burn my ducts already

Ahhh, yes, now it's the crying stage of my rage/depression episodes.

I've been crying all fucking day.
Actually, I've been crying since yesterday morning.
None of that "gross" crying with the sobs and runny nose... it's just me sitting down and tears rolling down the sides of my face... a non-stop warm flow of tears streaming down.

It's exhausting having to act like everything's ok, like nothing bothers me, like I feel nothing... even more so trying to make others laugh when the stuffiness of pent up tears damn near blinds me.

No, no no... YOU laugh. Heaven forbid you have to hear about MY shit. No need for that awkward downer. No, no... laugh. Please laugh.

I'm so angry and so sad... I have no fucking clue how to act. I just know I'm tired.

carrots

Great news, guys! I'm feeling bet... nope, I'm still feeling pretty fucking shitty.
I'm still crying a lot.
I'm still taking "time outs" where I have to stop whatever the fuck I'm doing and just sit down and breathe in deeply... without thinking about ANYTHING. No thoughts. Can't think anything... because whatever I think about makes me cry and feel shitty.

I'm fucked up. Like, REALLY fucking fucked up.
The worst part is that I can't seem to get a firm grip on things. I'll be good for about 36 hours and then my emotions go fucking haywire and I go back to being so fucked up, I cry anytime, anywhere-- it can be while I sit at church, while I stand in the produce section of the grocery store, or while I'm working out, I'll find myself struggling to keep my tears at bay. I'll feel like fucking garbage and somehow manage to mentally abuse myself to the point where I'm convinced I'm fucking garbage, so I'll be crying in my car to save strangers the awkward scene of a grown person crying as she stares at some carrots.

Miserable. Absolutely motherfucking miserable.

just better

I'm not doing so great.

When I say I'm "desperately" trying to get better, I mean I'm fucking trying DESPERATELY to get better.
I've been lucky enough to have a nice batch of good days recently, but last month was brutal.

I've tried my hand at writing, and while it sometimes starts off pretty promising, it always ends up taking a turn for the dark... sometimes, a little too dark, so I nix posting... because... it's pretty alarming to see how my mind is currently working. I don't feel it's fair to subject anyone else to that shit, to have them hear these terrible thoughts that have been inundating my mind.

I'm forcing myself to go out into the sun... try and fix my problems like that, and it seems to be working. I've actually laughed a few times this week (unlike last month, where I literally injured my throat after laughing out loud for the first time in a month... all thanks to a Key and Peele skit which my brain found to be ridiculously hilarious... and led to me having a weird, embarrassing "laugh attack." Me, sitting alone in my living room, laughing out loud at how pathetic I was that I actually managed to hurt myself with the act of laughing. "How PATHETIC! You haven't spoken or laughed for so long, the act of making any noise HURT YOU! BAHAHAHA! LAAAAME!" Then it all led to me crying for a while... and it was just all bad and embarrassing. Luckily no one witnessed it).

I'll now shut my mouth/blank my mind before I ruin my progress.

I'm just... doing better. Not great, but better.

TF You Want?

Hey, how are you feeling? See photo above.
Hey, are you ok? See photo above.
Hey, why aren't you... SEE PHOTO ABOVE.

That's my "'the fuck you want?" look/vibe... but the non-menacing kind... more of the "irritated, but still listening to you" kind... like you just MIGHT say/suggest/demand something interesting, but I definitely had more pressing matters to handle.
"What do you want, weirdo?" and "'The fuck you doin'?" could be suitable replacements.
("Weirdo" because thanks to your stupid shit, you just made me take away my attention from that candy I was trying to enjoy)

(Tangent-ish: now do y'all understand why I mostly chill with guys? That's all that surrounded me in my youngest days)

