I just smudge my mascara and I don't really care how you feel about it.
here we are... something fucking wrong with a world when a woman of 30 yr's knows that she is supposed to worry about her fucking black masecra around her coon eyes.
and...
true love is what we make. he was ... everything thing I needed and he knows i was everything he wants. thats what pains. many yrs many love... but i know im what he wants. im everything he wants.
I'm waiting ... till that day .. I take you home, know that I'm waiting. ..
or not.
I'm done.
dont wanna be. will be with no question. ... doesn't mean i wanna be.
Hunted by his grace - the beatuty ... it's echos, i still hear him calling... calling me.
soooooo far away... you've gone so lone... till that day - Haunted by your grace
you know I’m falling
so cool without you
always in my mind
I hear you calling ...
I saw. I see. Im not so blind I wish to be. I see. let me ... let me .. please be .. the blind of me.
About Me
I couldn't possibly be the only creature who feels as though it sometimes appears that the whole bitter world is out to get me. Furthermore, how can it be that the more I try to speak my piece, even politly so, and make things right or to be understood I feel more like the displaced fool than the justified innocent child I feel like.
And as sure as I'm sure I am in the right I begin to question myself. Am I impulsive? Am I angry, out of control, irrational and just unmanagable? If I'm not, as friends and family would surely tell me I'm in the right (that's their job, of course) than what posses so many people in a condensed span to slap me in the face then look at me like I struck myself in a repetitive possessed form?
An observation:
People never change. Simple.
I think it could be better said that we naturally grow into ourselves.
Who I currently am is not very different, if at all, than who I knew myself to be when I was 7 years old. My interests inherently remain and it's easy to say that my confusion has made a nest and laid eggs.
I watch as the people I've known for years "grow" but they haven't grown at all they are the same as I have always known only enhanced.
In this moment it feels as though I've found my lost self... however moments seemingly pass and tomorrow I may perceive my full circle in a alternative light.
Sometimes people would rather be lied to when told they are loved than not be told at all.
Truth looses it's meaning when the feeling of love is at risk.
The heart so often has great power over the mind. - Beautiful.
---
Depeche Mode: Lie to Me
Come on and lay with me
Come on and lie to me
Tell me you love me
Say I'm the only one
Experiences have a lasting impression
But words once spoken
Don't mean a lot now
Belief is the way
The way of the innocent
And when I say innocent
I should say naive
So lie to me
But do it with sincerity
Make me listen
Just for a minute
Make me think
There's some truth in it
Promises made for convenience
Aren't necessarily
What we need
Truth is a word
That's lost its meaning
The truth has become
Merely half-truth
So lie to me
Like they do it in the factory
Make me think
That at the end of the day
Some great reward
Will be coming my way
The fragments of my age, however still fairly young, are shifting and binding.
Upon discovery of my daughter on the floor entangled in one of her toys (doll's high chair) with her diaper half off and a clump of feces held up clenched in her right hand like a grenade I preceded a beautiful day tangled in defeats threatening vines.
And to the bath she went.
After towel drying my, now clean, daughter I attempted to pick her up but while doing so I was suddenly introduced to a sharp vexatious pain in my lower back. I could not move, I couldn't see properly and what I could see was as bright as the beautiful day less the beautiful. I propped myself on the bathroom sink and would have thanked god that my cell phone was right there if I believed in god. I took a moment to look at my nekked daughter, pierce my lips and say out loud, "this isn't happening, this is not happening. What do I do, what do I do?."
So I took my phone and gestured my daughter to follow me into the living room before she realized I would be unable to keep her from playing with and tasting the toilet water. The pain shook my vision as I moved my body to the too soft sofa. I decided not to make any phone calls and waited a few minutes for the alarming pain to subside.
My curious daughter, thankfully well behaved, told me she was, "hungi, hungi" with a nekked shiver. I couldn't move. Having realized that the pain was not going anywhere fast I began mass texting and calling everyone that I felt could care for my girl while I recovered. I received one response being from my Father who jogged the 30 minute walk from his home. My Father never jogs.
After about an hour of dragging myself around with an end table I was finally able to walk however uncomfortably.
My back is shot. This all occurred yesterday morning and it's now 12am the next night. I've taken a prescribed perk which, rather than alleviate the pain, it is causing me tiredness, slight nausea, and difficulty reading as I currently write.
