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It's unbelievable how I have entries backdated three months and still haven't gone through the simple process of submitting them by our deadline. It's that easy...copy,paste. Even if it is anachronistic for me, that part shouldn't affect you. But I can no longer be inspired in my work station. Then I go home where are desk-less, a couch we despise, a bed that sinks uncomfortably, cats that pound viruses onto keyboards for attention, eyes drained by blaring computer screens. I've givinig up on things, slowly. It's creepinig up on me, the not caring. But I do care.
Did I not notice these things as a kid? Are the stories just getting sadder? I was meandering Target isles when I overheard a young woman talking loudly of her husband. Just as he was deployed, her daughter was diagnosed with leukemia. Turned around, little knowing, that I would find the cutie patootiest petite little princess in the world, with a shiny hairless head and a thinner frame than a toddler should have. I wanted to fling myself on the mom and hug her eternally.
Carried on as if nothing... It wasn't my conversation to join. So that picture has branded me. For life.
I'm not proud of it, but I'm a bit consumed with myself this moment. Taking care of my unsteady friends and unstable family and my own chronic degenarating disease, and three cats that of course, defaulted to my to-do list as well...frankly I'm drained. And nothing would be sweeter than receiving a few packages in the mail to my name, scattered throughout the next few months. But no one really ships anymore. Except Amazon and my sister, a real-life, put-together, Southern Living example. I'm not sturdy, so I break down and suddenly it's all about me.
Where do you see yourself 5 years into the future? I always hated that question. If not in the midst of a nationwide, possibly worldwide, revolution, in the same exact place. Stuck, like a pig in shit, not happy. Numb...that I still live in the same industry and commerce sector. Feeling as destitute as a Detroit dweller, giving up on the idea of nicer views and white walls. Are we poor? Not necessarily. Do we have money? It's not enough. Once we can only afford GMO food, begins my cellular breakdown. I see myself in hospice care. All alone.
My sister said it took them 15 years up to their gills of debt to be able to take their longest vacation to Europe. My friends visit, asking, why do we live in America? I've been waiting for someone, anyone, to truly take this to heart and steal away with me, family or not. It's beyond evident it is better there, even in impoverishment. There would be no Pinterest, no internet cats, no government shutdowns. The food would be better, the people would be more cultured, the healthcare more dignifying, even if you died right on the streets. Let's.Go.
It's good to learn to be alone. It's even beneficial to experience loneliness in a positive way, before it is forced on us. The whole gamut of emotions, we should run it, soak in it, really know how it feels, so that when it befalls us during an inopportune occurrence, we are ready. Now, I admit I do that too much. Always preparing for the worst, death the most common topic. Like the time I choked on a peach pit, married, but alone. Didn't see the flood of fear that would bring. A crippling 30 seconds and fade to black.
I ask your forgiveness in advanced, but I must unload the disorganized clutter in my brain that is driving me mad, notwithstanding that I have no one I feel comfortable sharing this with but you, as anonymous. But my tight hips are worrisome. The government shutdown and other political hysteria portending a worldwide collapse. The dishes rotting in the kitchen. The corn syrup in the soda I just drank, in which, I most monumentally declare, "I DO NOT DRINK SODA!." The chances I didn't take, the books I will never read, the brain cells that died in their prime, etc.
Explaining the things I know is not one my talents. Somehow, they are intrinsically intact in mental pictures. Einstein said this means one does not truly understand what you cannot explain, but on some subjects I disagree. At least for this. The point is...if I could describe acupunture, it is a healing art based on placing needles on your meridians (imaginary energetic lines through your body)in which your qi flows, unblocking the energy, the vital force, in which your body needs to maintain a balance of all organs and bloodflow. Further studies, believe it somehow stimulates connective tissue.
How things change. I used to like bad boys who played with your heart. Now I like a balanced man who can get crazy on a blue moon. I hated avocado texture and now want them in everything. Being an open book was truth, but now you need a password before you've earn the right to know who I am. I fought with my most loved ones, now I fight for them even if they are fighting themselves. I wanted to take a stand for everything, but I've become selective now.
I used to be skeptical... Well, somethings never change.
Sci-Fi is here! I suppose it's been here for a while. You can't compare bio-tech prosthetic with past inventions since we've been strapping peg legs on stubs since the beginning of time... Quantum science...I don't know if the Hadron Collider qualifies either because frankly that's still all theory and discovery; not applicable yet. I'm talking about DNA encoding plus computer data! The amalgamation of two distinct natures. Storing limitless information inside our marrow, a fire man probably should not play with. Even so, it will inevitably fall into corporate sociopath hands who will steal this wonder technology.