This I find appropriate only because I attended a baby's birthday party yesterday where the fucking asshole parents DENIED me a goodie-bag... only me.
Yeah, I was pissed... mainly because:
1. I love candy
and
2. Here I am a single, barren girl...
  A. surrounded by CLOWNS who wanted to
     i. Paint my face
     ii. Make me dance or
     iii. Make me laugh. No bitch, I don't do clowns.
  B. surrounded by ILL-BEHAVED children who were
     i. running
     ii. screaming
     iii. THROWING GANG SIGNS (kids are still into fucking cholos?! Blew my fucking mind).
     iv. throwing toys into people's plates full of food. Fuck. That.
  C. surrounded by her Mexican relatives, all of whom have procreated... and I'm just... you know... single and almost-30 (never mind the fact I was also the only person in the building with a college degree... who give a fuck about that, right? Probably why the bitch will die alone, anyway... too smart for her own good, am I right?). Good shit.

The LEAST I deserved was a fucking $2-worth of candy bag.
But no. Instead, I sat in the kitchen, watching the Disney channel... completely captivated by some movie I had never heard of ("Mirror, Mirror"... embarrassing to admit, but whatever. A fucking kid threw a Hotwheel into my plate of birria, do you think I gave a single fuck the rest of the day? Nah, man, I mentally checked out right then and there).

I go on fun tangents, don't I?
See photo above.

blAnkoMALIE

Yesterday I noticed I've reached the level of depression where I literally forget to speak.
As in, I do not know how to articulate... I cannot make sounds, and when I do, I'm surprised by them.

I haven't spent my days crying, like I do other times.
I'm just numb. Blank. Extremely forgetful... EXTREMELY.
I don't know what caused this current bout. Maybe it's the whole Chicago trip... maybe it's a very delayed--or perhaps escalating--reaction to being considered older than my brother... or just a whole negative combination of EVERYTHING... but the point is: I'm very much depressed... and not the "I'm a teenaged girl who just broke up with her boyfriend and I can't stop crying while I listen to these sad songs" type of depressed... but this numb depressed where I feel worthless as fuck... and so fucking... I don't know, I'm just NOT present. Not present at all. The only mental imagery I can think of using, but which describes it perfectly, is when you close your eyes, and just imagine a white background. Just a plain blank, white background. Nothingness.
How do you feel, AnoMALIE?
Like that ::points at white, bare wall of room::

But I'm not crying.
I'm sleeping 8 hours. I go to bed at 11pm and wake up at 7 in the morning.
I'm eating-- twice a day, but that's better than nothing.
I go to the gym and smile at my friends... answer questions.
I do my workouts with my mind on each movement, making my best effort not to hurt myself.
I come home and do not dwell on the past... or on anything.
I'm also not raging hard on anyone... or anything.

I just don't feel.
I just don't care.
I don't look forward to a damn fucking thing.
I'm just going through the movements. That's all. Just follow through with the motions of each day.
No thoughts.
No worries.
No feelings.
No dreams.

Blank.
Blank blank blank. Blank blank.

I hadn't felt the silent type of depressed in a minute.
It's inconvenient when you try to go about your day... talking to optometrists about your shitty right eye that can't stop watering like a sprinkler.
It's awkward... sitting there and trying to formulate a coherent sentence, trying to remind yourself of HOW to make sounds... pleasant sounds. Then jolting a little the moment you hear your own voice...
Jesus, do you have to be so loud, AnoMALIE? Tone-deaf-ass.

