Showing posts from November, 2011


I have deep thoughts.  Deep.  Deep. Thoughts.  All the time.  They usually only make sense to me of course.  I ruminate a lot.  Some people use the word ruminate like it's a bad thing.  My mom, who worked in a mental institution, said they used ruminate when talking about patients with certain mental disorders.  Ruminate was the technical term they used for people who talked about the same thing over and over obsessively. 
I like to think my ruminating is the completely healthy kind but it is not.  I usually think of interactions with people and think of at least five different way I could have handled the situation.  My social anxiety prevents me from getting an interaction right the first time.  I usually resort to inappropriate humor.  Inappropriate humor is deceiving.  People always laugh at inappropriate humor.  The question is are they laughing because they truly thought my inappropriateness was funny or because they are uncomfortable.
I have been thinking a lot about anxiety, mostly because I suffer with it.  I make jokes about it, a lot.  I joke because it helps me cope.
I tried the whole medicine thing and it didn't work.  I've heard medicine doesn't work for a lot of people.  It makes it worse.  Which is weird.  Because everyone and every commercial makes you believe it will work, then your reality hits you and you realize you won't be that reality you see on T.V.  You won't be that woman who one second was looking sad on the couch to happily buying flowers at the market the next.  Your reality finds you on the couch.  Always and forever.  Or you think it will be always and forever.  Because that is how it feels.
I'd love to explain what my anxiety feels like but I can't.  It's a whole lot of feeling.  It's a rush to the head and a tightening in the chest.  It effects the whole body.  And I take my hands and rub my face.  I start at my forehead with the tips of my fingers and …

This Post Makes No Sense.... You Are Welcome.

What is it that makes me want to blog?  I think that all the time.  Why do I have to write something and put it out there?  Why can't I just think a thought and idea and that be enough?
Because I'd go crazy that's why.
I have this insane....or inane....desire to put what I think and feel out into the universe.  I wonder if that is how you define an artist.  Anyone can paint a picture, an artist puts it out there.  Anyone can write a song and play it, and artist makes it heard.  Anyone could write a story, an artist lets his/her thoughts be known to the masses.
Now I feel kind of vain calling myself an artist.
Whenever I hear the song "You're So Vain" I always think what if they are not vain, what if they are just paranoid?? What if you sing that song they think anxiously 'What if this song is about me?  What did I do wrong??'  And that kind of makes Carly Simon a non-understanding bitch.  It's called paranoia and it can be debilitating and just be…

Torn up Piece of Paper.

*I love the movie Stealing Beauty.  It is one of those movies that I watched over and over and still watch when it comes on T.V.  When I was younger I wished my mom had died and my father had sent me away to an artist commune in Italy to smoke pot with Jeremy Irons and swim topless with Rachel Weisz and lose my virginity to an adorable pubic-haired Italian boy.  These were my selfish years.
Now I watch the movie and I just want to run away to an artist commune in Italy and lose my virginity to an adorable pubic-haired Italian boy.  A girl can still be a little selfish no matter what age.
In the movie Liv's character eats her words.  She always writes on small scraps of paper, tears the paper and sticks it in her mouth.  Or sometimes she burns the paper.  I love this part of the movie because I know I am not that girl who runs away to an artist commune in Italy but I am that girl that hides her words.
Half the stuff I write does not  get posted.  The words sit as drafts burnt and t…
today ain't for nothing.  That's two negatives making a positive, maybe things will look up.  Maybe someone will knock on my door and just give me a hug.  You know you are having a bad day when you wish someone would knock on your door to give you a hug as oppose to say a million dollars.  That's how life works sometimes.

horse and carriage

I woke up yesterday morning and I fake punched my hubby in the gut, he got all sad looking and I said "I'm prone to violence in the morning." and he shakes his head, and walks away.   And sometimes he kisses me goodnight.  and sometimes he doesn't.  and sometimes I get mad at him for not being affectionate and then I put super glossy lip gloss on and tell him he can't kiss me.   And we fight hard and get mad at each other and yell empty insults and threats and wave our fists and we apologize for our empty insults and threats. and for waving our fists in the air. I've been thinking a lot about divorce.  It isn't hard when the people around you seem to be doing it.  A mother leaves.  A father leaves.  A car and a presences is missing in the neighborhood,  it is not hard to miss.  You wonder if those people are like you.  If you can make their same mistakes.  Am I making their same mistakes? Divorce is like a plague, once one person gets it the person next to th…