oopgirl's Blog

Alive but dead

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I think the most annoying thing about this website is the fact that it lacks autosave. I write and write, to have it swept away in a moment, and I am not even sure how or why.

It is the worst.

As I was saying because I do not have energy to start over again, I feel heavy weak and sickly.

Oddly though my afternoon has been crap and I feel like a beached whale at the moment, overall life is seemingly good. I am busy and happy at work, and entertained enough outside of work. I think money still continues to bother me.

It hangs over me, never enough. Where I feel guilty for buying take out, not just because it is bad for me, but because it is money that I really don't have. The crazy part is, I just got paid. Two days have gone by and it is like I have nothing again.

Maybe that is what makes me feel sick, what is causing my back to ache. The anxiety of money. It's thing I don't want to deal with, that governs my life and limits it.

Then of course there is my health, or lack there of, that leaves me bound to my bed. Which on most case would be my preference, but now gives me a feeling of helplessness and disgust.

I feel broken and ill.


I think someone could and would be happy to be shacked up with me.

I am not sure who they are, or where they are, but I can see it none the less.

It always seems like everyone is so superficial. Like everyone is this other normal, where I do not fit in. 
But, I see my normal. It seems warm and rich, fulfilling, and happy. 

It is just waiting here. Waiting here for someone to appreciate. And I do think, someone would be happy to appreciate it. I just wonder if I will ever be able to appreciate that someone. to recognize that someone, like they have recognized me.

Because I am sure they are there, but I don't see them.

The outlook is bleak

Is my cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full...

Well decidely at the moment, I would say half empty, suprise, suprise.

I am filled with doubt.

Doubt regarding everything.

For once I am doing quite well at work, but I am broke. I suppose I was always working above my true pay grade, no wonder I failed so miserably. And now that any ounce of ambition has been sucked from my soul, I can't imagine progressing.

My boss will sense my weakness. People will find me strange, abrassive and unlikeable. Not really a recipe for success. So then I stay poor. I'll have to maintain above average performance for at least three years just for the possiblity of my 3% raise at each review, just to finally get close to what I used to make. Just to have enough money to pay my credit card bills. And there is no gaurantee I can remain in good graces for that long. I may have to work intimately withother people and ruin it all. Or I could get laid off or fired, or not get a raise at all at my reviews.

There is no telling if I will even have any friends around by that time. I seem to be a social pirriah at work, and what small amount of friends I have now, well now that I am poor, I cannot hang out and do the same things we used to. No fancy dinners, no holidays. Being poor is so depressing.

I can't even afford a proper check up with my psychiatrist. He'll be so disppointed to hear how depressed I am. I hope he doesn't take my prescription away.

Well thats it on money, career, and social.

Then of course there is the doubt of love. More so the hopelessness, more so the exceptance of my new found state of spinsterhood. My curiousities evolve in to fact, which forces me to think practically about my future.

I won't be able to see my family ever again, no highschool reunions, or weddings, how embarrasing. Perhaps a visit to my friends in Nevada and New York, a quiet distance from my friends here. No one ever inquires about my love life, so imagine there will be no danger of it coming up. I imagine having to politely excuse myself when talk of relationships or love arise. I can probably just sit there is silence. Most of my firends are happy listening to themselves, they wont even notice I am not joining in.

I do feel bad about never seeing my family again. But it does seem so much easier. Disappearing from the world. Perhaps when I can finally move out of this flat, well I can sever my ties then. I don't have to give anyone my new address. Chnage my phone number, or just never answer. I have given my mom my work number though. I guess I will have to get a new job as well.

I don't see why I am overracting this way. It has never been a problem being invisible in the past. I do find it strange who creepy married men always fancy me though. Well they are no all creepy, just creepy because they are married.

I wonder what it is about me. Is it just that I am being friendly. Do they seem me and fantasize about being single? Do they see me and feel like they might have a shot? Well jokes on them! No one has a shot with me. If a single man hit on me, even if he was disgusting, well I would assume something was up.

Do I look like an easy target? Do you think I am equally as disgusting as you? Either way, I don't win, and my crazy lady reaction would drive away anyone with real intent.

I am also sad I might never own a home again. It seems like the right thing to do now, and the reality of the situation. But in two years when I decide I want to buy a home, I wont be able to. I'll probably have to claim bankruptcy and be destoryed for the next 7 years. That is something you are supposed to do in your twenties, not the prime of your adulthood. Well, at least I will have something to celebrate on my 40th birthday.

okay.. i think my rant is over.

A Lot Like Love

I'll be honest. I don't think I have truly been in love before. Though admittedly, I have spoken the words. I love you.

Still I have this feeling when I am near him. It is more than a crush, which I rarely ever experience, and I say this because it goes beyond a longing. It is not based on a flirtation, or a adolescent wish. No this feeling is inert. It is a feeling that with time and space, dissipates, but in a single interaction returns full force.

What it is is chemical. He is a puzzle piece that fits me completely. His presence fills space I did not know was empty, or perhaps that I did not think could be filled.

For me, this is the closest I have felt to love, perhaps the closest I will ever get. Absolute magnetism. He fits me perfectly and more so, I do not think of me and him, a couple or love, but simply the feeling. This exciting rush of attraction. An attraction of heart, of soul, of all. I struggle to find the words. It is like a once empty glass that suddenly runnith over. It is a pleasing feeling, to think I have found my match. This man is not perfect. He just feels perfect. 

They always sneak up on me, the ones I truly like. The ones who sweep me off my feet, leave me breathless. I typically don't notice them at first, but then i do. And best of all, it is natural. A slow realization that allows me to be me, and he to be him, before any idea of romance surfaces. Of course, now that I think of it, it is the girlfriend that truly allows for that.

Alas, he is not mine for the taking. He of course is promised to another. Which i am fearful may contribute to my attraction, as i am weary that this seemingly pure emotion would be tarnished by my subconscious fears.

But wouldn't't it be nice if he felt the same thing. Would't it be nice to be perfect for one another, in a way so much bigger than mere attraction. 

It is chemical. 

I do fancy him something awful. I fancy him without the slightest suggestive flirtation. I just like him and the things he says. It feels like he can finish my sentences and I could finish his. It feels balanced and whole. I imagine it is a lot like what love feels like. And in all honesty, it is such a rare and special feeling. It is almost enough just to live with its potential, though its reality is far from likely.

Taking or Losing Control

I am not sure why I am having such difficulty mustering the motivation to do anything but sit in front of this computer. 