And now I have to be social. Tomorrow I must present myself in front of a couple of social circles and act "normal." I have to once again hold conversations with people... answer questions... NOT look like an awkward weirdo that makes everyone feel uncomfortable.
I have to go about and act like I'm ok... like nothing bothers me... like everything makes me laugh... and like I fucking love life.
Life is WONDERFUL!
SMILE!
WOOOOO!
AWESOME!
THIS FOOD IS DOOOOOPE!
THIS MUSIC IS BOOOOOMB!
OH SHIT! I LOVE THAT CHANDELIER SONG, TOO!
GIMME MORE LIQUOR!
CUUUUUUPCAKES!
YOU'RE AWESOME!
OH YES! PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT HOW FUCKING AMAZING OF A SHOW "SCANDAL" IS! I'D LOVE TO HEAR ALL ABOUT IT! DRAMA? OH GIRL! I LOVE DRAMA!
OH SHIT! BABIES ARE AWESOME?! SHOW ME PHOTOS!
YOU DIDN'T KNOW THE MEANING OF LOVE UNTIL YOU GAVE BIRTH? Heard of oxytocin levels? That's some good shit... or so I hear... my levels are low. BUT THAT'S TOO MUCH SCIENCE! FUUUUUCK SCIENCE! OH SHIT! YOU'RE GLUTEN-FREE? TELL ME ALL ABOUT THAT, PLEASE! I'VE NEVER HEARD ABOUT THAT BEFORE!
SMIIIILE!
ME? A BITCH?! OH NO! I'M JUST PAINFULLY SHY... and I've had to wrestle with severe depression for decades now... BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME! NOBODY LIKES HEARING SAD SHIT! THERE ARE KIDS HERE, THEY DON'T NEED TO HEAR IT!
BOYSSSSSS!

GO AHEAD, STARE DOWN MY SHIRT! I HAVE TITTIES! THAT'S WHAT THEY'RE FOR!

Socializing isn't my thing.
Depression makes me forget everything... like communicating... in any form.
I trust I'll be better soon... maybe by the end of the month... maybe by then I'll find a couple of fucks to give.

TinGirl

Good lord... when a day is shitty, it is REALLY fucking shitty.
WHY SPAIN?! WHY?! FUCK.
Now that I think about it, the entire month of June has been fucking garbage.

I am currently suffering from that feeling I often get, where I go on with my life as though I've taken one deep breath and dunked myself into a deep pool.
Inhale AS DEEP AS YOU FUCKING CAN!
I then attempt to survive the entire day like that... without breathing.

I'm exhausted. My body aches. I'm once again sad as fuck.
I try to ignore the shitty feeling by hitting the gym harder than usual... in hopes of getting my legitimate physical pain to override my emotional hurt.
A girl can run on that plan for only so long before her body starts to give out.
My body is giving out.
I have a stress fracture in the metatarsals of my left foot that has been unable to heal for the last... three  or four months (?) because I refuse to take more than two days off the gym. Each time I get close to no longer feeling any pain, I go off and do some fucking stupid shit... like abrupt burpees... and my foot once again gets wrecked.
My knees are also hurting now. Well... they don't "hurt" per se, but mornings are now extra crappy, because I wake up stiff as a board (imagine if I were a dude and used that colorful cliche...).
My back isn't too enthusiastic in the mornings, either.
Basically, the only thing currently not giving me grief are my arms and pectorals (... pectorals... as though I were a man-- although now that I think about it, I do have big pec muscles for a girl, and the fat content of my tits has gone down drastically... it upsets me. Only hint left of me ever having large tits are the stretch marks... the best part of the big-titty club!).
Each morning I have to spend about half an hour stretching like some fucking ballerina. I often catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror and can't help but conjure the image of the fucking Tin Man... oiling myself up to make sure I'm better able to walk over to the fucking Wizard of Oz.

I'm not doing so hot, and now my exterior is beginning to match my interior-- damaged and quite possibly irreparable.

FuuuuuUUUUUUUCKKKKKK!

Focus, fool

So many events in the next few days have me frazzled as fuck.

There's a difference between me being frazzled, and me being angry/irate. Being frazzled is me being... umm.. spacey. When I'm frazzled, I can't concentrate on anything... I can't even form coherent sentences.
When I'm angry, I have an incredibly narrowed focus. I zero-in on something and proceed to gut the shit out of it. I get shit DONE... because it's what keeps me from going all aggro on the deserving twat who has managed to cross me (look! I'm suddenly British!).

Frazzled doesn't work. Frazzled is especially problematic when I actually have things to do.
For some inexplicable reason, very fucking randomly, a couple of people have requested paintings... from me. I didn't even offer or anything... it just randomly occurred... very fucking randomly.

