Dear Fucking Diary,


I woke up to a total mess this morning. The ashtray was turned over, there was makeup tossed around and all of my cookies were gone. I guess I was busy in my sleep last night. That’s probably why I’ve been so tired lately. I suspected that I may have been sleepwalking again because, when I wake up in the mornings, things aren’t always the way I remembered them from the night before. Plus, I’ve been sleeping later and later, even though I go to bed at the same time. Sonofabitch! I don’t need this shit right now. I guess I’ll get out my shackles and attach myself to the couch, since I can’t bring myself to sleep in my own fucking bed anymore.

Shit! I’m so pissed off this morning! I’m mad at myself for doing such a bad job on my diet since he died. At first, I was getting sick every day because I was forgetting to eat. Now that I’ve been having my Lady’s Days, I cannot get enough to eat. Fucking hormones. But it’s not just that. I haven’t even been trying. At anything. I go to the chicken place every other day and get enough food to last for a couple of days. They must think I’m fucking crazy. But, economically, you can’t shop cheaper for one person, plus, I don’t have to cook. Which is good, since I’m using the stovetop for counter space at the moment. And I couldn’t shop if I wanted to because my anxiety level stays maxed out all the time. I haven’t even been in a real grocery store for ten years. He always did the shopping. Because I can’t handle nice people in confined spaces. Put me in a room full of lowlifes and fuck ups and I’m just fine. I’d be golden if they started selling groceries in skid row bars.


Adios 2015

Attitude-1I must confess that I’m happy to see this year end. It has been the last of five of the most stressful years of my life. As it comes to a close, with change on my horizon, I’m considering how I’ll actually approach the new year.

I’d like to begin 2016 by being far less nice. While being a forgiving person is possibly the most valuable part of my character, I tend to take it to a degree that is often not healthy for me. I believe in ‘forgive and forget’. I see nothing wrong with that. However, I have come to understand that the recipients of all this forgiveness could not actually give a shit whether I forgive them, or not. Maybe it’s just my way of avoiding confrontation, in spite of my reputation as one of the most confrontational people a lot of my folks have ever known. I think that when there is a lot to lose, I’d rather roll over and play dead just so I can continue to know certain people instead of telling them to go fuck themselves like I should.

In my effort to streamline my group of associates, online and in real life, I’ve already begun to mentally file people into lists. The A List, Marginals, and Cast Offs. That may sound mercenary, but I’m tired of having people in my life that don’t want to be there except to control me, or satisfy themselves, on some level. I’m quite happy with my A List, although I recently promoted a Marginal to the A List, and am already regretting it. We’ll see how that goes. And, yes…I just said that. lol! WTF?!?

Restraint is one thing I’ll have to deal with this year, like it or not. I expect to have weight loss surgery in the next month or two. I have very mixed emotions about it, but don’t want to pass up the opportunity. I’ve had the chance to get it two other times, but changed my mind at the last minute. I have my reasons. I know that there are reasons why, one in particular, I turn to food for comfort. And, as odd as it sounds, it is that reason that causes me to see all of this excess weight as a comfort, as well. An incident occurred in my life 33 years ago. It was violent, humiliating and traumatizing. I was able to put it behind me for a long time, but it seemed to come back at once and with a vengeance a little over a decade ago. I don’t know why. It is something I find so disturbing that I have only talked about it out loud to one person in all of this time. Aside from those involved, only he and I know it ever happened, even though it has haunted me daily for more than three decades. This is the year I face up to it and get some help.

The two things above aren’t resolutions. They are changes I have to make if  I’m going to live another year without eating a bullet. I should be moving in the next six months or so. I’m not sure about an actual divorce, though. It might be advantageous to stay married on paper, tax-wise and in terms of property, etc. I’m going to sit down with a lawyer soon and discuss it. I don’t plan on ever getting married again, so I don’t see it as an issue, either way the shoe falls. I’d rather get ass fucked by a herd of buffalo than walk down the aisle again. I did my fucking time. Shit. There is nobody rich or good looking enough to talk me into that bullshit. And love ain’t gonna cut it, either. I let myself fall in love this year. Turns out that it was just some weird game for the man involved. I knew I shouldn’t have let myself feel that way. Goddamn I’m a fucking idiot. The worst part is that I’m still getting over it. Something that really didn’t make a shit to him, I’m still fretting over. That’s part of that ‘nice’ bullshit. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to always love them. Especially when you aren’t even really on their radar, no matter how nice they are to you after it’s all said and done. I’m sick of being a side note. It won’t happen again and I mean that. Fuck love. It’s not worth it.