I think I like the computer because I have not set goal, if only to amuse myself, if only to pass the time I know I should be spending doing something else. I think I need more appointments on the weekend. Early morning appointments. What I need are deadlines. 

That is all rubbish. What I need is to keep things tidy at all times. Cook something, clean up, eat something, clean up. Make your bed, put away you laundry. Things maintained daily makes for less overwhelming duties later. The truth, I do not have the spirit to do anything, and merely tabulating a list of things I should or could do, only makes me sink deeper in to the abyss of indifference and disinterest. 

Maybe it is the weather. Maybe I am premenstrual. Maybe all of the above. 

Maybe I am sick of thinking about work, and the anxiety.

Yes the anxiety has been bad lately. I have recognized the almost paralyzing affect of recalling awkward memories with seemingly pristine and penetrating clarity, summons a reverberating anxiety I once mistook for the mere emotion of embarrassment. 

I missed a work call this morning, and my thoughts turn to all the work I have not thought about, what I might have missed, what I am not preparing for the future. I am torn, because I also cling to my desire to do nothing at all, it is after all my weekend, but my work ethic, the clients reaching out to me, my lack of response fills me with guilt, and yet more anxiety.

And what of the exercises I am supposed to do. It would be easy to take a moment and take care of it right now. But the pressure of the endless list of tasks that weighs on my shoulders, binds me in my chair, so overwhelmed, I choose noting. Well nothing but writing.

I miss therapy. I have missed the last two follow up/check ins with my  psychiatrist, though he is kind enough not to cut me off entirely from my drugs, I just don't have the money to go see him. I also have never re-entered in to therapy as he suggested and I agreed. Another luxury I cannot afford. 

But my life definitely is the best it has been in years. I mean I am broke constantly, until my old house goes away, and who know the financial detriment that will bring. But I like my job, I like my home, and my friends, though I wish I saw them more often (though I am afraid I couldn't afford to go out and see them anyway). 

But I am unhappy with many things in my personal life. I recognize that the opinion I have of myself is not healthy, and it will not allow me to be successful. I have watched my ambition fade away with my confidence. I have witnessed as romance has transitioned from a challenge, to a hopeless end. I am beyond fantasy. I appreciate and feel the joys of romance and relationships, but if transfixed on myself, well I grow awkward, I pull away from my own thoughts. My shoulders hunch inward, my eyes evert away. I shift my weight as though I am escaping a hand about to rest on my shoulder. I shake my head and shoulders, and let the shiver of sadness roll down my back, and I forget about me for as long as I can. There is just something too tragic about the whole thing. 

Obviously my heart feels great sorrow, but confronting these feelings will only lead to sadness. Something that may be should be done, but that is pointless for me to do alone. I no longer have the strength to bring me up. I will wallow. I will steep in sad and distant memories, and ask hurtful pointed questions of myself. And I will agree with the negative explanations I formulate. 

I do think that I fall victim to my perception sometimes. I was born soft, and easy to bruise. With age, I built a hard shell to protect me from those who saught to harm me. When I finally had the guts to socialize, well I was already different. The product of poor discipline. The product of living alone. 

I live life attempting to determine what is normal- out there. In my home, with my friends, these worries fade. I assume, that they like me as I am. I feel comfortable being open. However, in the outside world... I am at a relative loss. Beyond the protocol I have learned through watching television in movies, and the small amount of guidance afforded to me or that I stole away, I still don't fully understand people, or more so, I don't understand why I stick out so much. Why am i so different? Am I only different because I feel different? 

I believe a strong influence to what you get back is what you put out there, but I can't decide between the chicken and the egg. Was it people's actions toward me because of who I am make me feel like an outsider, or do I project the feeling of being an outsider which then influenced peoples action's toward me? I suppose when you are both shy and sensitive, you end up weird and an outsider. As you end up keeping to yourself, and lack proper socialization.

Well I suppose I should get going. I have a laundry list of things that I won't be doing.

An Old Maid

Slowly, piece by piece, I am trying to put together my life. So that it might resemble something close to normal, though normal is becoming more and more like average, which is becoming more and more like boring, which is getting a little sad and depressing- Imagine that!

But seriously, bit by bit. I am trying. Transitioning from a pretend adult in to a real one. From a young person to an old one. And sadly for me the transition has gone from white to black, though I suppose I knew I was in the grey area, I just wasn't anticipating it would disappear so quickly. I am at an unusual and doubtful crossroads, dangerously close to the point of no return. I my friends, are on the cusp of Old Maidenhood.

My body has seen better days, though perhaps not that much better, but sadly what is lost is a true fighting chance to do anything about it. No, for me I will struggle to maintain my current overweight, never mind chasing after the pipe dream of bikini ready. if I couldn't accomplish it, or maintain it when I was 21, my chances at 32 are dismal at best. 

I know that 32 is not supposed to be old, not even midlife. But in so many ways I feel like it is the beginning of the end of my life. Like purgatory. See what you have here... that is it. Sitting at home on Friday night, Christmas meals with my dog, a job that I don't hate with a boss I don't mind (that is kind of the best part), but what a job. A desk jockey with a low paying, entry level job on the road to nowhere, in which I could be replaced at the drop of a hat. My ambition has been all but sucked dry from the past few years of failure. I try not to think about it, but I must be infamous. I imagine that the words that are kind come few and far between. With every incestual change within my industry, I think, god I hope my name is never mentioned. Everyone could give their own personal anecdote regarding how awful I am. And in that way, I feel I have burned every bridge I have crossed in the past 5 years. I had 3 consecutive jobs fire me, but luckily by the 4th, I could recognize when I was not wanted.  But never mind all of that. It is unfortunate, but it seems I have eluded that fire (for now). Yes, I seem to have found some kind of fit and I am thankful for that. 

So now I can focus on the other shortcomings I have yet to improve or perhaps come to terms with.  So as I sit here, bored, at home on a Friday night, with no prospects of entertaining. Well, I suppose I better find things to keep myself occupied. I suppose reading might be a good fit, though I feel guilty being so sedentary. 

Guilt. Worry. Anxiety. Shortselling homes. People nickle and diming me. the drama. computers that stop working. arghh!!!

This is it. I am embarrassed to be alone or at least at the thought of becoming an old maid. I find the future possible conversations awkward and uncomfortable. i am all abnormal. I feel a little hopeless about the whole thing. If i haven't found someone yet, I don't think I am going to be turning heads as an overweight 30-something. 