I wouldn't mind pleasing these friends... as long as they don't make a big deal about the doodles... however, my brain isn't cooperating. My brain is gone. I can't even finish my painting from the other day. All inspiration is gone and I'm mostly functioning on automatic. I am a fucking robot.

But I guess anything beats the ugly feeling of wrath that overpowers me when people play me dirty or mistreat me.
It's nearly impossible to breathe when I'm seething... so... I'm not too upset about this lack of inspiration... this self-induced coma and whatnot. I guess.

(Oh, but I could bet my last dollar on fuming at some point this weekend... I BET my inspiration will return by Sunday night)

different zones

I wish I knew how to harness the different "creative streaks" I go through.
I have zero control over the medium my brain chooses, or when it chooses to be creative... but when it gets set on doing something, it just runs with it and holds me hostage in the zone for an undetermined amount of time.
Problematic.
It also helps explain why artists have that reputation of starving to death. Some days you're on fire, others you're riding through a hideous creativity dry spell.

Some periods I can't do anything other than write, others I only stick to sketching... then there was that period of months spent painting.

Right now it's the sketching thing again. I haven't painted since October, when I left the painting halfway done... and I tell myself I should probably spend my energy completing the painting, but my body refuses.
I also think of some good shit to jot down, but when I get on the laptop, I can't stand staring at the screen for anything longer than half an hour.
So I'm just sketching. (and reading... I don't know why the fuck I got that urge... but I'm also reading very late into the night)

So, while some interesting stuff has occurred in the last week (like my recruitment as a bodyguard by my short, white middle-aged gym buddy who has been getting bullied by some dumb hispanic cunt... something that is funny [the recruiting of me-- the quiet, solitary girl] and sad [the fact that my buddy felt the NEED to recruit ANYONE to protect her from a mean, violent bitch. How the fuck a grownass woman feels it's OK to harass an older lady is beyond me... but so fucking infuriating]), I haven't had the inspiration to write any of it down.

Hopefully this little sketching/doodling spurt dies down a little... so I can concentrate on other shit like a normal person.

La del medio

Brother: Hold up hold up... is this real?
He holds my first place blue ribbon in his hands.
Me: Yeah. I won it back in 1998...
Brother: What did you do?
Me: I drew a poster. I won.
Brother: For the state of Nevada?
Me: Yeah.
Brother: How come I never knew this?
Me: ... I don't know. It has been hanging there for 14 years.

No... it's ok, really.
I'm a middle kid-- my older brother is intelligent beyond belief (and successful in all areas BUT the romance department, but that's all three of us), and my baby sister is quite the stunning beauty.
I am the stereotypical middle child.
I'm used to being overlooked. I'm used to "settling" and keeping quiet in the name of keeping the group harmony going.
I'm used to getting trampled... embarrassed, humiliated, overlooked, ignored... and all that good shit.

I'm used to it.
But it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

But it's ok. A kid learns to deal.

I'm going to go jump on clouds with some Care Bears and then try to get in some time to walk along the Korean beach in the company of my handsome, young, caring grandfather.
(Imagination-- that's what has kept my heart beating all these years. That's how I can deal. That's how I handle anything. Just give me enough time to dream, and I'm good)

No, really, get me some purple capris already

I've been a strange combination of an angry AND sad mess these last few weeks.
If I'm not crying in the fucking dark like some unstable creepy idiot, I'm taking deep breaths and counting to a billion in hopes of not breaking shit all over the place.
I'm in that scary angry stage where I feel I can crush shit with my bare hands... all fucking Hulk 'n shit.
I'm not even taking any meds or PMSing or ANYTHING I can blame... I'm just really fucking frustrated and fed up with people's behavior. People are REALLY fucking pissing me off... BADLY.
I need Vicodin or some shit... a fucking dart to the neck like some goddamn rhino.

