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So its a lot of fucking pressure, you know?

June 13, 2008

blahblahblah, right?

So now I don’t know where to begin because it feels like the beginning again. There are many things spinning around in my head that don’t feel too personal as the personal shit was taking up a LOT of room. All the room inside my brain in fact. Thank goodness I am not in school right this very second or maybe that would be better because then I could think of body systems and functions and skip all this other shit going on in my life/head/soul. Shit. I don’t believe in souls. Well, whatever that other useless squishy part of my being that is not my brain that reigns supreme and coerces me into stupid, stupid, stupid shit.

blahblahblah.

So, in order of as it occurs to me and not importance…somethings I have been thinking in case you are all done yourself thinking your own thoughts and want to sponge off of someone else:

1. Birds. Always freak me out. Where are they always going? Do they get tired of flying? Do they even thing about it? How do they find there way around when most are very small and fragile? What the fuck are they chirping about all spring and summer? I think it is “FUCK ME” . The chickadee song is a perfect example of that. Google it.

2. Every where in the world is some incarnation of something else. Case in point: Last night while I was out playing pool I ran into a younger version of Jay, Josh, Tyson and Paul. There was the funny one, the smart one, the quiet one and the hot one. The funny one seranaded me with an inappropriate song that I am sorry to say I do not know the title of but was mostly about being willing to do sex in whatever position I found pleasing and that we could bone all night. Although my funny one would be too shy to sing that but would gladly mock in a clever way the one that would. You know which category you fit into. Bonus points to anyone that can tell me what the song is.

3. I am old but people, random strangers and people at work think I am about 26-29 years old. While I find that flattering I suppose I can only conclud that I am VERY immature and I can’t wrinkle my forhead so it is not so creasy?

4. I love Chica and she is becoming this delightful creature whom I adore almost all the time now except when she talks in that baby voice when she is trying to get something she knows she can’t have and is trying to be as pathetic as possible. Or when she is whining. Or when she is complaining. Or, well, fuck it. Really I like her more now than I did a few months ago but my train of thought seems to be contricting that so I am just gonna stop right here because I would like to believe I like her more. Loathing her kind of cuts into my mother of the year nomination.

5. I love running and who would have thought it although I do not like running in humidity and 80 degree mornings at 7am so I am not running so much now. Drat you summer heat and stickiness.

6. I am an excellent typist (yes I say this in my most rainman type voice as I also drive well in the driveway). People at work always marvel and say, “Lookit her go hun.”

7. I love that I can have long fingernails while not in clinical although JAHCO frowns on it.

8. I am not fatter in my swimsuit than I was last year and that is nice. I am not smaller but not fatter.

9. I have been married for 16 years this year. thatisalongfuckingtime. BTW.

10. I have a really hot dress and hot shoes and will be happy to have occasion to wear them since my scheduled event was cancelled. Will consider most reasonable offers. Must be willing to fawn and gush sincerely and tell me how much hawter I am now than when I was in high school and was the size of a small tiny twig.

blahblahblah.

this still feels stupid.
I should just start keeping a journal again. Must find good hiding space though. Like buried in my yard. And you know, screw spell check. You shouldn’t even be reading this anyway.

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5 Comments leave one →
  1. June 13, 2008 3:54 am

    I see your problem. It’s right there in that last paragraph.

    The part where you’re going to bury your journal in the yard.

    Right there, that’s it. You’ll need to build a bunker to house the journal or it won’t be worth a flip.

    Plus, it will be cooler down there. You can run in the bunker. You can also have clandestine sex with your hubby down there, and hide from the kids.

    See, the solution was right in front of you the whole time.

    Any time you need me, I’m here.

    ~ Eve

    P.S. Also, there are no birds in bunkers so. . .

  2. June 13, 2008 3:00 pm

    Let. it. go.

    Your mom’s death, new school, tyrant 3 year old, shocking death of your friend and her children…

    Your supposed to be overwhelmed, anxious, neurotic, shell shocked, coping, hiding in a bunker with a bottle of rum.

    Don’t fret about the writing.

    take care of the voices in your head

    watch the birds sail in the wind- freaky little buggers

    and hold on for the ride

    just a bit of unsolicited nonsense from me

  3. June 14, 2008 5:20 am

    i wish i could guess the song, but i can’t. i’m sad for all that has happened. sending you strength and whateverhelps.

    m.

  4. June 15, 2008 2:49 pm

    must find good hiding place — hilarious. I got around this by leaving my journals out. My husband (then boyfriend) snuck into one and was so freaked out by what he read, he’s never gone back. That was 20ish years ago. Now I can leave them in my office on my bookshelves. 8)

  5. gino permalink
    June 16, 2008 2:23 am

    Chill, Cole.

    You are far too intelligent (in my stupid opinion) to succumb to “pressure”….

    The first priority of every day is to wake up and breathe, no?

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