Anyway…this is just turning into a bitch and moan session. The point is: No, I won’t be making resolutions as my life is making them for me. Unavoidable and non-negotiable changes that life is demanding and I have no choice but to step up. So…that’s what I plan to do.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy celebration tonight. Adios!


Rest Well, Baby


December 5th is the hardest day of the year. It’s the anniversary of the death of one of my extra sons, Jeremy. I knew him his whole, short, life and love him so much, still. He was my youngest son’s best friend.

Jeremy was 19 when he died, along with a young man named Josh, in a single vehicle accident on an old country road. The truck they were in hit a tree at a very high rate of speed. Even though it was determined that the driver hit the brakes 250 feet from point of impact, the truck was totally demolished. Their bodies, also totally demolished, were commingled and unrecognizable as even being human. The police could not determine who was driving.

By all accounts, both were piss drunk that evening. Neither should have been driving. Had they not been en route to a bar to meet the friends who would later report them missing, it could have been days before they were found. As it turned out, a time of death could not be established due to the cold weather, but it was clear that they had been alone, dead, out on that road for most of that night.

They separated the boy’s remains as well as they could, simply dividing the rest between the families, who still blame each other for the accident to this day.

Jeremy posted to his MySpace that afternoon. His status read: “I’m gonna be a daddy!”
I posted congratulations, even though I wasn’t thrilled that yet another one of the boys had knocked up their girlfriend. I told my youngest, who already knew and thought it was awesome that he was going to be an uncle. I rolled my eyes and that was that. The next day, at work, my youngest would call me screaming into the phone that Jeremy was dead. I never heard him cry that way before or since.

I think that most of us have been deeply affected, in one way or the other, by drunk drivers. We are always relieved when we hear that a drunk crashed, but only hurt or killed himself and didn’t take an innocent with him. But, even then…when they don’t take a stranger with them, they still take others. Jeremy’s death changed so many lives….caused so much pain, as did Josh’s death. Jeremy’s child, a beautiful little girl, will never know what an amazing person her father was. His mother and stepfather couldn’t deal with losing him and the strain was too much for their marriage. They divorced a few years ago. His father, stepmother and half siblings were broken for so long. Now and then, my youngest goes to his house and they all sit around laughing and telling stories about the stuff the boys pulled growing up. And, Jeremy’s band of brothers from other mothers remember him every year on this terrible day. Some still living with the guilt of telling him and Josh to meet them at the bar that night.

As for me, I think that I have a very healthy outlook on death. I’ve lost several ‘extra’ sons in the last ten years, and I remember them on the anniversaries of their passing, too. I light a candle, have a lil cry and get on with my day. Even with Derrick. But Jeremy…I can’t seem to get over that one. I just can’t. He’s one of the few people I ever truly mourned. And I miss him so much. Youngest does, too, and we’ll have a talk about him later today. Mostly, I cry all day on this day…every year, even though I don’t want to. Jeremy’s death sort of set in to my internal clock, I guess. Anyway, it is what it is. And, what it is, is a long miserable day.

It’s A Beautiful Day


It’s cold this morning. Very pretty outside, from what I can see. When my meds kick in I might go out and gather some pine cones and such to take to Mom’s. When I visit next time I’m going to do a couple of holiday garlands for her. I miss her so much, even though we see each other every few weeks. She is so much more than a mother to me. She’s my mentor and best friend…a sister. I can’t wait until she is ready to move up here.

My body is trying to have a pain day. Fuck that. I have things I want to do and that’s what’s going to happen. See, this is where I’m fortunate…I can decide to just power through it if I have to. Most times, at least. Lots of people can’t. Perspective. It really helps to maintain perspective. I think the weather is pushing my pain level up to a solid 8. But I can still move around, and I have all day to do/finish the stuff I want to do, so it’s all good.

I accidentally drank a pint of tequila yesterday. It was delicious! It warmed my body and eased my mind. I love that feeling. But…back home, in Realityville, no matter how good it feels, can’t do it daily. I’m probably a huge disappointment to a great many of my ancestors, most of whom were highly functioning alcoholics. I’m a highly partying alcoholic. Lol! Whatev…yesterday was nice.