Since I'm so anti drugs (mainly because I have a WILDLY addictive personality and I know once I pick something up, I'll beat it to death [figuratively speaking]--- which in the case of drugs would undeniably result in MY death... which I guess I wouldn't mind, but I sense it would be a painful crazy fucking death, so yeah, no, let's avoid that shit, yeah?) and I'm cheap as fuck... I don't pay for counseling OR drugs, so I resort to easy shit... like drawing... and long baths where I just sit in the fucking tub without thinking a damn fucking thing beyond "Goddamn.... I HATE this fucking tub!"
And I'll listen to HOURS of classical music.

... now that I think about it, this sounds like shit serial killers enjoy. Umm... uh... hmmm.
Sad.

I haven't even grocery shopped in weeks. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE GROCERY SHOPPING?
Ugh.
Stress sucks dick.

I want to be normal.
And not cry all the fucking time like some weak pussy.
God.

Well, this was of no help.
I'm sorry guys... I'll be better in a few... hours... after I eat and lay like a corpse on my bed... listening to Bach and Strauss and Chopin and all that shit that makes me calm, like a peaceful bunny.

Lost it all

I've been reunited with my laptop for a couple of days now.
I suffered what I like to call the equivalent of post-partum depression, but with electronics.
Well,  guess it's just a general attitude I take with my possessions once they've been fucked.
For instance, my 4Runner when I first got it back in... '06? Oh shit, I totally don't recall the year... but I can almost swear it was '06. ANYWAY, it was 11 days old and I had been happy with it (for the most part) when I then had to deal with my sister crashing it. My love for Bambi was gone. When I got her back, I no longer cared for her... I rejected her like some momma bird rejecting her babies after smelling the scent of a human on the little guys.

I don't know what it is, but once something is "tainted" I quit giving a shit... I get heartbroken and then reject whatever it is.
So... MacBook pretty much suffered the same fate.
Upon bringing it home with me form the store, I left it in my room, and continued with my home task (I was going through some serious cleaning-lady issues... turned my fucking house upside down cleaning like a madwoman-- you know, that thing I do when I'm VERY upset and trying to keep busy in order to keep from thinking too much).
I was scared and reluctant to turn it on.
MacBook chilled in my room for a day.

When I finally used it, my fears materialized.
I wasn't shocked. I expected it... because I know how fucking idiotic I can be.
I lost everything.
Because I backed my shit up... into my sister's external hard drive... which is in Chicago.
Yey.
Now, I wasn't upset about the music... I have what I want on my phone... and there's also Spotify to cover me on my playlists.
My photos? I was slightly upset about that one... but the important photos are either in my phone or in different flash drives... so I'm ok with that.
What was the one fucking thing I did not backup ANYWHERE?
My writings.

This made me cry, hard, for about two minutes.
I did not cry out of sadness, but out of 100% unadulterated rage.
How could I be so stupid? FUCK!
And that was it. No sobbing, no whimpering. I allowed the tears to roll down my face as I screamed "GOD! I'M SO FUCKING STUPID!" for no more than two minutes, I took a deep breath, and I was good.

So... pardon me for not touching my laptop for a while. I don't really give a shit about the internet for now... or anything that involves a computer (well, aside from listening to music. That's imperative in my life-- music).
I've been cleaning, running errands, being an adult, making decisions... and none of it requires the internet.

I'm a very happy girl when I'm away from technology. Like... really, really happy.

10

Round one of my high school reunion is in 15 hours.

I can't sleep.

I feel nostalgic and angry... and vindictive... and sad.

I met some awesome people in those horrible, incredibly traumatic years of my life... but... I get anxiety even thinking about pulling up to the parking lot of that place. I'm getting teary-eyed WRITING about it.

There are two parts to this thing. First part I agreed to: tailgating, football match, then a bar afterward. 

I think I can handle that shit without hyperventilating. I also don't have to be dressed up.

Part two is a night club... I think? I didn't RSVP to that shit.

Here's to me not creating any further psychological damage to myself by attending this shit and subjecting myself to the company of some of the shittiest human beings with whom I was ever forced to coexist.