I have a 2yr old, I must heal now. I have to go to work, I must heal now. I have to clean my home, I must heal now.
I am 29 years old. Am I not a considerable margin from falling apart?
And when you steal a moment stop and look around.
See what you have forgotten.
Re-found.
Success.
Wealth, status, honors.
By what means does one execute success? I wonder how many successes one commonly amounts to throughout their life.
Or rather, do you travel in circles never getting on the on ramp regardless of the endless array of signs. This journey ends where it began, never ending, never beginning just always being.
I see so many re-runs in my life becoming acres where I've planted seeds so hopeful, so thrilled, determined and real. I carefully water my seeds, I know they will grow, I know my future will be beautiful, seeing it so clear, feeling it, I feel it, felt it, I hear and sense it in every way I could possible know that it is real.
And then... then it doesn't happen.
I look around me, twirling like a child showing off a new outfit but I have nothing new to show nor am I a child anymore. I stand in encore though I do not hear the applause, do not see the lights and I do not feel so proud as to scream some silly phrase like 'ARE YOU READY TO ROCK!'. I'm not ready anymore, no one is ready, everyone has left the stadium.
How many times can one make a promise to them self, to others, before they feel unable to stand any longer? Before they fall in this place that they've been fixed all too many times.
And here I go again. I will pick up. "I will survive"
I stand in this place appearing the same - seemingly unmoved, unmotioned sprinkled with the motion ( I sing) but this elemental twin is not identical. It's physique may be the same but looking within I mind an evolved mind... my mind. Focus baby, focus.
Here I do it again but I will not do it again. Bright eyes, beautiful skies, clean heart; this place so familiar is my new start. I see what I did not see, I know now what I didn't... I realize that I gave up, put too much on my plate.
My Grandma always said my eyes are bigger than my mouth.
Time progresses to no dismay and in a breath I find myself turning, grasping for these wasted moments and my inestimable friends. For the most part I realize and can fully accept lives moved on however I do have my intense moments of missing these 'friends' like a child who doesn't want to toss that old toy that she never plays with and has properly grown out of.
Having said that, these past and upcoming weeks prove interesting. An email told me that one of my longest known friends, Marie, was coming to visit me for the night with her boyfriend whom I also know and enjoy. Marie didn't show up which is was about as surprising as a dog barking (she's very unmeditated) . Shortly after my supposed visit with Marie an ex IM'd me with a whole world of Sigfrid and Roy illusions of how much he missed me and a bunny that was really a rat along side a rose imersed of thorns. Oh how those thorns bled me when we were together and the rat no longer looks to me like a cute little bunny. Four days following I'm arranging a trip to Edmonton and discover a multitude of Facebook messages from those that I haven't seen in more than 5 years asking if we can hang out. Some I have arranged and others I just don't have time for. I guess those ones aren't so inestimable. And the last page of my history becoming present was one of my best friends ever asking me if she could visit next weekend for a night of our typical town flipping!
I'm too analytical for my health and wonder what all of this means. Am I going to die?
My time flips and turns creating a surreal place that I wonder if I truly would like to explore.
And the point of therapy is?
Today I had a special little appointment with a rather special little old lady. When she came out to greet me I thought that she was a patient with her missing teeth, apprehensive ways, and lack of decent clothing. - don't these people get paid enough?! Throughout the appointment I noticed Coleen, as she called herself, trying to compose herself with appropriate posture and linguistics and found that I seemed more the counselor than she. I babbled a lot and received nothing in the end. Of course, I know, baby steps, right?!? Well God damned, I'm glad that I didn't pay for that appointment and I'm beginning to wonder why the Government doesn't offer funds to my friends that hear the same shit- and actually help me out!
So, I've booked another appointment dated two weeks from now. .... what if I were suicidal? I'm sure that one hour of babbling my mind out and two weeks time to stew on the bullshit I didn't even realized bothered me is enough time to map the perfect suicide scheme. Oh how I love art; maybe I will set my 10 second timer to catch that beautifully chaotic image of my naked body in a cold ceramic tub filled not with water but blood thrusting from my small wrists. DeviantArt, here I come! (edit: for those of you who don't get it ... this is a fabrication. I am not suicidal. Is it a pink or blue stick that you have shoved up your behind?)