Happy Thursday, y’all!

Done Deal


I’m no good at love. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after fucking up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No, this is not self pity. It is an honest obersvation.
I met Paul on Facebook, as I said in a previous post. He is the most amazing man. Yes, I know that one cannot tell everything about a person from talking online or by phone, but I truly feel that Paul is my soul mate and did from the start. And he has only done one tiny thing wrong the entire time we’ve been talking. I let that small thing turn into a major thing, ( which it actually is to me), and then…I don’t know…I could not let it go. After the first time I told him how I felt, and he did not offer resolution, I didn’t feel the same. I felt distrustful and insecure. We had several arguments about it, each time, with no resolution. Then, today, I broke things off.
It’s difficult to even describe how I feel about Paul. I adore him. I want to take good care of him and make sure that he is well fed and his clothes are always ready and that the house is clean and his needs are met. Old school. Because he makes me feel very complete as a woman. Complete in ways I’ve never felt before. He makes me feel like I can embrace being vulnerable and feminine and that I don’t have to be ‘strong’ all the time. He seems to know what I’m thinking before I think it and takes time to understand when I’m having a bad day. He’s so cool. His head is shaved and he has this amazing beard and gorgeous brown eyes…tattoos…all the things I like. And he has a way of reaching me that nobody else ever has. He lets me reach back and he offers both strength and vulnerability and we share secrets and dreams and it’s so wonderful.
The flip side of love like this is that it’s a lot to lose, in the end. And, let’s face it, there is always an end. I think that’s what has been bothering me the most lately. There are absolutely no guarantees when it comes to things of the heart. I don’t like that. I’m a ‘sure thing’ type of person. I’m also about to turn 49. I can’t waste time on something I’m not totally sure is going to work in the long run. Just imagining the pain involved, were this to end, after…say…five years…is overwhelming to the point that I want to vomit. It’s just better to end it before it goes wrong.
A major thing is that, in comparison to Paul’s even keel, I’m a fucking nutjob. It’s not right for him to have to deal with my bullshit ‘in the name of love’. It’s nothing I’m doing on purpose, and nothing I was even aware of until now. Dealing with fibro and Exish and just having started to diet and try to get myself over the past has left me a total wack. Seriously. I don’t even know how to really talk to a man who isn’t yelling at me. I’ve been in a bad marriage for three decades and am only now realizing how dysfunctional my thinking has become because of it, and that is only because Paul is so…normal. Yep…in the harsh light of normality, I’m an emotional Charles Manson. I start petty fights and am always putting myself down, never trusting that Paul is telling the truth when he says he loves me or that he thinks I’m beautiful. I can’t. And I mean that. I CAN’T.
I think I’m going to get some counselling soon. I may even move back to the coast and get a little place on the island. Just somewhere to curl up and figure shit out. I deeply regret that Paul won’t be there with me. I’m not sure that I can even stay friends with him. I am so in love with him that it hurts. But I do know that, because I love him, I can’t do this to him…I can’t do ME to him. It’s not right. Nothing about me is right anymore.

Pain, You Character, You!

I’m sitting here, watching Golden Girls, thinking how I’m going to move off this fucking couch. My whole body hurts. I think that my hair is even getting in on the fun. Lol! Omg! Is this really happening???

That virus thing I have seems like it’s not responding to the meds. Though the fever left a day or so ago, the other symptoms are in full swing. I look like I swallowed a watermelon. My tongue is swollen and blistered, and my gums are inflamed. Omg…Wth? This sucks. My body normally responds to antibiotics rather quickly. This stuff is just something else…

Staying on my diet. It’s cool today and I wanted to go for a walk, but I’m gonna pass. I don’t think I can walk too far. Every time I move, my body freaks out. So…maybe exercise bike.

It just seems so daunting. ..the prospect of losing a lot of weight. But I hate my body this way and I just can’t stay this way. I still can’t believe I let this happen. Omg! Wow…I have so much cellulite on my ass you could stage a fake moon landing on it. How is that gonna go away? I used to be involved in fitness, so I know how to fix things, but I’m old and in pain these days and don’t know if I have the balls to really get where I want to be.