I have such negative memories. I am so difficult to like. I am so flawed, and unpolished, and crude, and thoughtless, and self-centered.

But I am creative. I can be funny. I keep a nice home. I am empathetic. I appreciate the arts. I enjoy people, and friendship, and being a good friend. I am a good caretaker. I have cultured a great deal of patience. I have grown. 

Maybe I am not so hopeless, maybe I am just in my grey area.


I do seem to like him so much. It seems a pity that he doesn't feel the same, just because it happens but once a year, if I am lucky, to feel this way about someone. No doubts he is a total mess, which only contributes to my attraction, but in reality I would hate it.

It is nice to fantasize about a real person though. Not just a faceless body, or a feeling, or a moment's touch, but a real person. To see his body, his touch, and the feelings those thoughts produce. It is nice to have a crush, to fancy he could have a crush on me too.

Truth is, I know the score. He could very well like me. But he is like that guy in high school who likes you, but can't admit to himself, or his friends that he does. There is something about me, but I am still not as attractive as the stereotypical blond cheerleader that he could easily get. My attraction is simply mother nature's intention to continue the human race. Fornication, that is what you are feeling. You find me attractive because your genes want to impregnate as many women as possible, and I have good birthing hips and my pheromones indicate that I have good immunities. That translates to sex, not love or companionship. But at least mother nature is putting it out there that I would make a good mate, suitable for intercourse.

Suitable for intercourse, sounds like a great T-shirt idea, but for a guy, it would just be sad if I wore it, it looses its humor on a girl.

Anyway, enough of all that! I want to bask in the glow of my crush, not analyze it and squash it. Where is the fun in that?

So if you would excuse me, I am going to go daydream for a while.

Getting back to touch

They say it is important to be touched, to feel touch. I don't know what kind of negative effect the lack of human contact has on me, if any, but I cannot deny the emotions conjured up just by the thought of touch.

Last night I was folding linens. I was tired, so I found myself distracted from the task from time to time, pausing and just sitting thinking. I ran my hands across the fabric, smoothing the creases out like an iron. It was then that I noticed the texture reminded me of a white dress shirt and the layers beneath provided a firmness similar to that of a man's torso. There was roundness where the long muscles that stretch down the center of the back should be, and as I ran my hands to the top, the fabric curved down like shoulders, broad and strong. I reveled in it. Pleasantly surprised how real I could make it, even when I didn't close my eyes. It felt nice to touch someone, to massage and caress. I can't even recall the last time I did such a thing, with a real person of course. I suppose I did a bit of it when I was gallivanting in New York. But that was over a year ago, and just for a night.

I am usually so consumed with my own loneliness and hopelessness that I never take much time to think about what others may think of me. I am sure they do, I know I would. I will say, no one seems concerned. At least they have never voiced their concerns to me. They have never tried to help, as in fixing me up or what have you. Perhaps they think I am a lost cause, perhaps they think I am happy as I am, but most likely they don't really think of it at all.

I wonder if my parents just think I am a lesbian and are too afraid to question, as they may discover the truth. I wonder if they worry I may become an old spinster. I suppose they have been blinded for the past few years with the illusion that I was some kind of successful professional, a career gal, that it was okay to be single. In all my 31 years, my parents have only met two men I have dated, and the last one was ten years ago. Ten years. how could anyone ignore that gaping hole? How could any parent not be concerned? I think they are just too preoccupied to know anything about my life to quibble about what details they get.

I must say, I am a little concerned with that stretch. Ten years, they went by so quickly, and I was so incredibly unsuccessful. That is scary. If I can't get even a bite in ten years, at 31, do I suppose 41 will be easier? Will I be less picky then? Will they be less picky then? So many questions.

Perhaps I am dead. In purgatory. Forced to live a life looking in from the outside. Coveting and urning for what I see but cannot have. Where my only satisfaction comes from imaginary caresses and fading memories. I don't think a person should go a lifetime without finding love. But I know I am not the only person in this boat, and I know like many others, that just might be my fate, my reality.

You wouldn't think it by looking at me.

what now?

Is happiness possible for me? Strike that, is sustainable happiness possible for me?

See, I ask because, I feel pretty happy. Sure my boss hates me as usual, and my career is a one-way street to nowhere and I have no idea of where the future may lead me. But, tomorrow is the day I will pick myself up, and put my best foot forward and try again. I feel there is hope for me. Perhaps I can just sustain limbo? I like limbo.

It feels like I am eternally working towards something else. Maybe I like putting career stuff to the side just so I feel focused on getting my finances together, or spending time with friends, or daydreaming about romance. I think most people call that life. I just spend so much time jeopardizing it for myself, well it seems foreign.

It doesn't seem right to be so scared of life. To live in eternal fear that it will be a bad day. That someone will hate me. That I will make mistakes. That I will disappoint. That I will lose value till I am easily expendable.

I feel more and more, maybe I just don't have what it takes. Maybe it was time to find that office job I seem so taken with. But then my schedule would change, my habits would change, and I like my habits as they are. I like my routine. I like where I live. I like my dog.

So what got me thinking about all of this.

I was just thinking about this lack of something that is always there no matter how good or bad I feel. I think that something is someone else. This unattainable someone.

There is something always standing in the way. It comes in many forms, but it is always me in some way. And it is always something that seems like this unmovable, unchangeable wall. This roadblock I can see over but not hurdle. It is like happiness is in view but eternally out of reach. Which is just a ticket to not give a fuck.

But I do like daydreaming. My dreams are like touch. My dreams are like breath. My dreams are like warmth and laundry and fights and inevitable good-byes. I've lived a lifetime of relationships in my apartment, alone. There is no substitution for love, but there is a substitution for reality. It is the only form of love I know anymore. And it gets me through the day, day by day.


My tears aren't salty today.

I find that incredibly odd, as I have never experienced it in all my years, and I have shed the tears of a dozen lifetimes. Tears roll down my cheeks because I just read my last entry, and ironically, it is almost exactly how I feel now. I no doubt then, had the same urge I do now, to get it out, to "talk" to someone," as these thoughts penetrate my soul and make me sick with this weighty feeling of darkness.

I seem unable to shake these bad feelings, these negative interactions. They hover over me like a black cloud. The creep in to my thoughts and arrest my entire being.

It is a sharp turn, as i have felt relatively good these last few weeks. Things on the up and up, almost like a normal person. It makes this intrusions that much more torturous.