I know, baby steps, right?!? So rather than go all out with the wrist slashing I baby stepped with a nose piercing. Yes I did it! About three days ago I braved the needle in the nose. I love piercings and even more so getting them myself however the nose is one that I have feared for some time and for good reason. I didn't handle it well. As the blood poured I thought to myself, 'what is that warm feeli..... aw shit, I'm bleeding. Don't think about it, don't think about it'. Then Mr.Piercer considerately informed me 'oh, you are bleeding a little, let me clean that up'. --- NO! Don't tell me! Just clean the damned thing!
Now it doesn't hurt much more than a hard ear zit would unlike my other piercings that didn't hurt at the needle though stung like a mother after the fact. I will never take this thing out of my nose because I will never pierced my nose again!
My mind is full of silence as I continue to try to ease the pains of a simply complicated life. Is there something I'm missing? Could this empty box, plainly decorated with "This Side Up", be colored with sounds, shapes, and scents that I do not see? Or do I see too much?
Tonight the walls have moved, bodies before me seem unreal, a word, voice, a sound warps in space and seems so wrong. My head spins, I clutch my stomach catching the bile before it rises to taste then a pile of the floor. Nothing seems real. It's not real. Can't be. Is it?
Can I fake it long enough to feel normal again -- not normal, life as we know it isn't normal -- Can I fake it long enough to feel comfortable like curling up in fresh warm linen, again?
What if one day I never crawl out of this surreal world? How would I live here day to day?
I want to go home. At 27 years old I've never actually discovered a home. I search. I have hope. I believe that someday, somewhere I will feel safe behind the locked doors of home. Uncertain as to weather or not the home I yearn for is a metaphor or not I blindly search, bow and armor in hand. I hope that it isn't something I will find in only the last moments of my sad, surreal life.
What am I? Do others feel this out of place? Unreal? Warped? Is this how my schizophrenic ex pushes through life? Memory tells me a story of a time when my ex described moments that he thought nothing felt real. Is this weirdness a blinking yellow sign with capital letters that spell "YOU ARE FUCKING CRAZY GIRL"?
How do others go about their ugly lives pretending pretty without wondering if a moment or object in their very hands, cold and smooth as it may seem is truly real? Are they ignorant as bliss is derived from? If it is ignorance that darkens view do they chose it and buried inside in a tomb they are able to see what others do?
But it's not real. It can't be. I'll burn my eyes out. There needs to be more. I need more. Something real to cleanse this sickness.
This is lame. I seldom know how to carry on with a 'first' post in these things. What do I say? Just begin writing about my life, experiences in general? Paint a picture of my previous day/night? or go on about who I am "I love hiking" etc.
I think I will go with the later ... sort of. I'm not going to say that I like hiking (tho I lovit) and reading a good book. Those comments are all and the same... I don't want to write the such anymore than I want to read another uniform profile sporting 'the list'. - I beginning to think that there's a website that offers a cut and paste option for profile pages.
Lame.
so... a little about me.
First and foremost I'm a mother (and I lovit) of a 5 month old however that doesn't mean that I my attire is teeming with baggy old granny clothing. I love to shop! My need to shop is substantial. As a mater a fact, I think, no I know, that I am so obsessed with shopping that it has become an addiction. Every time I go out, do anything, club, family events, dinner, movies, whatever, I need to search out that perfect outfit. It doesn't stop there... I then need shoes (I'm not a shoe-aholic - bags), nails done, hair, a bag, sunglass etc... it's synthetic but makes me feel oh so good.
I also enjoy clubbing to the extreme. Dance baby, dance! I find it fascinating that some people can wend life merrily without music and dancing. Of course, being a mother I'm no longer a 5 night a week club girl... it's more or less once a month. (witch still feels ample to me). When I'm not following routine and a busy schedule with my baby girl, going to a club, reading a good book (Koontz usually) I am out and about enjoying the god damned beautiful world we are fucking up! - I'm going to say it 'hiking', camping and all that jazz. The sky is amazing here where I live. The moon is often a bright orange with radiant stars so I find myself in awe just staring into space. My little escape.
~~~
Just now I woke myself from a place of ecstasy (without the ecstasy) where I danced under that orange moon and tickling stars with my daughter in arms and fucking amazing hard house and trance music playing from some invisible source. ....... someday.
ps. My name is January.