My mom, fairly disgusted by my physique, offered to get me a gastric bypass. I politely declined, and truly appreciate, her offer. But I don’t think that’s for me. I worry that it won’t work until I understand what makes me use food as a crutch. To me, anybody who abuses anything has got to understand the root cause. And, if you understand that, and make peace with it, things like bypass surgery aren’t necessary.

Anyway…I’ve rambled long enough. Gonna move around and get this day going.

Yeah…Maybe Not.

I’m really fucking shit up lately. I’m really fucked up lately. Pain days are back in force and it’s like the pain is flexing on me. Showing me who’s boss. Great! I so love that! Because I go for ages without realizing that lil nugget of truth. NOT. Like most total assholes, I pass the pain along to the people I care about most. One, in particular.

I just got back from Mom’s. Three day trip to Hell. So much bullshit going on with my brother and my sons…never one minute to just think or have any peace. I slept on the couch because it hurt too much to walk upstairs to the ‘princess room’ that Mom made for me. She always gets upset, but she didn’t say anything about it this time. She knows what’s up and has finally started to leave me be about things. And somebody needed to be downstairs and awake, anyway, since my brother, the schizo, was on the warpath. That’s one scary motherfucker. I don’t care if he’s ill, he needs to fucking go. He’s a threat to my mother, and he threatened me this trip. I told him what was going to happen the next time he threatened me. The threats stopped. He’s crazy, not stupid. Listening to him yell at Jesus to clean his toilet all day, every day, was quite entertaining in a Shining sort of way. And then there’s my grandfather/Dad. He’s slipping away. Healthy…but very little left of him these days. He’s so old and it’s difficult to look at him and put him in the same box of memories that his former self is in. You know? I guess I just thought Dad would hang in till the end. He had done so well until recently. Now, he’s so senile he doesn’t remember family members. I’m afraid he won’t remember me soon. I love him so much…but he’s not going to be around much longer. I just don’t see how he can be.

I was ready to leave last night after I took my oldest son to Houston to return his rental car. I couldn’t because I was afraid to, after having a lost time situation on the last trip I made at night. I took the last major turn for home, then I faded out and ended up in Louisiana by the time I came to myself. It happens fairly regularly, but normally episodes aren’t that long. It’s like just going into an actual fog. Fun! My memory is shot. Doc says it’s Fibro Fog. Basically, chronic pain fucks your head up. No shit…

So…I got home today and chilled out for a bit. Exish made a good dinner. Afterwards, I dozed off on the couch. My purse was on the floor nearby. Something woke me up and I see Exish looking through my purse for my pain meds. Awkward. I keep them in a small locked thingy that I can carry in my purse. So, he was shit outta luck, anyway. I confronted him after I watched him for a little minute. He actually denied that I saw what I just fucking saw. Seriously. What the fuck? I told him to just be honest and admit what he was doing and why, but he continued to deny it. Like I’m a fucking lunatic and can’t be trusted to know what the Hell I see. I swear…it’s too much. My nerves are so fucking shot and I’m so fucking tired that I cannot deal with one more thing. I have to get to work and get out of here. It’s like living in a psych ward.

I don’t think Paul and I are going to work out, even though I think I love him more than anything in the world. I just keep flipping shit on him over the most bullshit things. I don’t know why. And I just can’t seem to pull myself out of it. Maybe it’s the pain…lack of sleep…I don’t know. But I feel so fucking pissed all the time. And it might cost me something very dear. And that’s my own fucking fault. He’s such an awesome guy. I’ve never met anyone like him. But even people like him can only take so much. I told him that we need to take a break till Sunday. If I was him, I’d keep on with that break. I’m not really any good for relationship material. I’m a fucking train wreck. I can’t even stand my own self. How can anyone else? Fuck.

I feel like my life is falling apart because of this fibro bullshit. I need a job, but I can’t work like this. My hands and arms feel like they are burning…like actually on fire. It takes forever to type, so I usually do everything on my phone these days with my thumb. When I get finished here, my hands will be shaking. The pain that’s shooting up my arms from the fucked up nerves in them is making my muscles twitch right now. It’s weird to watch. My whole body fucking hurts. I mean…it fucking hurts. I think I’d have to cut my fucking head off to get any real relief from this never ending bullshit. Honestly, I can’t see living with it much longer. I know so many people have it worse. God bless them and their strength and determination. I don’t think I have that kind of strength. Don’t even want to try and conjure it up. So…there’s that.