(That was a weird sentence... I'm too flustered about this shit to care to fix it)

shittyshitshitshitty

This week has been so fucking shitty.

So fucking shitty, I wrote back to the french researcher-- accepting the offer to move out to Mexico, to get that PhD... regardless of how much I fucking hate studying science. I did it for over a decade, what difference is six more years? It's not like I'm happy now... might as well be a productive sad person.

So fucking shitty, I'm now positive I'm going to be turned down... position filled or whatever the fuck.
Perpetually stuck in this limbo, where some days I'm functioning, and others I'm immobilized by this paralyzing sadness.

Rad.

In the darkness

Yesterday, there was this crazy flash flood/storm cell that ravaged the city.
It was cool to watch it approach from the East side... and watch it swallow up the casinos... and then eventually hit my house.
All was fine... up until the damn power went out.
Now, I'm used to the power being out for weeks at a time in Mexico (not sure if I've bitched about the summer where we had no electricity or water for two fucking weeks. TWO WEEKS! I wanted to die after the third day), and I've handled one and a half days of no electricity here, but it was never as hot as it was yesterday.
I was in the middle of fixing myself up to go out, when BAM! Bye, bye light!

Being in the dark makes me want to do two things: pray like an old lady, and draw.
I feel like it's colonial times and have nothing better to do while under candle light.
The praying thing happens if it's dark and stormy... I say this is due to the memories it elicits. My momma's mom was terrified of thunderstorms. One summer, we were stranded at the park, so we didn't return home until the rain was light enough for us to run home. By then, it was dark as fuck and the thunder had stopped. Grandma had been home alone, and since she was bedridden, she couldn't go anywhere.
When we entered the house, we noticed Grams was giving us the silent treatment. Mom finally got her to talk while D and I sat in the living room, and we heard the confession.
"It's because... I'm scared of thunder... and you left me here all alone."
Fuck. Mom cried when she exited the room and D and I felt like garbage.
My grandma never confessed to being scared of anything else (I mean, she even welcomed death... and that shit is something that I freak out about each time I feel like I'm about to pass out).
SO... when there's a thunderstorm out there, Grandma comes to mind and I think "Well... sure... I got some Hail Mary's and a couple of the Lord's Prayers in me to knock out. I guess."

As for drawing... I love it. Once I was over Dad trying to convert me to protestantism (we were having a good time sitting outside staring at the lightening... then he busts out with his usual shit that frustrates me. If you're going to refute Catholicism, please don't use arguments that will make me question you why you ONLY ruled out Catholicism's legitimacy and not just ALL religion in general... because I will... and you will proceed to accuse me of being a heathen.... which I am if we're going to be discussing logic. Now back the fuck off), I walked into the house and busted out the sketchpad.
THAT was the therapy I needed.
Don't get me wrong, I still feel like violently throwing up all over the place when I think of the lying, manipulative dumbass who infuriated me a while ago, but sketching is the drug that makes me forget everything.
Ah, such tried and true methods.

D-fence

It's during moments like these when I really miss my dog.
Would Tyson still be alive, I'm sure I'd be... better.
I'd spend my evenings outside, stroking the little guy while sipping on some tea... or water... and probably laughing at the silly things he'd do for me.
Tyson was good at noticing when I was in need of comfort... or a laugh... or just company.
That's what he'd be doing right now. My little dude.

He was just loyal... and never fucking judged.... and he loved me with all of his heart (AND he NEVER tried humping any body part of mine)... defended me from everything, even the little trivial shit like cockroaches that would get too close to my feet.
He'd sit on my feet, looking over at whatever it was I'd be looking at. I'd feel his warm little body inhaling then exhaling... I'd hear his little noises... see his ears perk at the slightest sound.
If I made the slightest little noise, he'd turn his head back to make eye-contact, and I swear his little eyebrows would furrow... as close as he'd ever get to saying "What's the matter? Please don't cry..."
I'm sure poor little Tyson thought the only thing I knew how to do WAS cry... and the only thing he knew how to do was comfort.
He never did break my heart... except that day I found him under the tree... that day he broke my heart in a way it had never before been broken.

