I'm feeling quite selfish at the moment, and more than a little angry with myself for letting my life get into the tangled state of affairs that it is. I've sacrificed everything I wanted for myself in order to keep the peace and to try to salvage what was left of my marriage and family. I gave up many things that brought me solace and hope to focus on what was supposed to be important. I tried to be grateful. I tried to be thoughtful and helpful. I hoped it would make a difference and that my life would feel more meaningful and fulfilled.
So it turns out that all this is bullshit. Of course, my children come first, and every breath I take is for them and their happiness, but all the other things: the house, the car, the job, the money, the whatever, is completely useless when you are fucking miserable. So now, the kids notice that I'm unhappy. My friends don't want to hang out with me anymore because I'm such a downer. Even my cat hates me.
How do you find the time to remake your life with four children, one full time and one part time job, bills to pay, obligations to honor, and a complete lack of money and energy? Where do you start? I fucked it all up. I tried to fix it, but it's too broken, and now I need to start over...but where, and how?
My kids are all I have right now, and I can't lay all this on them. I really just need someone who will sit with me, listen to my sob shit story, tell me to stop whining and be a big girl, possibly slap me upside the head, then give me a hug and tell me it will all be ok. It will be ok.....won't it?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
In the Before Time...
I've decided that since my brain is mush, and I can't come up with a new thought to save my pathetic life, I'm going to rehash some old myspace blogs for your (all 3 of you) enjoyment. So here: read my shit.
So anyway, it seems I haven't written anything in a while, and I know how disappointing that must be to the 2 people who read my senseless drivel, so I shall now give you what you both have been waiting so long for:
A mind-numbing narrative on the current state of my being - coded in obscure metaphor so you'll have no idea what I'm talking about.
My life is a mushroom. No, not that kind of mushroom, but then again, maybe it is. My mushroom resides on the cold, damp floor of a forest, shaded by a dense canopy of flora, surrounded by other mushrooms, none of them quite as plump and juicy as mine. She waits. She knows not for what she is waiting, but that's all that mushrooms can fucking do, you understand? Sometimes it rains, and when it does, the rain just puddles around her little mushroom stem, pissing her off. What can she do?
Wait. Duh.
Sometimes the mushroom catches little glimpses of sunshine through the leafy roof above. Brief moments of warmth and light. Enough to satisfy the short, dull existance of a mushroom. The wind blows. The canopy seals. The sunlight is gone.
The mushroom waits. Again.
The poor mushroom is very misunderstood. Many believe that it is a mushroom's fate to be sauteed in butter or served with pasta, but is that really all a mushroom is good for? Perhaps the mushroom does not want to be eaten? Or if she does, maybe she wants to be savored - whole and raw - just like nature intended. Perhaps mushrooms just want the chance to grow like everything else and not be plucked up before their time and thrust unceremoniously into the hungry mouths of passersby. It's quite possible that they like to sit and wait. But how should we know?
We aren't mushrooms.
So anyway, it seems I haven't written anything in a while, and I know how disappointing that must be to the 2 people who read my senseless drivel, so I shall now give you what you both have been waiting so long for:
A mind-numbing narrative on the current state of my being - coded in obscure metaphor so you'll have no idea what I'm talking about.
My life is a mushroom. No, not that kind of mushroom, but then again, maybe it is. My mushroom resides on the cold, damp floor of a forest, shaded by a dense canopy of flora, surrounded by other mushrooms, none of them quite as plump and juicy as mine. She waits. She knows not for what she is waiting, but that's all that mushrooms can fucking do, you understand? Sometimes it rains, and when it does, the rain just puddles around her little mushroom stem, pissing her off. What can she do?
Wait. Duh.
Sometimes the mushroom catches little glimpses of sunshine through the leafy roof above. Brief moments of warmth and light. Enough to satisfy the short, dull existance of a mushroom. The wind blows. The canopy seals. The sunlight is gone.
The mushroom waits. Again.
The poor mushroom is very misunderstood. Many believe that it is a mushroom's fate to be sauteed in butter or served with pasta, but is that really all a mushroom is good for? Perhaps the mushroom does not want to be eaten? Or if she does, maybe she wants to be savored - whole and raw - just like nature intended. Perhaps mushrooms just want the chance to grow like everything else and not be plucked up before their time and thrust unceremoniously into the hungry mouths of passersby. It's quite possible that they like to sit and wait. But how should we know?
We aren't mushrooms.
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