Not sure which road trip it was. I was a teenager. I believe we were taking mountain highways to Nashville, Tenessee. After aweing at the landscape, being raised in unexciting flatlands, I was rocked asleep to the winding of the roads. My eyes fluttered open to a Winter Wonderland. A town built of bricks and up and around hills and dips, streetlights lit in the dusk, breakfast houses and inns all around. People walking fast in the drizzling snow, yet they seemed unbothered, tucked into their heavy coats. I was not in Florida for sure. And it was utter perfection.
Accidentally, I took a larger dose of Ritalin. Except it wasn't by accident. It's a desperation that builds up, the worry that I will daze out and hide in my isolation corner. I'd rather have high blood pressure and anxiety than to keep retreating to a void.The methylphenidate, a chemical structure built similar to cocaine, brings everything to the front. The truths, nasty or not. I don't like where I live, my job, but I can handle it. Barely, but I do. I should've done more drugs, I should've slept around more. I should've gone wayward at some time.
I was once told, challenged, that I don't have moxie. That I'm not ambitious and eager enough to go approach a stranger and ask him exactly what my curiosity states at the moment. I resented this notion. I refused it, and since it was my flask-carrying days, I did have plenty of liquid courage to go around and inquire like the secret-life journalist that I wanted to be. But with a lifted veil, I accept that insinuation was correct. I'm either not interested enough, or assume they'll think I'm a creep. It's not shyness, I assure you. Still.
Last time I saw him, we pretended not to see each other be happy with other people. I restrained myself from getting the thrill from a quick friendly hug which I would've wanted to linger. I walked past him as if I had blinders, fully aware of his eyes on me. Months later, he texted me and told me he was out again. Shunned is a term that would help some understand. For the third time. Meaning that our communication shouldn't have been, but he wanted to explain why he didn't approach. I married someone else so what was the point?
The definition of nostalgia to me, as I'd never looked it up in a dictionary, is simply emotions stirred up remembering a certain past. Recently, I read one person's point of view:
”Nostalgia is denial. Denial of the painful present. The name for this denial is Golden Age thinking - the erroneous notion that a different time period is better than the one ones living in - its a flaw in the romantic imagination of those people who find it difficult to cope with the present.”:
Feeling righteous, a number of friends popped into mind. Then I realized my heart was stung.
Somewhere on the other side of this world (nation) is a doe-eyed innocent girl, who pretends not to be too innocent, receiving her first offer for frontal nudity. She expected the role would pay more for this bravado, but she hasn't the celebrity for higher valued breasts. She will consider doing it though, asking her friends' opinions, her agent. She will think about what her father would say and thank God her grandmother isn't alive to see her sell herself. She wants to be a respectable star and so she calls it art. But really, it's just another vag.
Best compliment I could get is that I fuck like a guy. I think he meant that for 15 seconds I don't care if I get pregnant, making him responsible for the outcome. But I will take it to mean that I'm not the percentage of women who fit the stereotype. Sure, I'm a girl in almost all sense of the word, but I'm down for a few power and ego traits. I don't need to cuddle and I won't cry if I don't get my way. For me, a little bit of tomboy has always gone a long way.
It was a creepy desolate this morning when I clocked in (the daily incremental selling of my soul for a high school wage). They're hung over I suppose, late running through Starbucks, lavish breakfast meetings. The place is all mine! I can take off my pants, do pushups on the conference table, long distance phone calls. I can sit on their desk and pretend to be CEO. Make origami and print 386 page books. But I go online instead. And I surf the same sites I do when they are present. They've done it. Sucked away my will to live.
What is there to say about being competent adults when as a couple, we only have about $10 in our account? Blame ourselves? Blame the economy? Blame the establishment? I painstainkingly admit we can acquire a good portion of the blame. However, everyone that makes mistakes should have availibility to redeption, absolution, maybe even forgiveness. But in this world of reigning capitalism, questionable bank owner policies will strangle you, slowly, surely. You cannot claim, fairly, that we have an honest opportunity to pay down our debts with the lawless usury that they ruthlesly practice to buy their grandiosity and slaves.
It was a creepy desolate this morning when I clocked in (the daily incremental selling of my soul for a high schooler's wage). They're hung over I suppose, late running through Starbucks, lavish breakfast meetings. The place is all mine! I can take off my pants, do pushups on the conference table, long distance phone calls. I can sit on their desk and pretend to be CEO. Make origami and print 386 page books. But I go online instead. And I surf the same sites I do when they are present. They've done it. Sucked away my will to live.