End of the showers to reveal some flowers

Fuckin' A... It's about to be May and I have no clue where April went.
I feel so fucking pressured because May is going to be the busiest month I've had all year... probably the busiest month of the year.
I have dress alterations to fuck with up until the day of the wedding (the 18th), a couple of graduation parties to attend (because I'm nice and each person who has invited me to their shindig made some appearance at any one of my parties... and they're being nice by spreading them for the 17th and 19th, so that's cool), then I head out to Berlin on the 22nd.
I'm sweating bullets about the Eurotrip because I sense I'm going to fuck it up somehow... which I already DID for the day I actually arrive. I get to fuck around that lovely city for a couple of hours ALONE due to my friend being unable to get out of class on time to pick me up when I land.
Do you know how many words I know in German? TWO... no, three... wait... "danke" is German, right? "Bitte" is please... "schwarz" is black (I know this one for the reason you're PROBABLY guessing right now)... I know "verboten" because of all the movies I've watched... "Nein" because of music (I guess here we can pretty much say "If it's in the lyrics for 'Du Hast' then I know it"). I confuse the word for "yes" with the Russian form... so I always say "da" like an imbecile. And as for phrases, I only know ONE (aside from "Juden verboten" but THAT should NEVER leave my fucking mouth in real life), and that's because I once used it in a short story and I asked Kelley to pronounce it for me (I STILL can't say it properly). The phrase is the ever so useless: Ich liebe dich (unless for some freak reason I bump into Michael Ballack. And even then, it'll be useless because he SPEAKS ENGLISH).

SO! Good times ahead... right?
Paris is happening as well... for a few (probably HELL OF miserable) days... then it's Spain, Spain, Spain.
I know how to communicate in those countries... thought the most communicating I want to do in LAME ASS France is flipping my middle finger in the fucking air.

...
Anyway... Hey, Hey, MAY!
For the love of God, BE GENTLE.
April, you were amazing, regardless of how fucking emo I proved to be. You treated me sorta right... better than any other month so far, that's for sure. See you next year, sweetpea.

fuck jitters

Evidently bad shit likes to happen prior to me going on a trip.
... the fuck?

Not to make light of today's tragedy (I did spend a vast majority of the day getting quite upset/angry about it), I'm opting to just change the subject.

I'm nervous and sick.
It's not cool. I had to sit down for an hour because I swore I was going to puke all over the place if I stood any longer.

My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon... from here to LA to Miami to San Juan.
I shouldn't be irritated or nervous, but I fucking am. I feel so ridiculously sick.
I feel like shit.
I'm angry with myself... is that normal?
I think I need to have a girl moment, cry out loud... then just get the fuck over it.
I... I'm... I don't know what to say.
I'm HELLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAA self-loathing right now like you have no idea.

(I finished editing the story last night. I shouldn't even consider it editing, since I fucking quit a fourth of the way in. By the end, my mind had been thoroughly raped... this might be another reason I'm hating myself right now. I need to cry and scream. Bye)

