Tag Archives: batshit crazy

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This is a Weird One Cats and Kittens (Oh, I also drop a lot of F-bombs)

First: One of the two things I am known for but have been neglecting lately

wienies and a corgi

This is my sort of pack

I think I got this from a site called OCD: Obsessive Corgi Disorder

The stress that has invaded my life for the past two months is starting to ebb. It really does feel like a tide that comes in slowly, then starts to recede at its own pace, except my weird little stress fits are more insipid than sea water. I will realize that I am stressed, but I won’t realize the effect it is having on me until I am neck deep and about to have to start paddling to stay afloat. The silly thing is, when I realize I am paddling, the tide starts to recede.

It is a cycle, and I think everyone goes through it. It frustrates me every time I see myself go through it, because I feel like I should see it earlier.  Truth is, I am starting to see it sooner and, I am getting better at dealing with it.  I am beginning to wonder if the secret to handing it is just taking a deep breathe when it is at it’s highest and floating. There is a lot of power in saying “Fuck it” for a minute and relaxing.

Maybe I should start taking an inventory of how many fucks I have to give at any given time and distribute them according to my own ideas of what is important.

Here is an example of how my system would work in theory:

I have twelve fucks to give today.

My family is demanding 7, but they only need three. They get three.

Tina (and her family)doesn’t need any per say, but she always gets two, no matter what, and I reserve the right to redistribute some from other places and give them to her should she need them.

Kathleen gets one.

I am up to six fucks used, and I have more things to list.

The new things burgeoning in my love life gets two at least, because it makes me happy.

My other friends get two, unless there is an emergency, then I will redistribute.

My writing gets my last two. The blog takes precedence today. Writing my novella has been an issue but I have decided just to float with that stress tide. I am starting to miss it and my characters. I will get back to it. Trying to force it will just end up with me getting pissed off.

Things that don’t get any of my fucks today:

Politics

The fact that I need to vacuum

The disturbing state of my nail polish

My growing horror at what women do to themselves in the name of beauty (My feminist nature is growing again, but today, I don’t have it in me to push emotion into it.)

My jiggly thighs

Whether or not I will be a success. Sorry, Pressure, no fucks to be given to you today.

My heinous punctuation

I didn’t mean to write about this. I was going to write about something I was thinking about control and power, but this is what came out. There is something about having written this that makes me feel happier. I forget that I can’t control everything or do everything. Sometimes you just gotta let stuff float.

Now, I need to go find something to do with all of this crazy happiness that just started to re-emerge.

 

 

 
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A Peek into My Mind

First and foremost, I give you cats what you want and what my site is becoming known for: a picture of a baby corgi.

yet another pic of a corgi puppy

This pic was linked to me by Amy T

This was from the header of a funny story about Rick Santorum.

My friends link me things with corgis and about The Hunger Games, because they know these things make me happy and my friends are awesome. Except for Chantz, who linked me an angry reviewer screaming a review about how bad The Hunger Games movie is. Chantz is an asshole. I don’t care how bad it is. I’m going to see it tomorrow DAMNIT.  Angry reviewer man is not the boss of me.

So, this morning my friend Cynthia linked me this:

Apparently, no one is the boss of Kristen Bell AND she loves The Hunger Games.

I think there are worse things to be known than corgis and The Hunger Games.

So, I have a baby shower next Saturday, and I am excited to go, but, as we all know,I have the whole social anxiety thing. I’ve been thinking it over in my head a lot so I can prepare it for myself. I realized I have a pretty awesome anxiety.

We all know I am not very good at being a real woman. I love kids, and I find cute baby stuff awesome, but I am completely clueless. Not only am I completely clueless, but I am also VERY adept at saying the wrong thing at exactly the right time.

I think terrible things like hooking up both boobs to a breast pump at the same time and seeing which one wins a race to pump the most the fastest. I even imagine an announcer calling it like a horse race. “Left breast is in the lead by a few milliliters, can right breast catch up in time?”

