5 posts tagged “why?”

people who take themselves so goddamn seriously that they're impossible to have a conversation with without trying not to send them to a work camp in your head.

people who take themselves too seriously should be sent to volunteer in a cancer ward.  they should not be allowed to adhere to any fashion craze/scene/trend that may inhibit their punishment/redemption/heart growth of spending time with people who are allowed to take themselves so seriously but by virtue of the fact that they're awesome... don't.

end scene.

it attacked me in the shower.  a normal morning, otherwise, it prevented me from breathing or whimpering in any delicate way, or any way at all.  i only had to stand there with my hand on the tile, my other palm on my foreheade, all of me breathing deeply until it stopped. 

it beat the air from my lungs and turned my face into an unbelievable mess.  i didn't have time to recuperate, move my neck, or brace myself.  i didn't see it coming, on this day, for no palpable reason.  my memory just kicked my fucking ass. 

the days are short, and time is abundant.  i never pictured myself as the kind of chick to long for the nine to five, but you just get burned out.  you get to feeling like you want to know what to expect. 

the big surprises in your life, they hop on you from behind the half-closed doors and give you a fuckin' heart attack.  you can't breathe.  you stop short in some crooked, question mark pose while your heart skips a beat.  eventually, your heart yearns for that even pace.

i used to write. really write.

but it was all when i had so much in my head and so many people to be angry with ... and then there was THEM.  the expense on my system was beyond taxing; it was exhausting.  i was a shell.

i don't have as much to say anymore, and maybe it's because that passion to fight has left my system; like all good grown-ups, i've learned it just doesn't help.  but what i do say, i want it to really rock you.  i want you to appreciate the letters within the words and savor every moment of time i spend writing this.  i want to be appreciated and loved for the words that come out of my mouth.  i want to be published from the mountain tops.  i want to be translated into 43 different languages.  i want libraries to tick 'yes' in the box next to my name.  i want it all, for no fee whatsoever.

is it sad that i think i deserve it?

four years go by, and does anyone remember?  has anyone followed me from here to now? 

letting the bottom rot through, it eats your brain.  when your feet are in the rising water, you just gotta cry out. 

while a lot of girls have distinctive hormonal problems/imbalances/bad tidings during pms, mine are kind enough to continue right through ovulation.

in other words?  i am one fuckin' moody bitch.

for those of you who just started in on me and my life, my emotions travel through me at great speed and with little care as to the havoc they cause on body and soul.  if only my metabolism was as quick and effective, i wouldn't have spent the better part of the week trying to peel the skin from my vessel.  after much deliberation, i am allergic to collared greens, and 66% of events make me cry during the second week of the month.  those are my conclusions, doubt them if you will but i have the blotchy skin and hiccupped breathing to vouch for it all. 

last night, as i asked my husband to talk to me to sleep as i always do.  he asked me, where do you think you'll be in two years?  and two years, as slight amount of time as it may seem, upon consideration, is actually not only life altering but incredibly healing as well. 

in two years, i hope to have a happy husband, a baby, and a house to call our own.  also, i want to finish something.

"finish what?"

anything.

there hasn't been room in my head to write for the last year, and i believe i may have lost sight of something as i got caught up in the everlasting and hypnotizing changes that happen when you're my age.  there's a sliver of "goal" left in me yet, and i am still a writer, above and beyond any other dream i've ever had.  i am a writer, and staying true to that by finishing something, anything, is my focus of the sometimes dimwitted attention span i have to call my own.

on that note, the episode when dr. green dies was on TNT this morning.  i stupidly watched it in this delicate condition of being a frikkin' chick.  i was crying for the last twenty minutes.

why is it that everytime i meet an average male of non-descript age ... i think his name is danny?

i swear, "oh you know, the internet guy, i think his name was danny."

"the guy i talked to last time said the bill was all set.  i think his name was danny."

anytime i go to think of a name for this fellow of passing significance ... danny.

strange how our minds fill in the blanks for us and try to convince us that their not lying.