Call it a problem

The last week or so has been somewhat rough for me.
Typical shit, ya know... crying, arguing, realizing a lot of people only view you as a money sign, realizing others have been lying to you for god knows how long... shit like that.
I've also had to deal with the "stress" of finalizing plans for the May trip. Somewhat of a headache, since I tend to suffer a panic attack each time I think of that piece of shit country of France... fucking stupid asshole France.
THEN there's my body. No one really tells you all the fucking bullshit your body will pull on you when you're "transforming."
There are good days... days when you'll look in the mirror and see some coolass muscle in places you never thought possible (at least on your own body). I geeked out the moment I saw the top two squares of my abs showing when I flexed, I practically passed out when I noted my obliques were coming in (that is some serious awesome shit), and I also have a thing for my pelvic bones-- never thought there'd come a day when I'd be able to see those.
Then there are bad days. Bad days suck dick. My bad days generally consist of noticing my jeans are tightening in the thighs/ass... or I'll feel like my skin is getting "pulled" in random areas. The pulling sensation freaks me out. It's not much different from the feeling you get when stretch-marks are coming in... except stretch-marks are itchy as fuck. This is what upsets me... because the thought of NEW stretch-marks makes me want to jump off a bridge. I have ENOUGH fucking stretch-marks, which I've finally learned to somewhat embrace-- SOMEWHAT.
Recently, my thighs and ass have been a problem-- they have been getting big, where it fucking worries me. Is it NORMAL for your ass to just start blowing up as if getting inflated by some air pump? My pants hug the fucking hell out of my bottom... and it's not like I can "suck it in," it's my fuckin' ass-- it's BAM! Right there!
I'd say my tits could be a "problem" as well, but what girl complains about her tits getting big? So yeah, I sense this has something to do with my girly hormones... that stupid, unstable cocktail of danger.

I told my sister of this problem the other day.
D: And it's just your ass and thighs getting big?
Me: Dude, my tits are also spilling out of the top of my bras.
D: Is your gut getting big?
Me: No. That's the annoying part. My pants fit fine in the waist, but I'm scared of sitting down because I feel my pants will rip at the thighs or ass.
D: Is your ass just fat, or firm?
Me: It's rock hard, dude!
D: Bigger tits and a bigger, tighter ass... I wouldn't call that a problem, idiot.

I didn't listen to her... because I'm a hypochondriacal idiot... and I chose to believe my body was just winding up to explode back to its gibongous stage of the mid '00's.
Then today I decide to get into my tightest fitting gym pants.
Money.
My ass IS bigger than it used to be (I'll be the first to admit my ass is small and stupid. I'm not delusional when it comes to my ass. It might have been big when I was a seven year old, but I totally grew into it during adolescence), but my hammies are magic, and my tummy is flatter than ever.
My body was just doing that lame thing it likes to do when readjusting sizes.

I swear, guys, you can physically feel when your body is tightening up. You FEEL it randomly... and it makes you think you're cramping... or suffering from a hernia... or blowing up like a pufferfish. It's like getting smacked by a giant rubberband. You have no idea WHERE the readjusting will take place (spot training is BULLLLLLLSHIIIIIIT!), but after two or three weeks, you'll catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and think "Well, fuck me! That *body part* looks badass! Where the fuck did that come from?!"
Don't know if people who have been thin their entire lives experience this, but as someone who spent decades as a human pomegranate, I'm telling you it happens... at least to me it does. It sucks balls for two weeks when you feel like a silverback gorilla, but then through some fucking miracle, you see the progress for which you've been working so motherfucking hard.

I still think I'll spend the next few weeks in spandex though... 

Fuck 3/11

Fuck.
Again, it's one of those things where so much has gone on... my brain shuts down and I can't find the focus to write anything out.
I have a couple of posts backlogged... one in particular was pretty much ready to go, but after re-reading it, I opted against posting... mainly because it was so anti-girl and it happened to be for March 8th, International Women's Day or whatever. It would have been way too inappropriate, even for me.
I also have stories regarding the parties I went to that night, on the 8th. I went to THREE parties.... after a long day at the gym... OF COURSE I have stories about Friday.
And it's not just Friday... the entire weekend was eventful... I don't know where to start... my brain is overly stimulated.
I'm also pretty antsy because my dad was supposed to return from Cuba last night and we have yet to hear from him... AT ALL.
It's pretty fucking frustrating.

Gimme a few more days. March 11th hasn't been too kind to me for the last five years.
Excuse me.

Gitanita

So... like... February 20th was kiiiind of a jerk to me.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm in desperate need for a vacation.
I swear some gypsy soul was reincarnated into me or something. I'm not happy when I have to stand around for too long in the same place. I get restless.

I think it's time I make that reservation to Cancun.
I'm getting that cleanse.
Fuck it.