There was once...

Dear James,

I've thought about it enough to know that I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time. So who on god's green earth would really accept a religious school for psycics?

I hate with depth. Beauty, in the dark.

And the only person who would understand doesn't care anymore? Doesn't read it, or anything...I am lost.

Thank you, James. For being there. Or here.

love,

The Mouse

For James, Again

It's not as if I wish anything in life...execept for a person like me....

"gravedigger...dig me a shallow grave...so that I can feel the rain..."

And here I am again. Wondering if I'm crazy girl or totally insane.

Who am I? I don't know.

And when I do, I will be wrong.

Life in a nutshell...or so I think.

And farther down I sink

into that which I am not

but it is my lot

to be where I am in life

to have this never-ending strife

and all I can ask of the gravedigger

is that which Dave can

A shallow grave to feel the rain.

Here We Go Again

I have a story. A better story. I want to write it all down. I think it would be a good story.

I just hope it wasn't as lame as the last one.

And, of course, this means not paying attention to the boy...who, incidentally, wants to write his own story.

For those who know me well:

Boy: "Well, when I start writing, I have a tendency to ignore everything else and just focus on the writing."

Gosh, doesn't that sound like someone you know? In fact, I would welcome that...at least, then, I can get on with my writing without interruptions. Although we've had a breakthrough -- he's at least learned my "If you interrupt me one more time, I will seriously kill you" look...along with the "Are you aware that I'm contemplating your death" look. FINALLY. Ugh.

WHY do they take so long to train?

A Bit of a Rant...

...or, "How I feel unloved at the moment."

So I have mono. I never knew it was this bad. This sore throat thing is incredibly painful...I can't eat and have a hard time swallowing anything, including my meds and any pain relievers. I've lost over 20 pounds because of it and I'm starving all the time.

So my boy calls me up on this fine Labor Day and says, "Well, I was going to come over and spend the day with you, so I went jogging early..." so of course, with the best intentions, he falls and gets hurt. No big deal. Fine, I can understand that he won't join me because he's hurt. But then, he has the audacity to claim, "I bet I'm in more pain than you are."

Oh, no, he didn't.

I can't eat. I can barely drink water. I flinch everytime I swallow. Pain? I'm on vicadin which makes me nauseous, which makes me nervous because vomiting with a sore throat makes it that much more painful. I wake up crying in the morning because it feels like my throat's on fire and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. He can take aspirin and just be uncomfortably sore. I can't. He can still eat. I can't. I take three or four showers a day because I sweat so much but I don't really have a fever. I'm cold and clammy all over, I can't go to work, or go get coffee, or go drinking, or smoke, or do anything and this punk claims that he's in more pain than I am. I can't even talk, dammit, and boy was I pissed enough to say something even though it hurt like hell. When I'm better again, he's gonna get a good talking to, the kind where he gets mad at me for it. And I don't care. Why? Because I'm really sick and dammit, I'm not gonna take that.

Grrrr.

A Bit Of Nothing, Really

A Rant:

well, gee...as if there aren't a million times that i felt like leaving the bar...but no, i had to drive you home first...or that sort of thing. so now that you live close to the bars, you can leave whenever, even though "you want to spend your time with me". maybe i'm stupid. maybe i thought you were different. but don't you dare think that you're different from any other man. you want someone who is less intelligent than you are. rare is it, that a man wants a woman who is smarter than he is. very rare. i had that once, but dammit, like a fool, like a million fools, i gave that up for the chance that he would be happy with someone more in his liking. maybe that's what i have to do with you. i could tell you everything that has to do with me, and you'd never understand nor would you listen. but am i grammatically correct? does it matter? apparently it does. oh, i'm sorry, i'm just a DUMBASS, like everyone else. too bad you have no idea of spirituality. too bad you don't know what it's like to stare at trees for hours as the sun sets and you think of God. too bad that you just don't know that what i say becomes true, or that i'm psycic or anything. too bad for you the world revolves around logic...because, if you're human, there is no logic. and you're just as human as anyone else...actually, if i had to have a theory, you're hypersensitive. forget any syndrome....you're just a ninny like a lot of people i know, the type who can't swallow their own sarcasm. if you're going to be snide to me, be prepared for the most snide (or is it snidist? not like i'd know....) comments you could think of...and then some....
...and then the doorbell rings....?