I try to pinpoint it's onset. Is it some post-menstrual hormone shift? I would never think I feel more up pre-menstrual, more like sensitive and prone to crying fits. And during, well I think I am so preoccupied with uncomfortable and sometimes painful physical challenges, well I can't imagine I am at my best.

Regardless, I want this feeling to leave me. I want to cast it out with my breath as my daily affirmations suggest. Unfortunately it is sometimes easier said then done.

Maybe I just needed that second day off. Maybe everyone did. Maybe they did more than I did.

I must remember to be joyful and positive even if they do hate me. If I don't, I will surely look like the problem. Maybe that is what is truly upsetting me. Perhaps it is just anxiety. I am nervous of being placed in a box. That I have requested someone to observe, and I am fearful I will incriminate myself. I think that IS what is making me so upset. I understand it now.

I have never felt anxiety as depression, well until this moment.

knowing is half the battle

I don't seem to have any fans anymore.

More so, i seem to be irritating to everyone as of late. Like the mere sound of my voice causes hair to rise on the back of necks, eyes to roll, and general thoughts of my immediate and quick demise.

I don't feel all so different. What makes me so umbearable now. I suppose it is just time perhaps. Ironically, I seem to make people feel this way when my own thoughts are quite the opposite. No one seems to iritate me really -  well beyond my normal intolerance of others. But i mean, no one stands out. I feel no ill will towards anyone. Though I do sometimes harbor some resentment for individuals who seem as long winded and forcefully conversational as myself, but for some reason, it is ok when they talk.

I feel like even if I worked to silence myself as entirely as possible, and still conduct business, the effect would not lessen. People seem to cringe as soon as I walk in the room and there is a possiblity I may speak. Or even if I didn't speak for days, my few words would still be mine, and I may as well have been speaking all along.

Why am I so tiresome?

Someone once told me, when they were very drunk but none the less, that I talked about things that no one cared about. It was someone who was supposed to be a friend, though certainly not a best friend, not even a good friend. But her comment was so out of left field. I had said nothing to her, I had not egged her on in any way. She just decided to tell me I was annoying, boring, and that everyone felt that way, in so many words. On top of it, at the time, I rarely socialized with this group as it was. I worked a different schedule and rarely got the time to see them. I only hung out here and there.

I look back now and think, "Were they merely throwing me a bone?" Was I just some charity case friend. Like I was annoying to have around, but they didnt want to be mean and ostracize me. But, they never were much for inviting me out. They were my best friends at the time. I just always thought it was because I worked a different schedule than them, but perhaps they jus didnt want me around.

Is it tough knowing that you are awful. I sometimes wonder who people can be oblivious to being awful. Does it not bother them like it bothers me?

As more and more time goes by, I like being alone more and more. Being alone is so drama free. I dont have to vye for anyone's attention, or respect, or friendship. I can just live life without feeling unworthy, or troublesome. Not to say that I dont do my fare share of beating myself up, afterall, I say terribly cruel things to myself all the time. Not necessarily the cruelest things that have been said to me in my lifetime, but certainly, more times than have ever been said to me than by anyone else.

I sometimes want to change myself, like labodimize myself. Take out that portion of my brain that feels, that urns for other people, that feels emotion or human touch. all of the above. Wouldn't it be wonderful to just be numb to it all. Ignorant to my short comings. Just able to live life in total ignorance. But then again, I probably would no longer bother people anymore. Than I could just live my life.

Why am I so dislikable? I am just so weird to other people. Weird and or annoying. Abrassive. Boring. Troublesome. Negative. Opinionated. Disgusting. Loud. Stupid. Grating. 

so now that I know that, now what?


To be honest, I wish I had a friend around to hang out with.

But they are not calling, and I won't let myself call them. I think I am protecting myself from the rejection, which I know sounds defeatist and caustic. But in this case, I think I am right. I am just too fragile to try right now.

I wouldn't even mind talking to someone on the phone, but I know the subject of me might come up, and that isn't good news for anyone.

Plans, or Lack There Of

It is such a strange feeling to have no sense of purpose.

What is truly strange, is thinking back about things I used to feel so passionately about, and be unable to draw out any nostalgic feeling at all. To the point that I ask myself, "You really cared about that?" I wait quietly, concentrating deep in to the center of my chest, waiting for a surge of emotion, but not even a blip. It feels more like a fact than a memory, just information that holds no bearing on my disposition or my mind, just a thing that I could take or leave, or totally disregard. Funny, I feel no remorse. No sadness that this connection is gone, just puzzled on how it has vanished so completely.

In its place? Nothing. No dreams, no hopes, no thoughts. Beyond the project of setting up my home, or possibly doing research for work, I have no responsibilities, no agenda, no where to be, nothing to contemplate. Well beyond, "what should I eat?", "Should I go to the movies?", "Maybe I should go pick one of those up." I quickly discover that I have little to do that won't cost me money. Which of course goes against one of the only things you could term a goal in my life- save money- along with- exercise. They are my lifelong defeated goals that always manage to stay on my list despite my current life status because I never manage to cross either of them off.

But the dreams I speak of are not those day to day tasks of purpose I describe, but instead they are the big picture goals. "What are you going to be when you grow up?"
I haven't the faintest.

What about an artist?!
Or perhaps a... even as I sit here, my mind is blank. Nothing truly sounds dreamlike. I think, "What job isolates me from other people so that I do not bother anyone, is interesting and varied enough so that I won't slit my wrist, and pays me enough to continue at least at the level I live now?"

Nothing. Maybe isolation isn't the best idea- but something small- where perhaps I only deal with a couple of people. People who could get to know me, and that I could talk to, so that maybe they would understand me, and tolerate me.

Last night, well yesterday I was very sad. But by the evening, much of my sadness had passed, or at least I had pushed it down and hid it away just enough to feel normal, well, to not sob incessantly. But as I lay in bed I became fearful. I was watching some romantic comedy, and instead of lifting my spirits with its light-hearted love story, I became anxious. I wouldn't allow myself to fall under the fantasy of the characters. I kept reminding myself that the storyline, though once a possible reality for me, was no longer a possibility. "I can't have what those people have, not anymore." I felt a little crazy. Crazy in the sense that things were forever changed, and there was no salvation for me, I was in purgatory.

