how we roll)
4.) Try and sleep any chance I can get inbetween juggling balls in the air unassisted
5.) Praying that one morning, just one morning, I can wake up to a clean kitchen, you know, the way it was when I went to sleep the previous night. I know. Not. Gonna. Happen.
compg
Yes, of course I can go on and on but I’m already pushing my luck.
Little Willy FangFace is watching the screen as I type, he knows I’m driving him to the Veterinarian today so he’s plotting his future revenge. He’s a Virgo so I know he has the patience of a cat (and that was totally unintentional), I already know what he has in mind, he’s going to cry his tiny little heart out when I’m driving and he’s stuck in a cat carrier just to make me feel guilty. Here’s a hint Wills, I always feel guilty, you’ll just be making me feel guiltier than usual.
And while FangFace is getting his checkup I get to drive around the block, put on my nurse hat, and change my Dad’s bandages, wash his clothes, and pretend I’m not cleaning his house while covertly cleaning his house. He doesn’t need any help ya know! He’s fine on his own! And those 17 times a day phone calls from him are just part of his day. Because after all, I don’t have a “job”, writing is just some thing I do to pass the time/sarcasm font really needed right about now.
computergirl1
So to sum up:
I should be writing.
More.
As much as possible.
I need to reconsider my future plans and instead, move to an igloo somewhere in the depths of Alaska. (Does Alaska have depths?) Whatever, as long as it’s an isolated place without distraction.
Oh Cape May, I hear you calling my name.
writingggg



{December 27, 2014}   Writing Again

writing3

Well that didn’t take very long.
Yesterday I swore up and down and all around that I would write.
I even tried to force myself to write by announcing it on facebook (which, by the way, I kinda hate but that’s a post for another day-oh!!!! I just admitted there will be another day of writing! Perhaps I am not doomed after all!), ummm, as I was saying, I figured if I made a grand announcement to my friends and family I’d be forced to write, else I may be banished to the Forest Of Lying Liars Who Lie, Unintentionally Or Not.

I unintentionally lied.
Because I didn’t write. {imagines finger-pointing and ridicule as I’m led in shackles toward the center of a crowd full of mask-clad…uh, wait, that’s another ‘nother story, with a different rating}

See, I lived inside my own head for so long, writing and writing yet never putting my fingers to the keyboard so now I have to retrain my brain and flex my fingers and just do it.
I picked a hell of a time to try and start writing again.
Everyone is home, our new Siamese kitten has decided that he wants to be a writer only he want to use my computer. Did I mention he only wants to write when I’m using my computer?
Plus there’s all this Merry Christmas/Happy New Year stuff and somewhere along the line, in my senseless self-imposed exile from writing, I forgot how to multitask.

I’m not worried {nope, not me, no worry here, not a bit}.
I just need some practice.
Please be gentle, I’ll be back to me in the flick of a Djinn’s finger.
djinn



block2
I’ve been gone for too long.
Overwhelmed with life, my writer’s block has been in the drivers seat while the rest of me has been immersed in my shell.
But no matter where I am, I am with me, so running away is not an option. Time to meet my devils head on and start writing again.
It’s hard after being MIA for so long, unsure of myself, my writing, my everything, but it’s been even harder to deny myself my only outlet, so this is a test.
Can I still write? I hope so.
Will I give up again? Possibly.
But now, at the busiest time of year, I’ve got to dive back in, head on and fearless.
I hope I can do it. More importantly, I hope I can earn back your trust and forgiveness.

Like I said, this is a test. I’ve managed to type a little over one hundred words, lets see if I can keep it up. (not in a Viagra way, more like in a writing way)
I have a near houseful of company and a brand new Siamese kitten. But there’s one thing I learned long ago and managed to forget: the more you do, the more you do.

Time for this girl to do more.
block1



{August 28, 2014}   There I Went Again

preraph wonder woman

I am predictably unpredictable.
Or unpredictably predictable. Maybe both.
Sure, I should take full responsibility for this unwanted state my life has become. Should, being the operative word, which, by the way, I’ve been trying not to use the S-word but I do, much to my dismay, I sadly do.
I know me. Well, kinda, because I am a work of art, not yet complete.
Aren’t we all?
~
Perhaps predictable is the wrong word. See, that’s part of the problem, I just don’t know much these days.
There’s been too many plates to juggle, so I crashed.
I keep forgetting I’m not a superhero. I keep trying to be everything to everyone and before I know it, crash crash baby.
Only, life doesn’t stop just because my body forces me to stop. Invisible health issues, the kind that I, as well as many others have, don’t give you a free pass when the wheels keep turning and your body won’t let you keep up.
It’s a constant struggle having to hide your fatigue and pain all the time because who the hell wants to whine about the way they feel? Ok, a lot of people do but I’m not on that team. I’d rather paste a smile on and swallow my misery instead of pulling out the fibromyalgia card.
It’s a double-edged sword, I can whine and complain or I can push through and hide the way I sometimes feel when I’m on a downward spiral.
Either way, I’m screwed. Nobody wants to listen to a whining whiner on one hand, and on the other hand, I push myself until I can’t push any more then get called out for not saying how I feel when I’m not feeling well.
~
Last thing I expected when I went to the doctor was for my blood pressure to be low. 80/60 weren’t the numbers I was shooting for, especially considering if anything, my blood pressure rises sometimes but that’s just because I’m a fiery red-headed Irish woman. I tend to get overly emotional and my body follows. Stress multiplies everything, especially when you’re me, an emotional sponge with codependent issues which lead me to put myself in everyone’s shoes and take on their bad.
Unfortunately, I seem to find it harder to take on their good.
That all makes sense in my head, forgive me if I lost you there. Understandable, since I seem to have once again lost myself.
~
So I’ve sent out an interior search team, in the hope of getting myself back.
I know I’m in there somewhere, I’ve been picking up little bits and pieces, following clues as if on a treasure hunt. Because I am a treasure.
I just need to remember that when I lose myself.
And it might be a good idea to, this time, brush up on my mapping skills.