Anyway…I better go. My fingers are in non-compliant mode and this has taken forever to type. Back to the phone!


Me & Paul

I haven’t posted in ages. Life has been much too overwhelming of late to be able to find words to convey the way I feel about it. Pain days have been many, as have very low pain days. I’m grateful for that. More important than any of that, I met a man and I’m in love.
The man of whom I speak comes from London. Yes, we met online. Just a friendly exchange on Facebook. But then there was something more. An overwhelming feeling that I found my other half. Although I had spent many hours gazing at his picture and hanging on every word he posted for most of the year, I never dreamed that we’d hit it off the way we did. It’s like we’re two pieces of the same puzzle. We finish each other’s sentences and share so much in common that it’s crazy. We both love metal and the simple things and each other. I’m probably going ’round in circles talking about him, but I can’t help it and I don’t care to edit. I feel blessed beyond words.
Exish and I had a good conversation this evening. He agrees that we really are separated and that he can handle it and will stop trying to hang on. I don’t know what I’d have done had he not said that. I’ve been feeling so trapped lately…as though someone will have to hurt in order for me to be happy. I am not certain that I could ever by happy under those circumstances. Who could? The good thing is that I don’t have to keep Paul under wraps as much. I did tell Exish that I was in love with Paul, but I still wouldn’t talk on the phone with him in front of Exish because I didn’t want to hurt feelings or cause trouble. I’m so happy to know that won’t be the case any longer…that Exish will share in the responsibility of rebuilding our seperate lives and moving on. That’s the most manly thing he’s ever done for me. And I appreciate it.
Paul will be coming for a visit in the relatively near future. I cannot wait to finally touch him. He’s so…yummy and wonderful. And, while I’m positive there will be things we hate about one another, I think that we communicate well enough to get through those things. Or at least fight it out without one of us walking away. Hey…in my book that’s a damn good thing.
Love is a funny thing, though. Once you’re beyond the ‘in love’ stage, there is no telling where it will go. Both people must be mindful of the dedication involved to keep things together when you can’t ‘feel’ all that new love. In all honesty, I hate the fact that I let myself fall in love. It bugs the shit out of me. But then I hear his voice, or get a message from him and I’m in love all over again…the risk is worth it. Before you judge, consider the divorce rate. Paul and I, two near-total strangers, have odds as high of staying together as people who have dated for years. Soooooo…yeah. I’m gonna roll the dice. See what happens. Enjoy this man. That’s what I’m going to do.

Hurricane M And Our Birthday Drive

…and during his drunken confession, M told me that he wants to get me wasted and fuck the shit out of me. He’s my friend. Probably my best friend. There is nothing sexual between the two of us. Now, I wonder if there may be. And I don’t know how I feel about it. I do know that it isn’t often a man, drunk or sober, can conjure that much lust in his voice. But my M is one who is a serious connoisseur of fleshly pleasure, so I suppose that is his norm. All I can say is, “Oh, my!” lol!

I knew that I’d be hearing from M on Sunday. All day long, he was on my mind. But, it was Grandmother’s birthday, and I’m not always up to much in the mental/emotional department on that day. Exhausted, I had gone to bed quite early. I’ve had one pain day after another, recently, and the fucking pain pills were making me bloated and I felt toxic. After an good hour’s rest, my phone rings. Even without my glasses on, I see M’s big ol grin on his contact ID. The phone rang and rang as I came out of my fog. I finally managed to answer. He was shit faced. He had just left the club and was in God knows what neighborhood in Dallas. In his Lamborghini, no doubt. Brilliant!

I instantly found myself in ‘mother’ mode and began to worry as I talked to M. I asked him what happened. He explained that he had a hot blond date earlier in the evening who was too into her feminism to realize she was being driven around in the panty dropper of all panty droppers. He fed her, got drunk during, and even though she did admit he was a sexy man with a sexy car, it was far too late for her to win him back over, so he unceremoniously took her home and peeled away. He then went to the strip club, where his friends were to wish him well and such on his birthday. BUT, he couldn’t find a stripper who’d just sit down and have an intelligent conversation with him, no matter how much money he offered. I explained that their job description does not include discussions on String Theory or Dark Matter. He laughed and said that it should. He then explained that he told his friends they were leeches and moochers and left. Boom! Just like that.