I suppose I am having difficulties coping with my disease. And since I feel my general self-worth is nothing, well there isn't much positive thinking to guide me towards the bright side of life. No, in my mind it is just over.
Suddenly, I understand the statement, "I am dead inside," often heard as a joke, I always used to laugh. But now, I feel it.

I have never considered suicide. But sometimes as I lay in bed I wonder, "What if I just laid here forever." I imagine my body becoming weaker and weaker, till I shrivel up. I wonder how long I would last. It figures that my preferred form of suicide would be death by laziness. Like I wouldn't even want to put any effort in to that either.

Maybe I should get a job in a library. Though I suppose those are becoming obsolete. Or perhaps an insane asylum, I bet that would straighten me right out. "What the hell are you complaining about!"

I guess I should go see a movie.

My Christmas Thoughts

I feel very sad and lonely today.

I suppose that is because it is Christmas, and I am alone with my computer to keep me company. However, I was OK when I first woke up.

Then I opened my gifts. It sounds like a joyful occasion, and I am appreciative for any gifts, but even with a wish list, my family still manages to send me things I never asked for or versions of them, slightly adjusted. This is a tradition I remember well from when I was a kid.

It can be a challenge growing up in a lower-middle class household of six. Gifts were often hard to come by, at least in my young adulthood. They seemed more plentiful when I was a kid. Perhaps toys for kids are just cheaper than the items on a teenager's wish list or perhaps there were just more people around to give back then. Regardless, more often times than not, I often received the knock off, cheaper version of whatever trendy gift I wrote on my Christmas list. I'd ask for a my little pony and get a my little unicorn. I'd ask for a swatch and get a switch- you could still change out the watch bands, but it of course wasn't the same.

There were some darker Christmases too. Like the year we all got one gift. Or at least I did. I think it was the same year we experimented with stretching milk by mixing it with powder milk and water, in order to save money. We each got our own gallon. I didn't think much of it at the time, just that we all drank a lot of milk, but now looking back, I realize times must have been awfully tough.

I was a teenager, and that year I wanted these winter/hiking boots. The style was the trend at the time, though I do not remember if there was a particular brand that was more popular than another. I picked them out myself. They were exactly what I wanted. Perhaps if I had selected another pair, I might have had a little left over for a second gift, but I didn't want a knock off that year. I can't imagine that my mother didn't buy them right then and there on the spot. But I do remember them being under the tree at Christmas. There was something so incredibly unsatisfying about opening a gift in which you already knew the contents- to be honest, I am not sure if they were even wrapped, or if my parents or I myself had placed my boots under the tree, just so there would be something under it for me on Christmas day. I don't remember the day clearly, but I imagine myself, sitting back on my heels with my boots in my lap, looking on as my siblings unwrapped their gifts. I don't remember if they had more than one, or if they even liked them, I just remember feeling disappointed. At school, when we returned after break, I remember awkwardly avoiding questions about what I got for Christmas, embarrassed to reveal that I only received one gift, it was a feeling I knew all too well. The same was true for back-to-school shopping.

The shopping mall was buzzing with kids and families, everyone suiting up with the next school year's fashions. My mother let us have control over how we spent our clothing budget, but even the thriftiest teenager would have difficulty making that $100 stretch. I remember my brother's tantrums about not getting the expensive sneakers or whatever other high-ticket item he desired. I remember thinking he was greedy and selfish, and I decided to keep my mouth shut about what I wanted. I knew my parents just couldn't afford it.

My needs got to a point that I didn't have enough clothes to get through the week without wearing the same thing twice, a major social faux-pas. I am sure I may have had clothes in my closet, as I do now as an adult, but as I do now as an adult, I imagine half of them were no longer my style, or no longer even fit, well not without looking ridiculous. Perhaps that is when my negative self image began. After all, maybe if I wasn't so fat I could have fit in to some of those clothes! Of course, I was not fat. Regardless, I only had so many things to wear. I even remember in 6th or 7th grade, deciding to wear my mother's skirt to school one day - like I was going to share her closet like a college roommate's. It was a giant white skirt, long, and I am surprised it even fit without dragging along the floor. The kids ridiculed me for it. I don't remember what quite they said, but I feel like it was more about me trying being showy and being a dork than just outright being a dork. Needless to say, I retired the idea of sharing fashions with my mother. As I look back, it makes total sense that I embraced the hippie look during my later adolescents. After all, it was cheap to look the part- often times you could even make the stuff yourself, and at the end of the day you could still be cool.

I don't really have another memory of back-to-school shopping for clothes after that memory of the mall. I know my parent's still ponied up for sneakers and deodorant, but once I switched my style from the gap to the salvation army, well I just don't remember when and how they contributed to my wardrobe- well besides some birthday gifts of cash. Once I got my first job, once I started babysitting, well maybe I just stopped asking unless it was my birthday or Christmas, one of those holidays that parents are required to buy something for their kids.

Again, at the time, I don't think I thought too much of it. Or at least, I thought it was what it was, and I shouldn't complain. But now I think about the hundreds and hundreds of dollars they dished out for my siblings with their hobbies or the hundreds of dollars we would spend on whatever stupid electronic gadget my dad wanted and I feel a little robbed, or more so overlooked. Yeah, overlooked.

My parents were working hard, and they were tired. My dad just wanted to keep a roof over our heads and to have his little bit of happiness and relaxation- TV and a couch. I imagine when I didn't have enough clothes to get through the week, he probably had one pair of jeans to his name.

My mom, just wanted to come home and feel like she was in a happy family. I don't know if she even new what was in my closet as a kid, or if I had enough clothes to make it through the week, if it was just the way it was or not. I don't know if she knew I would be sent to school with knots in my hair or if I was the only kid who wasn't getting anything at the book fair. Maybe I didn't want to hear about how we didn't have any money, and I didn't want to sit around and talk to her about it, or my day. Maybe I was just too quiet and shy and sensitive to compete with my older, louder siblings for the attention. After all, they were here first and it's the squeaky wheel gets the oil. I am not sure if they stopped noticing, never had noticed, or if I just shut them out after seemingly going it alone. I do, after all, prefer my life without interruptions or the meddling of others.

So I suppose it makes perfect sense that my family never seems to get me what I want for Christmas (miraculously, even when I provide a specific list), because they don't really know me. In many ways I keep them from me, and in many ways they don't seem to pay attention. But what really got me sad wasn't the gifts. It was the call.

