Month: September 2013

I am lost…

It's dark.
Are my eyes open?
:click::spark:
What was that?
:click::spark:
….
:click::spark: :click::click: :click::spark:
:clicksparkclicksparkclicksparkclickspark:

Upleftdownbackfrontrightfowardssidetosidedownfront
OhMyGodOhMyGod!!!
Sensory.Over.load.
Where is that coming from? Why can't I see anything?!?!?!?!?!?!
:click::spark:
Please…
:click::spark::flame:

Thank you…
:silence:
stsssssssssssssssssssss

You can’t see me…

Not because I'm invisible, even though I might be, but because you choose to not see me.

That's pretty much a summary of the waters beneath the surface for the past 3 weeks. I'm usually content to be in the background, doing the things I do because it's who I am, or how I choose to express myself. But the one time, the one time, that I made the choice to step up and say "HEY EVERYONE, REALLY LOOK AT ME!!!" I received the biggest smack down I could ever imagine possible. Worse than any of the shit I put up with going through middle and high school (and believe me, not all of it happened at school, so let's just say girls can be bitches and leave it there). So yeah, not planning on doing that ever again. But at least I know who my family consists of, and I'm grateful to them, even if they were part of the reason I broke before I was supposed to. But I shattered and I'm trying to pick up the pieces, little by little. The universe hasn't been totally helpful, because every time I try to take down time to hit up the mountains, or the river, or something; it manages to pop up and say, "Oh, you want time off? You sure about that?" and when I prove that I am, I come back to a clusterfuck bigger than I left to say, "See, you really shouldn't have taken that downtime. Normally, by this point in the year, I've had a month and a half of vacation. It's what keeps me sane, because I really do need 2-3 weeks to decompress from my job. So far, I've had a week and a half – and that wasn't a real, don't deal with anything work-related, vacation. I really need to just hole up in a cabin with no cell signal or wifi. Just me, coffee, a book, nature, and maybe Pastry (if he can get the time off).

I'm finding I need to re-establish my boundaries. I put myself out there for people, for whatever reason, and find that my margin of returns are exceedingly slim. Those who will continue to be blessed by my thoughtfulness are the ones that have shown themselves to return it, in some way – whether it's "paying it forward" or "kicking it back". I love them, and they get it. But I'm really tired of the dead ends. I'm really tired of looking out the window and seeing what is happening outside. The level of stupidity is astounding to the point I want to slam heads against a mirror and say, "What the fuck are you doing? Don't you see what you are doing?" But it would be useless. Very few are interested in self-reflection, and those who don't even consider it till they hit the proverbial wall are so blinded that they don't even know they've hit anything. It's disheartening to me. Depressing.

I have no clue where I'm going with this. I had some totally awesome stuff in my head earlier. Fluid and descriptive. All the stuff my writing professors loved. All the stuff my muse would pour out on to the paper before she was blindsided and muzzled because she "just wasn't good enough". Stupid people. Stupid me.

My office has a purple rug with yellow and lavender flowers on it. That makes me happy. I need more purple and lavender flowers. I need more solitude. Whatever fire is burning inside needs to come out. I can't handle it anymore, I'm tired of containing it within. It's being fed by something I don't know, and something I'm not familiar with. I don't know how to calm it down. And I don't want it to destroy me.

Dear Ladies…

And I use the term "Ladies" loosely. We need to have a chat about a subject that made a lot of news last year. It involved alcohol, sex, and consent – not necessarily in that order, though. We had a lot of blog "letters to my son", letters to the editor, cheers and thanks to the hacker group Anonymous for bringing this to our attention. And that's all fine and dandy, but we forgot one thing. That door swings both ways, and it swings in a manner that I am totally uncomfortable with and definitely disgusted over, having witnessed this more and more in the last few years – including someone almost falling into traffic because someone had to have that kiss. So, I guess we're finally equal.

Pardon my bluntness, but is it really that important to fill that hole between your legs, that you are going to pursue a piss-drunk passed out guy? Yes, alcohol can be a great helper for the socially inept or the liquid courage for those who place that much weight on a yes or no answer. But it can also turn you into something we all despise and loathe – THAT woman. You know, the one who always manages to target the guy who is the most inebriated, or manages to assist in said inebriation? Plying the sweet words to coax him back to wherever. Yeah. High-five yourself, because no one else will.

A couple of things there…if he's not into you sober, or even mostly sober, you probably shouldn't take him back to your room. If he gets piss drunk, he probably wouldn't be able to function, much less be able to tell you how much he wants your sexy ass. And there's a really good chance he won't remember jack shit in the morning.

So to you "ladies", I ask you to consider a few things…if you were in the position of the guy, is that what you would want? To wake up in a room that you don't recognize, next to someone, not remembering how you got there or what happened? If the answer to that is no, then keep your legs crossed or pursue someone who is either more sober, or more into you (both would be optimal, even for one-nighters). If your answer is yes, then please, go rot in the same hell we wish for those kids, and those guys that we all like to cheer when they get arrested and sentenced. We didn't get to this point to be hypocrites. If we're supposedly the better sex, then it's time we act like it.

PS – to the friends that see this happening, please, twat block. There's a good chance you'll have a man thanking you in the morning when he finds out what happened.