No woman in her right mind would find that funny or appropriate, so I know not to say those things. Well, my brain is very busy filtering things like that, I know some other, less obvious shit, will break through. I also know I develop Tourette’s syndrome the second I get into a situation that makes me uncomfortable. The more nervous I am, the more f-bombs I drop.

In my mind, I am going to walk into Angela’s baby shower and within ten minutes swear up a blue streak and make at least five uncouth comments about tits and vaginas. THIS IS WHY MY FRIENDS CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.

I am going to work on convincing myself that they knew it was a very real possibility when they invited me. Really, it is their fault that I will probably involuntarily offend everyone in the lovely, lady-like shower before the afternoon is over. They invited me. Never invite me to things unless you are willing to accept the consequences.  The bonus is that everyone will be knocked up, so there won’t be booze and the potential disaster that booze always brings.

Yep, I can handle being known for corgis and The Hunger Games

 
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Small Things

On it, Bitch

This really has nothing to to do with anything. It just makes me happy

I’m reading The Hunger Games again. I might read it a third time in a row. I don’t know.  I understand it is insane to read a book three times in a row, but that’s how I roll.

I was feeling pretty bleak today. I was feeling “crying in the shower” bleak today.

Today is the anniversary of the break-up. I don’t miss the relationship, by any means, and this year has been incredible. I have had so much growth, and I am more genuinely happy than I have ever been. (I know that is strange to say when I just admitted to crying in the shower, stop judging.) I felt stupid for even letting myself note it.

I have also been feeling frustrated with myself that nothing has been happening with my writing. I feel like I should some how have accomplished more, and time is running out.

Any writer who tells you that they don’t want to have their stuff read is either full of shit or a total nutbag. Writers write for two reason: we have things in our heads we need out, and we want people to read them. We want people to read and appreciate our stuff. If you write and have no desire to write something that people will read, then you aren’t a writer. You are someone who happens to write. Well, that but only less judgy and harsh, so let me attempt to explain.

I think of it more as someone who is really into golfing (or any other sport/hobby/craft). They love to golf. Golfing makes them feel whole, and when they golf, they feel a deep connection to their inner them. I think most people have this feeling about something. This doesn’t make them a professional golfer.

It is more than about making a living writer, which would be glorious I won’t lie, but the idea that this is something you want to use to interact with the world. I want people to read my stuff, not just to be famous, or make money, but to feeling like I am making some sort of impact. I write to put stuff out there because of this crazy belief that I can make people laugh, feel, or have some sort of impact on them.

I haven’t been feeling that lately. Objectively, I know I am a better writer than I have ever been. I am learning about who I am as a story teller. I am creating ideas at a rate I never have before, and I am looking at everything I read differently. Logically, I know I am getting better. Today, I just feel like I am banging my head on a wall and making no impact on anything, and any moment I am going to pass out with a bloody forehead.

So, today I sent Tina a text that said, “I feel really bleak today. I don’t want to blog today because I know it will come out really bleak.”

She called me back.

She told me that anyone would feel the anniversary. I felt better.

She told me she felt the same way about her photography that I do about my writing. I felt better.

We raved with each other about The Hunger Games. I felt better.

She promised me an eventual drunken night at a quiet piano bar that requires a cab ride home. She said, “Sometimes to get back into your own head, you need to go completely out of your own mind.” Simple brilliance.

I don’t know why having someone understand why I feel so bleak today made me feel less bleak. Well, I do. It is the same reason I write this blog. Sometimes we all need to know that someone else gets why we feel the way we do in order to be able to handle this business of trying to be happy and live. It is odd that sometimes you have to be sad in order to be happy, and if you avoid or ignore the unpleasant you can’t ever really feel the good.

So, my friends, fight to be happy and to be yourself. They are one in the same. If you are willing to love and accept, you will find love and acceptance, including yourself. Shit happens and you have no control over it, but you can decide how you want to handle.

Those are my lessons from this year. Well, and that drunk texting is bad. Sorry again, Tina.

 
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