An entry in my Livejournal March 10, 2011:
keeping myself busy
Posted on 2011.03.10 at 16:26
I am having one of those rare days where projects > people.
Curiously I’m feeling intense waves of anger, an emotion I haven’t felt in years – blind, seething molten strands of hatred, » Read more
This is an essay posted elsewhere that I’ve decided to put up here so I can reference and refer to it – as it deals with some things I know I’ll be writing about in the near future. Until the divorce was finalized (an event that took place over a month ago now), I didn’t want to openly post too much nitty gritty, » Read more
“How do we know who we are sexually, what sex even is?”
This is one of those stupid questions I ask curled in the fetal position.
“We just do. We just feel it,” or some variant is the answer I’ve been given time and time again, » Read more
I am not a particularly loyal person.
I wonder if it’s because one thing that life has taught me is that ultimately I can only rely on myself.
This revelation may seem paradoxical given the fact that I am beloved. Not only do I have a Master but also a well-cherished friend coterie that serves to insulate me from the world. » Read more
Zebra is a medical slang term for a surprising diagnosis. Although rare diseases are, in general, surprising when they are encountered, other diseases can be surprising in a particular person and time, and so “zebra” is the broader concept.
The term derives from the aphorism “When you hear hoofbeats behind you, » Read more
The three of us housemates were chatting about emotions, love, life in general in the living room last night. It had been a long day for all of us, and it seemed like a good time for a pow-wow and some light philosophy.
The subject of self-deprecation and negative self-talk came up. » Read more
March 2010 – Saint Patrick’s Day
“You’ve been doing amazing,” S says. “You look incredible. You’ve changed so much.” We lock arms, cuddle. “Just be careful. Don’t leave him behind.”
S throws a look at my then-husband, who is doing a line of shots with some of the other boys across the room. » Read more
Me: I’m not a grown up. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Skyspook: No one really does.
When it comes to feeling truly loved and understood by another human being, I am roughly 3 years old.
My relationship with my mother is deeply troubled as she is mentally ill and only recently compliant with any sort of treatment (to the tune of starting talk therapy about 3 or 4 years ago). » Read more
My mother likes to relate a story of a visit she had to her primary care provider many years ago, right around the time my little brother was born. She’d gotten down quickly to her svelte pre-pregnancy weight but was still distressed. “I don’t know what to do,” she said to her doctor. “I have such fat knees.”
“That’s how you know you’re thin,” he replied. » Read more
“Holy shit!” I broke into uncontrollable cackles, after I’d fired off 2 rounds. “I get why you do this!”
I was shooting a gun for the first time, a dainty .22 pistol, at this anything goes backwoods outdoor range and had managed to decimate one of the many cans of orange soda we’d procured at the dollar store for just this purpose. » Read more