It was calling my parents to find them at my sister's with her husband and his family, people arriving by the minute as we chat over the phone. Me holding back tears, fearful they might ask what I am doing today, but they don't. I had craftfully avoided the question from others all week, avoiding the shame and embarrassement that I would be spending it alone. I wonder why when I am asked, or when I was a kid and was asked about my presents, why I just didn't lie. I have never been able to lie, and I guess in the long run, it is probably better I never learned that talent, or who knows what kind of fantasy world I would be living in today.

During our conversation, my dad tells me how my brother is going to have a baby, and I am disenchanted. Partially because he was supposed to have a baby with some other girl probably 6 months ago, maybe a year, that luckily didnt happen, and also, because I am just too depressed to pretend like the news of a stranger having a baby matters to me even if it is my brother. Then I speak to my sister. She sounds happy. She got the wine I sent her, and they plan to build a wine cellar in the basement of their new house. I am jealous. That she might build a wine cellar, and that she has someone to build it with, and I sit here alone sipping coffee on the phone, staring at a computer screen. I feel more and more like a failure even in my own failure of a family. I used to be the only one with my shit together and now, I am a mess. I am an embarrassment. And I am afraid I will never be normal again. I'll never have a chance for a normal life, and I'll never sound happy like they do. 

I'm going through such a hard time and not because it would be easier if I wasn't going through it alone, but because I am alone, not just today, but in life.


I hate these days.

When I feel restless. I want to "talk." But I can't seem to put words on a page.

Every activity I think of is just too much effort.

My head is heavy and I just feel like sleeping- yet when I lay in bed, I feel like doing something.

So I just painfully work my way through this cycle of getting in and out of bed, accomplishing nothing, never truly resting, as the time just ticks away.

Another wasted day.

I would maybe go outside, but I feel like shit, and what would I do. Maybe I should go to the bookstore and get a new calendar. Or to the grocery store- I will need food for my holiday meal.

Maybe I am just avoiding it. Let's not think about being alone on the holidays until we actually have to do it.

I think this is my first Christmas ever alone. Sure, I've been away from family numerous times. Spent my holiday working, at least we were all in the family of people who have to work during the holidays, at least that bonded us together, even though they never really liked me.

This definitely seems to be the loneliest holiday ever. But really, it is just one of the loneliest times of my life.

I was walking today (back home from breakfast- last chance to eat breakfast out until the holiday is over), and I envisioned myself years into my future, looking back, saying to myself, those were the dark years. That was when I was really lost. Which in itself, is actually a rather optimistic statement. It means that I believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that this too shall pass.

But I must say, it sucks being here. It sucks having everyone who has ever known me, hate me- at least at some point of knowing me. I imagine I could count on one hand the number of people who knew me in my life and didn't think I was rotten.

I suppose my therapist would say I am being hard on myself. But she missed the first 31 years of my life, so she is naively misguided. After all, getting the job has never been my problem, people always think I am swell with 20-30 minutes of good behavior. Of faking it. True that side of me does exist, they just don't know how hard it is to keep her around.

Maybe that is why I like things so much. I try to keep them limited in number, but I like the things in my life. I like them because I picked them. They match my sensibilities. And I like them because they don't like or dislike me back. They are neutral. They are neutral, and always there.


I'm not really doing too well. Though I suppose much of my dilemma is unchanged.

I cannot seem to shake this feeling of hopelessness, or pointlessness. I am uninspired and feel more alone than I ever have before.

I've elected to seek the aid of a therapist. Though I do not have an appointment as of yet, just good intentions and a sent email.

I make list of goals. Something to work towards to add structure to my life and a route to getting my head in a good place. But when I look at the list I can only think, I don't have much time during the day before work. Instead of starting my day at 10am perhaps I will need to start it at 9am. Then I think, how on earth will I be able to pull myself out of bed that early? Especially when the only driving force is an appointment with myself, snooze that buzzer. And secondly, what should I do first? I won't be able to exercise first thing, I'll be too groggy and weak. I suppose coffee & the paper is a good start. Will I ever want to exercise? Perhaps I should shower as soon as possible- to wake myself up. But then I risk getting all sweaty again if I do actually exercise...hmm.

Then I get home and I do nothing. I putz around on my computer as I usually do. Two cups of coffee and I feel like crawling back in to bed for a nap. Sometimes I feel like my brain is turning to mush. It is so hazy, like a dull ache. I remember that when I was a kid, I used to complain about these headaches. I don't recall the feeling, but it certainly bothered me then. I remember saying that I seemed to get these horrible headaches when I was in the sun, like the extreme heat was the onset. It seemed to be a great mystery. My parents even took me to see a doctor about it. They gave me MRI scans and everything. I can only imagine how expensive those tests were, not to mention somewhat dangerous for a probably then, 10 year old girl. When I think back on it I say to myself, "You're dehydrated you noodnik! Drink some water!" Oddly enough, I don't recall anyone with that suggestion, and I am sure that I rarely drank any water, as I barely drink any now.

I feel defeated. I dread the idea of going to work because I am finding it impossible to get a long with a co-worker and I cannot seem to avoid him. But more so I am scared of myself. I know that I will come out the vilian as I always do. I know that I will not be able to control myself, or bite my tounge, or behave like a sane person, b/c afterall I am not. I want to be stubborn and refuse to work with him at all. I wish he would just disappear. But I know he won't and I almost feel like qutting to avoid this, what feels like harrassment. Leave me alone!
But I am the one without patience. I am the one who cannot alter my reaction, who cannot control my outbursts of sorts. I am the one who can't control my mouth or my face, and jeopardize my livelihood.

I am battling such negative, intense feelings, I almost want to pat myself on the back for handeling it so well. But I am bursting at the seams. Where once there were tiny fissures, small cracks in my armor, hiding the mess of a human being underneath, the sickness now seeps out and the stench is impossible to ignore.

I would very much like to talk to someone at work. But I know that it is impossible for me to discuss myself without bursting into tears, when the mere thought of my predicament sends me sobbing. I think I want to tell someone, not just so that there might be some insight, some empathy, but just so I might not go it alone anymore. So that this struggle was real for other people as well. But I guess, even without saying it, people are aware that there is some struggle going on.

Lastly, I have almost convinced myself I want a dog. I cannot deny that it is my recent lack of companionship that has turned this far off thought of fantasy into a full fledged goal of reality. Even as I sit here, ready to lay out the pros and cons, I think in my heart I know I shouldn't get a dog, or any animal. I just can't commit the time, the money, the long term. I will feel tied down. I am too fickle, to unstable. What if I am a horrible owner. What if the dog doesnt bring me the companionship I am so in dire straights for?