I'm will quit harping on the fact that I tend to start these pockets of words retelling the usual coffee/caffeine story. I'm gonna go with it, because it's a morning comfort, a ritual. I'm going to ignore how upsetting it is that I haven't properly finished the last month or two. I'm just going to move forward, grateful about the new setting I'm in for the next four months, abundant with sunlight, smelling of new wallpaper and brewing coffee. This isn't exactly what I prayed for, but quiet and cleanliness, what more can I ask for? Nothing... for now.
Thirteen and a quarter pills. It will get me through this day. Eight round black tiny tea pills, compliment of Chinese Traditional Medicine. Two capsules with the Inner Bark of Pau D'arco. Two white 500mgs tablets of acetaminophen. And a snapped white tablet of Ritalin, not crushed. And a steaming hot cup of green tea, because I need to not have coffee erode my stomach lining. I do not wish to ingest these things. I also do not wish to sit here in excrutiating pain as my spine is likely deforming so that I'll become a hobbling huncback old woman.
I want to remember this day, the minute it happened. I stayed still looking at his message without averting my attention to anything else, committing eight seconds to memory as I've recently read it takes to capture a moment. August 13, 2013. He asked to meet a friend. A her. His age. Single. Lives on her own. It happened. Shock or fear, I couldn't tell. So many questions? So complex, the many lengths both families would have to go through to protect them starting from day one and considering that they outlive us all. It was just an innocent question?
This depraved world has skewed our naturalness. I heard a father mention going home, bathing his daughters and putting them to bed. Maybe it's because I'm not exposed to children, maybe I know of too many crime reports. But it sounded dirty. I swiftly shook my head. He is not disgusting that way! Such an paternal act, for a daddy to nurture his young... Isn't that the mother's job though? See, the new instinct is to ask why a man would be so inappropriately involved with a little girl? What is wrong with me? My humanity will survive this distrust.
He barged in here, thundering a weight of arrogance. Slicked back hair and sunglasses pulled back with that funny little cord hanging off the legs. As is usual for these men, they don't acknowledge my existance. I'm beneath the pay grade of recognition. Doesn't bother me, I don't want to pretend to be courteous either. I have noticed though, at times it is a pretense of ego, because deep down they're trying not to break the character, the one where they belong in the big boys' club. Insecurities that their fat wallets and top of the line cars cover up.
I'm going to turn thirty this month. Being twenty-nine doesn't gradually transform into the big 3-0. It's going to all happen in one day, down to the second. I'll be whip-lashed to the point of no return. Down hill. I've been talking about it all year, and I'll never be ready. After it happens, I'll still be in shock and suffer denial. One day I'll be an elderly worn woman that shows a picture of my young self to a teen and say, "I used to be smokin back in the day". I won't recognize my reflection.
My attitude is one of general reluctance. Too many questions before action is employed. Not always out of fear and hesitation, but wanting to be so perfect, than I succumb into inaction. So, as I sit at my desk, inspirired to move forward, I can't. Or I won't get paid. But I must not lose that spark! Hold it. And keep pep talking myself. Refrain from pent up frustrated tears; from holding myself back. I know better now. One should not delay before the motivation to take steps, to explode in leaps, to make bounds. I know to not wait.
This is a "me" world, and I must lower myself to say I need to practice compassion in a purer form than I personally believe it should be. Because my flawed point of view falls short and I cannot trust I am applying it to its fullest potential. There is so much hatred an corruption; injustice and misfortune. People are so quick to judge and ridicule. When everyone needs to stop for a second and humanize each individual and offer them our help. And if we can barely help ourselves, we can at least offer them merciful respect and dignity.
The shortcomings of adults with Asperger’s Syndrome are camouflaged beneath layers of coping strategies and defense mechanisms. Their behavior often gives the impression of someone a little eccentric or odd - but passable because of their high IQ or gift in an area or career.
Life with an AS spouse is very isolating. Since the AS person in public often appears normal, others don't understand the spouse's suffering. Spouses of people with AS play an abnormally large caregiver role. Their families cannot rely on them to participate fully in family life since they typically don't do their share of chores or provide emotional support to other family members.
Is it possible nobody likes me because I don't make small talk? I don't believe in the stuff! But they wouldn't know because they go straight from weather to what kind of drugs to you take? And I'm all....middle ground people! Middle ground!! How is it that I have always been surrounded by people who unmotivate me deeper into a state of stoicism. Where did all the conversationalists go? The big thinkers? The philosophers and rheotorical challengers? Did they ever roam my league or did I invent their existence? Maybe they're right here! Thinking the same thing about me!
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