Sometimes I wonder why I'm such a girl. Dammit, I have ovaries! Isn't that enough????

Amusement!

This is waaaaaaaaaay too much fun. TRY IT!

(Taken from Dave Barry's Blog.)

Which CHICAGO Character are You? Find out!

And so...

I guess my adoring audience is getting bored. When you get emails and conversations that revolve around "Write something", it's time to write something. So here goes....

SOMETHING.

I'm such a riot. Real knee slapping fun.

I'm slightly happier now than I was before. Boys tend to do that to you. I like this one. He takes up a lot of time, makes me read his books, and tries to explain to me the problems of interstellar space travel although I have no aptitude for physics and math. But I will listen because it's for a book he wants to write...and like I haven't bored enough people with my book ideas. Speaking of, I may not write a lot on here because another idea is developing for one and I might have to write it down. I have had inspiration. Funny how that is.

And now I'm off slacking, because I'm a slacker at heart. Been working too hard. Ugh. Well, at least I get paid for it.

It's A Sad, Sad Day...

Johnny Paycheck died. Bow ya' heads and set for a moment o' silence as we mourn this here great man, a man o' country music.

Grr

I've just been in a foul, non-writing mood lately.

Four million thoughts swim in my head. There's just too much to think about. Waaaay too much to think about.

Like Mr. Blond, for instance. I want to know how he really feels about me. I mean really feels about me. Where is this relationship headed? Where does he want it to go? Nowhere? Anywhere? Is this just a "right now, as long as it lasts" thing or more serious than that? I want to know these things. And for the life of me, I just can't get the cahones to ask. Which leads me to...

Lately I've been having this horrible thought streak. Like, "I want to go back out with my ex-fiancee" streak. And then I (mentally) slap myself on the head. No, I tell myself, it's not that you love him in that way anymore you fool. You're well aware of that. It's the relationship that you had that you miss. And boy do I. I miss the honesty, sometimes brutal, but always needed. I miss just running rampant with goofy thoughts and strange jokes...I miss being able to cry in front of someone and have them hold me...I miss...a lot of things. There's one thing I don't miss: being ignored. Why is it that the computer is such a draw? It's so silly to be jealous of a machine, but at the same time, my time and company are valuable and if you don't pay attention to me, well, of course I'll be miserable. It just depresses me. Especially with people who spend most of their day in front of it (no names to protect the guilty). So what's my strategy? Make my time and company even more limited. Which leads me to....

Workaholic. I damn near feel like working ten hours a day. I'm depressed and just don't want to think about how sad and silly my life really is. So if I'm not drinking, I'd rather be working. Get more money that way. Be able to buy a car...get an apartment...do all sorts of things. But I'm sure things wouldn't be so tough if I tightened up the checkbook a little and didn't spend so much. Which leads me to....

Mr. Blond again and his lack of a job. There comes a point when I just don't want to spend money on him. That, and sometimes I think he expects me to do things for him. That's not how I am; I can be a sympathetic ear, but unless you do something, that's the way things will be. I don't care if someone's in debt; my cousin has been trying to pay off her credit cards for TWO YEARS. It's the...I don't know what it is. I always feel like people are mooching off me. Grrr. Which leads me to....

And I think you get the point. I suppose you could say it's circular thinking, but really, there's just so many of them that it's a pretty big circle. And it's never the same. And those are just the thoughts about my life...it doesn't take into account all of the other thoughts I have about poetry, stories, and fantasies.

I wish I could just shut my brain off. Grr.

What's Wrong With Our Society

I'm hungry. Now, sometimes I just wander aimlessly around the kitchen, looking for something to eat, but I don't really eat anything. Other times, I know exactly what I want and so I make it. Occasionally, I will have pizza because I'm hungry and have no idea of what else to eat. So I scrounge around for pizza singles, find a cheese one, and turn on the oven. As I glanced at the cooking instructions, I saw this phrase written in huge letters:

COOK BEFORE EATING.

Who is the moron who didn't cook it? Better still, who's the moron that ate it frozen? Or is the warning on there to prevent future lawsuits of some idiot who doesn't understand these things? Do they really think we're that stupid?

God, I hope not.

And It's Friday

I have no motivation.

I just don't wanna do anything.