But maybe I could do it. I just feel it would be safer if there were other people in the household. I guess I just dont know what to do.

I wish I could see the world like other people, like "normal" people. I want to feel joy. I want the day to be full of possibilities and avenues of happiness, instead of full of fear and reminders of my failures and shortcomings.
If I saw myself, like in a movie, in my fits of sadness, like when I let my thoughts overwhelm me so that I burst into tears and like waves on the ocean, I stop myself only to burst out again, well I would think- "that woman is crazy."

So far I think I have scared at least four of my friends in the last month or so, maybe two. By scared, I mean they noticed there is something different about me, in a bad way, in a worrisome way.  But out of the four friends, only one lives in a 10 mile radius from me, everyone else is hundreds to thousands of miles away.

I better get myself to the therapist asap.

Repost: How about this reality- I never saw it coming

Posted 5/11/10

By the way I just wanted to put this out there:

I may just be living the exact life I should.

I should appreciate the friends that make my life rich.

I may just be meant to see things through my eyes alone and I just may be ready to accept that, and appreciate it.

If something seems to remain broken for too long- you may just be using it wrong.

Invasion of the Life Snatchers

No it isn't a total Single White Female moment, but the closest I've experienced in my lifetime.

Perhaps it is because it has been too long for me to remember what is like to experience a break-up, or perhaps my last boyfriend just took it easy on me, but this break-up has been the worst.

The break-up I am referring to is that of the recent break-up of me and my good friend. Truthfully, it was the closest friendship I have had in over a decade and a half, though ironically, I still kept my true self at an arms reach. When it abruptly ended, I said what I have said at the end of every close friendship I have ever had, when my close friend just didn't want to be so close anymore, which is, "eh, nothing lasts forever."

Friendship. What is that all about anyway. Apparently I am so intolerable, well I am intolerable. I always chalked it up to friends growing apart, or getting boyfriends, distractions. But honestly, I think they just didn't see the point anymore. Which brings me to my most recent and probably last best friend. 

I've been plenty sad and vexed pretty much my whole life. Something is always going wrong or not perfect enough for me. But this past Spring, after being fired from my job, truly my 3rd job in a row, though I did technically resign from the first of the three. I felt pretty lost. The most lost and depressed I've ever felt in my life. So effected in fact that now, that my life is somewhat at peace and I am in an environment that is positive and things seem to be going well, I have lost all purpose and enthusiasm in life. I am more hollow than I have ever been. 

Well in the midst of it all, my friend decided not to be friends with me anymore. We had a fight of sorts, though it mainly happened over text and it was her decision to never speak to me again. She finally returned my text when I assured her that I would return any belongings she had left at my house. She only replied to offer her assistance in the exchange. I said, "eh, everything comes to an end." What am I gonna do? I am so use to falling out of people's favor, it is just an inevitable truth. In all honesty, I don't think even I realized how fragile my state of mind was. I was so busy being unemployed, scared and lost, I could only focus at the task at hand, thankfully. I got a new job and just tried to lay the groundwork to hopefully not get fired again.

I've lost friends in the past, shit, I could barely call my friends "friends" for the past seven years or so. I have grown accustomed to people never returning my text or calls, never remembering to even invite me to gatherings. In the last four years I have gone from being entirely unwilling to dine alone, to typically dining alone for 99 of 100 meals. I learned to go to the movies alone, go on vacation alone, pretty much everything alone. Ironically, I've spent so much time alone, I have grown accustom to it. I like spending time with people, but tire of them quickly. I trust no one and for the most part expect everyone to dislike me.

Which brings me to my friend. I don't know why she ever hung out with me. Maybe she was just being nice. But out of all the nice people I have ever met, no one has been as dedicated to being my friend as she was for the last 6 months or so. We did everything together. We were inseparable. And unlike many of my friendships in the past, it wasn't on-sided. She called and put in just as much an effort as I did to hang out and be friends. It was like she honestly liked me. We never argued. Perhaps we kept our distance just enough not to.

But eventually I found her to be more and more self-centered and it started to bother me. In all honesty, I know I am no peach, so perhaps I should have called bygones. But in all truthfulness, all friends should fight eventually. So I got irritated. Like that time that we went to NY and she decided to go a few days ahead of me and then our group just couldn't get there act together to do something on one of the few days I had in the city. True, I was probably pre-menstrual, and I was moody about it- probably my fault. Then there was the next weekend or so after I got back, freshly fired from my job and on the way to the wine country, after keeping me waiting for two days about this mysterious news, she informs me that I may possibly have contracted an STD from a recent guy I hooked up with- that was her bad, A. for making me wait two days to hear the news and B. because she finally told me on the way to a weekend trip. Bad mood, understandable I think.

Then I think the straw that broke the camels back- we are supposed to meet to go to a festival. But instead of meeting me at my house or downtown somewhere, she calls me 3 hours after we said we would originally go, to let me know she has finally made it around to hang out. So I trek- on foot- down to the festival. It is hot and crowded and every time I tried to meet her, she continued to walk further and further away (back the way I trekked in the first place). I am irritated with the heat and the crowd and the friend who seems indifferent to hang out with me- so I tell her I am leaving. When she acts surprised I tell her, "blow me," and I shut off my phone and go see a movie.

After the movie I've calmed down and I text her again, saying I was very irritated with the situation and I had to leave. I never heard from her again until I offered to return her things to her three weeks later (after attempting to contact her numerous times).

So I say, she was tired of me. I guess that is all understandable. But I will say, my life was all but stable. I was unemployed, fresh off a firing that made me question everything about myself and the direction of my life, and I was facing a fear of contracting an STD, the result she never asked about nor did she show much compassion for the situation. I guess what I am trying to say, I thought friends talked things out. I thought friends cared about each other. Her abrupt and certain decision to stop being my friend in my mind only meant that she had been considering this for some time. I wonder why she just didn't start hanging out with me less, than not at all. But it was also the timing. I am use to dealing with everything on my own, so to deal with the loss of my job etc, I will survive, but what kind of friendship is that. Maybe she was planning to break-up with me sooner, but she was holding off because I got fired- like an episode of Seinfeld.

Regardless, though it is obvious the more I "talk" about it, the more apparent it is just how affected I am by the whole thing, it is the aftermath that has been the hardest.