magicbox



{August 9, 2014}   I Blinked

dontblink3
“Baby did a bad bad thing. Baby did a bad bad thing.”
Nah, not really. I mean if we’re talking about me, and we are talking about me.
See, what I did was I let my self forget that my New Normal is my New Normal for just a millisecond.
I blinked.
And the Angels stopped weeping and circled me, keeping me terrified and alone.
~
If only I had a Doctor with a TARDIS as my BFF. I wouldn’t even have to be a Companion, he could just stop by once in awhile for a cup of tea and give me a good talking too. I mean, if he insists, or some intergalactic emergency happens, at least the TARDIS can bring me back to the same moment we leave.
Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t lose my mind, and I apologize to those who don’t watch Doctor Who since I’m making all these Doctor Who references (which, by the way, if you aren’t watching Doctor Who, well, why not?), I’ve just been frozen in place and unable to break the ice.
I would like to say I’m not making excuses but that would be a lie.
I’m just not sure what those excuses exactly are. It’s summertime and beautiful outside, I have so much pent up writing inside me and it’s long past time to finish Fiction Rally Part 4 but I’m surrounded by Weeping Angels and can’t blink.
Or, maybe I just need a good old fashioned boot in the ass, as my Mom used to say. And yes, I understand I’m still grieving the loss of my Mom and the slow painful destruction of the Family she kept together.
But that’s no excuse to stop and forget how to do the happy dance. She would give me a verbal good old fashioned kick in the ass right about now if she were here.
So this is my letter of apology to you, my wonderful lovelies who’ve saved my life more times than any of you know.
It’s time to stop worrying about blinking, to stop letting those Weeping Angels keep me frozen in time and space, because The Doctor has worlds to save, usually ours by the way, so I must be my own Superhero.
And the first thing I need to save is my self.
dontblink1



giles
Because everything.
Can’t watch the news because it’s full of shit and non-news, editorial views now pass as headline news, journalism is dead and Politically Correct runs the world only it’s running the whole damn thing into the ground instead of letting the happy shine through.
Or as Giles put it in both the first and last episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, “The Earth is Definitely Doomed.”.
~
I’ve been writing and writing and not posting, saving everything to draft and hating everything I write between running up and down the stairs twenty times a day to mess with the router/modem/anything internet related since obviously Mars is still in my retrograde. It’s exasperating to stop my flow of thoughts because those stupid white bars keep showing me the yellow triangle with the exclamation point and just as I finally get back online my phone rings again because my Dad wants to tell me what’s on Turner Classic Movies for the seventh time that day so I grit my teeth and pretend I’m really glad he told me and yes of course I’ll be watching it thank you very much and yes I’ll talk to you later.
Of course my train of thought is gone and I forget what the hell I was about to write which, of course, was the most brilliant thing ever written except now it’s gone forever. So I save to draft and pray for a miracle.
~
I want to write about the fun, the good stuff, my vacation to the shore (including tornado warnings and much rain), the awesomeness of finally meeting http://maryannemistretta.wordpress.com/ in person (even though I arrived fifteen minutes late because the library was so big I couldn’t find the right room – plus I had to pee. Shut up, it’s a long ride from Carteret!)then leaving (too early for my liking) to go to my niece’s baby shower (where I stood for the most part because that’s what I do) while my feet were throbbing from the inevitable sunburn I got down the shore regardless of the number 90 sunblock I used – the fair Irish skin might have something to do with that but it sure didn’t make any of my shoes less painful.
~
Dental appointments to fix the root canal a previous dentist had botched leaving 3 root tips and a foreign object in my gums weren’t very much fun but at least I finally found the root of that problem and that was totally an unintentional pun.
And did I mention I’m a routine kind of girl who hates when my apple cart gets upset and my usual go-to’s are gone? I mean even the television shows that make me happy are on hiatus and if that freaks me out imagine how freaked out I get when my usual crutch gets pulled out from under me and I’m nothing but a ball of confusion?
~
See? I’m a lunatic when I don’t write and I stupidly let myself not write.
Bad, bad, me.
I need to get back to my routine of writing every day and stop putting everything in draft and stop putting every damn person in the world ahead of me. I’m going to have to start getting a little more selfish and stop letting every thing else pull me apart like taffy.
That, my friends, is the easy part. The hard part is actually doing it.
The sand is running through the hourglass faster each day. It’s past time to kick it into gear and get on Team Me.
I also want a unicorn.
unicorn2



et cetera