I wanna go play somewhere where it's warm, I wanna go lay in a hammock in the breeze and drink the tropical drinks. I don't wanna have to worry about the world and all and this lovely handcrafted handbasket we're in. I just wanna be floating with the breeze and drifting on the water with the waves. I wanna be a million miles from noise and people and just be alone on the beach. I want sand and surf and lazy peace of mind. I just wanna be able to listen to the roar of waves on the ocean and wind whistling around.

But instead, I'm here in this cold foresaken place. We haven't had the 20 feet of snow we usually get nor the -50 wind chill. I want it to be warm again. Arg. I'm such a wuss.

Thank You For Not Listening.

And Time Has Passed...

It's been around a year since I started this. Look where it's got me.

I haven't written in a while, mainly because I've been busy...doing absolutely nothing. Now I suppose no one reads this anymore, and for some reason, that's a comforting thought.

I did something so stupid I'm not going to admit it here. I will, however, say that I have decided to leave the bar for the most part. I don't admit that when I drink too much and don't remember things that sometimes I do remember things. The alter drinking ego is a very scary individual. Trust me. Too much I have walked around an unsavory neighborhood wanting to get shot or run over by something. To die. That character is dangerous. It's the one that talks to me when I'm sleepwalking. I may not be able to recount anything I say, but I know the feeling behind the creature. It's the one that takes dull knives to her neck, not foolish enough to think it will kill, but knowledgable enough to know it will hurt. When you wake up to that, or see it happen from the sidelines with no way to control it, you know you're not sane. It's the thing that I've always wrestled with, that creature that displays itself when no one's around to see. It waits, you see, for those moments. Those moments when I can't remember things. Glass after glass of beer, its smile becomes wider, envisioning all of the harm it wants to get itself into. It hovers in the back of my head and when I'm most helpless to stop it, it appears.

To those who know: I might have been aiming for it. If my nightmares are memories of what actually happened, I aimed. If my imagination is just scared, then I can rest assured that maybe I'm not crazy, that maybe it's just stupidity. Either case, I awoke for a few brief moments saying something that probably wasn't kind and it dragged me out of safety. It flaunts the fact that people don't watch what I do, it wants to challenge the loyalty. And it knows exactly when to it, exacty what the circumstances are to do it in. I knew what happened the next day, at least, on a subconcious level. And I was talking to it for a while out in the cold. That's when I was crying and wondering, "What happened to me?" And strangely, it falls silent now. It's time has passed. One final fuckyougoodbye and it ran away...I hope. If you ever see it, slap its face, and then chain it to the nearest lightpole. Give it a good lesson. Please.

And with its leaving comes a strange serenity. Things are clearer now than they ever have been...at least for the past two years. I feel like I've just woken up after a very long nap. Like Rip Van Winkle. The world has changed. I don't recognize it now. Suddenly there isn't anything I left with. But with this clearness comes the thing which I dreaded the most...the giftlike thing. I have this odd feeling that my life is going to change drastically in the next year. I think my mother is going to die. There's something about touching her or her objects that make me think that. Now, I could be off on the time, but it's going to be soon, within the next five years. She doesn't know it's coming so soon. And it's not like there's a single person on earth that I can talk to about this. So at some point, the Tarot deck will come out and be read. My deck loves me...it gives very honest (sometimes too honest) readings.

As for Mr. Blond, I just don't know. I think he's at a crossroads. I see two visions, one relatively good, sane and happy, and the other relatively bad, insane and miserable. Something tells me there's a choice he has to make or something...like a game show: "Behind one of these doors, Mr. Blond, is the happiness that you seek. Behind the other door is enternal sadness and depression. Which door will it be?" But I have no clue what the choice or decision could possibly be that would lead him to the better things. Sometimes it's the most unlikely choice, one that would seem to take the miserable path, but it leads to the good path. I, of course, don't say anything about it. I'm waiting to see what he chooses and how it goes. Like I said, should there be nothing between us one day and for the rest of our lives, I still would like to be friends with him. I want to see what his choice leads to. I'm curious as to how it works out. I hope it works out well. I would hate to see it work out badly.

Well, that's all that's on my mind at the moment. And if anyone's annoyed with me, just remember: I can barely live with myself, so I don't know how you all can. If I had the chance to walk away from me, I would. I guess that's my problem...I can't see myself getting married because I can barely stand myself, and I can't possibly believe that someone else would want to live with me in my little world. Oh, well, it's not as bad as anyone thinks, really. Alone isn't too bad. It could be worse....