I say, "OK, no more good friend. I will have to endure this tribulation alone as I have always done." But then as the fog cleared, I found myself alone. That is, I am just starting to develop friends at my new job, and though my friends were solidly there when I was out of work, they all started moving in different directions, which made them scarcer than normal. Not to mention the hours at work were grueling, and remain to be, that I rarely get out of work early enough to see anyone. On top of that the older friends I had with Au seemed to disappear. My texts would go unanswered my invitations turned down. Coincidence or not, I am not sure. I start to wonder if they only hung out with me because I was part of a packaged deal.

Fair enough, I understand the second-hand friendship, I was dealt out. But then it was my friends too. They answered my texts for the most part. My schedule makes it difficult to really see anyone. But then, when I can, I am told sorry, but they are hanging out with her. "Sorry I know I haven't seen you in over a month, but I have tentative plans with her- a quick one I suppose." And on top of it, they have been hanging out all along.

Do I care if they are still friends, no. Do I care that they choose her over me, I sure do. I'm devastated. I have nothing. I am hyper-ventilating. Even my most anti-social weirdest of friends is better friends with her than me. I am surprised she hasn't shown up to my Steelers bar and taken all of them too. Which doesn't matter because I haven't been able to go there all season. Yet another social outlet that has been stripped from my life.

How can things change so abruptly. Four months ago I would have told you I had never  felt so much of a community in my whole life. I had purpose and friendship and family, and now I have this blog. I have bills and responsibilities that keep me going everyday. That is my drive, paying bills. 

Okay, now that I have said all that. Maybe I can be over it now. Though I know I probably need to say it out loud. Problem is, who on earth can I talk to...

Ho Hum

I've been considering living alone- getting my own place- no roommates, and hopefully no bothersome neighbors. I fantasize about my own personal space, with my own kitchen that I can listen to music in and cook in on my days off. It seems bright and positive and strongly independent. On that same note, I see a dark stuffy coffin of an apartment, void of any activity. I can feel how hard it will be to pull myself from bed and forsee my lack of motivation to do anything. It will be lonely and quiet, though not much different than the way I live now, just with a much steeper monthly rent and the lack of a filthy roommate. All in all, it is still a viable possibility and one I lean heavily towards, or at least equally towards.
Ironically, I recently saw an old episode of 30 rock of all things, and watched as Tina Fey joked about choking to death alone in her apartment and not being found till days later. It suddenly became a real concern for me. "I better take my time chewing, really review the self-administered Heimlich maneuver." I thought, "Perhaps I could set up some kind of check in schedule- like a buddy system with the old lady living alone next door- for those times where I might slip on the way out of the shower, with no roommate to come home eventually and find me." It could be weeks, maybe even months before anyone would know I was gone. I mean they would no doubtably notice my absence at work, but would anyone inquire beyond an unanswered phone call? Not even my closest colleagues would think to stop by my home, if they even knew where I lived, to see if everything was OK. My parents e-mails and text messages would just go unanswered as they normally do. I could only hope that it would be close to the end of the month, or perhaps the beginning and I had not yet paid my rent, causing my landlord to come and inquire. Still, I am afraid it would only be the scent of my rotting flesh that would alert anyone of my morbid condition.
So I guess I would have to get one of those medical alert necklaces. I could keep it hung up next to the front door and put it on as soon as I entered. It isn't a fail safe, but perhaps if the fall didn't keep me from utilizing my arms I could still reach the buzzer, or have the strength to push the button before exhaling my last breath, well at least then I could have an open coffin ceremony.
Yes, I'll need to make some kind of plan. Perhaps I can just send a daily or weekly email to my parents just saying, "not dead yet." Though that may cause them undue stress and mental anguish the day I am just too busy and forget to write.
It certainly is a case for roommates. They may be a pain and a burden at times, but if anything, they are someone to discover your corpse in a timely fashion, a service entirely included with no need for scheduling and worth every dirty dish they may leave in the sink.

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Previous Posts
Alive but dead, posted January 7th, 2014
O, posted February 9th, 2013
Waiting, posted December 14th, 2012
The outlook is bleak, posted March 3rd, 2012
A Lot Like Love, posted February 24th, 2012
Taking or Losing Control, posted February 12th, 2012
An Old Maid, posted December 10th, 2011
Crush, posted July 23rd, 2011
Getting back to touch, posted July 23rd, 2011
what now?, posted May 24th, 2011
Again, posted April 12th, 2011
knowing is half the battle, posted February 15th, 2011
Peeps, posted December 26th, 2010
Plans, or Lack There Of, posted December 26th, 2010
My Christmas Thoughts, posted December 25th, 2010, 1 comment
Restless, posted December 23rd, 2010
Troubled, posted November 3rd, 2010
Repost: How about this reality- I never saw it coming, posted October 5th, 2010
Invasion of the Life Snatchers, posted October 5th, 2010
Ho Hum, posted September 22nd, 2010
My Statement of Purpose, posted August 30th, 2010
Nothing Scares Me Like Me, posted July 30th, 2010
About that relationship thing, posted July 23rd, 2010
Just checking in again, posted July 23rd, 2010
Only the Old South for Me, posted July 3rd, 2010
Better, posted July 3rd, 2010, 1 comment
I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up, posted July 2nd, 2010
Bad Feelings, posted June 30th, 2010
I thought 13 was just a number, posted June 27th, 2010
Nobody Wins, posted June 27th, 2010
tick tick tick, posted June 25th, 2010
I'm OK, You're OK, posted June 23rd, 2010
Did The Other Shoe Drop?, posted June 14th, 2010
Bring Out Your Dead, posted June 12th, 2010, 1 comment
Cuts like a Knife, posted May 26th, 2010
I Used to Like Rollercoasters, posted May 23rd, 2010
A Little Perspective Please, posted May 21st, 2010
I Got Some Luck! Part 2, posted May 21st, 2010
I Got Some Luck! Part 1, posted May 19th, 2010
How about this reality, posted May 11th, 2010, 1 comment
Soulmates, posted May 10th, 2010
Loss of Focus, posted May 3rd, 2010
Like Winning the Lottery, posted March 27th, 2010
Same Old Song, posted March 18th, 2010
Ahhh... I officially want to have sex, posted February 23rd, 2010
I know I can't say no, posted February 23rd, 2010
Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks, posted February 19th, 2010
TOD, posted February 11th, 2010
On the Precipice, posted February 9th, 2010
I have my anxiety to keep me warm, posted January 30th, 2010
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