After we talked for a little minute, I asked M if he realized how weird it was that he was driving around talking to me on his birthday, considering all the other cool ass people he knows that he could be celebrating with. He just said, “Fuck em, Elle!”, and that was that. So began ‘our’ birthday drive.

I do not condone drunk driving, and neither does M. He was concerned because he would just die if he ever hurt anyone while driving like that. But he was quite lost and didn’t want to get off the phone and use his GPS. His Lambo is a 91 and they weren’t equipped with that stuff. So, turn after wrong turn, M and I talked. About everything. He is probably one of my all-time favorite people. I just adore the man. I would feel exactly the same way, were he a penniless beggar. He’s just such a character! How could anyone not love someone like that? And, so we continued our drive…into the barrio and out…on to the hood…back out again…ending up in Terrell, missing Dallas and heading into Fort Worth…back to Terrell. I have never been so worried about anyone…

As the night progressed, he finally told me why he’d rather spend his birthday ‘riding around with me’, (from a hundred miles away), than with his ‘friends’. He says, “Elle, do you realize that you’re the only person I talk to on a regular basis that I don’t HAVE to talk to? And, do you know why? It’s because you don’t give a fuck about my money and you don’t fucking judge me for a goddamn thing. You listen to my stories and you laugh and you just accept me.” Wow. I think that’s the biggest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I told him, that’s how I treat everyone because I know it sucks to be judged. And I told him that he was a wonderful man and a larger than life character and all of those things he seems to doubt about himself. Honestly, it made me cry. I never can understand how wonderfully amazing people are always the last to know that they are wonderfully amazing. I meet people like that all the time. And I just want to shake them and say, “You are AWESOME! Love yourself and dream so big you can barely see it all because YOU can do anything!”

After about an hour and a half, he finally found a chicken place in the ghetto of Terrel, Texas. (OMG!) So, he gets a shit ton of chicken and off ‘we’ go to find a quiet spot to eat. He got on the highway long enough to hit 140. He was whoopin it up like a kid…too cute. But, then he got scared of wrecking and pulled onto the feeder. Finally found a rest stop and pulled in.

M ate his food and started to settle down. That’s when he started telling me how much he fantasized about me. I was shocked and laughed it off. But he kept on and on about it. Even though I knew/know it was drunk talk, I was seriously surprised. I think most women have had that experience. And I’m betting we all sort of have the same reaction. Especially when it’s said in such a primal and lustful manner; The way a man who has and insatiable appetite for fleshly pleasure says it. I’m blushing, right now, just thinking about it.

In any case, M sobered up. I stayed on the phone with him until the wee hours until he was sure he could get to a hotel and such. He finally found his bearings and all was well. We hung up, and in true M fashion, I have not heard from him since. I told him to call when he got to a hotel or to the house, but…he doesn’t mind well. If he did, he wouldn’t be my M.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!


I did something positive for myself today. I got up early so that I could be at the Dollar General before it got busy. Instead of buying candy and sweet tea, I bought trail mix and diet Pepsi. Now, I know that this doesn’t sound like much progress, and I’m aware that trail mix is as fattening as candy. However, I have had little success at going cold turkey off of my chocolate, so I think that this is an alternative that will provide a step towards conquering my sweet tooth. I’m not happy about giving up my tea, but I’m not happy with being such a fatass, either. So…there ya have it.
On the way home, I took some time to drive down the back roads. It was still early and lots of little critters were beginning to mill around. I saw a bunny and a few squirrels…lots of birds. A few buzzards were gathered for a morning feast. It’s funny how, in nature, one creature’s misfortune is another’s delight, and it isn’t a matter of conscience. It just is. But, with us humans, you don’t do that…you don’t take joy in the pain of another. It is shameful to be opportunistic. I believe that’s as it should be, but still admire the structure of the natural world and the absence of guilt among its inhabitants.
Today is a girly day. I put on makeup and messed with my hair a little. Going to do the Domestic Goddess thing. I don’t know why, but it seems that we women just operate at our best when we look our best. That isn’t to say that all women have to put on makeup or what have you. It’s so much more personal than that. Even fat girls have skinny days, and skinny girls have fat days. If you aren’t a woman, you probably have no idea what that means, but it’s pretty major to us vagina bearing individuals. In any case, my best is a pound of makeup and a ton of hairspray. So…that’s what’s up.
Got some meat out for dinner. Almost out of meat, actually. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I run out. I can manage the Dollar General well enough, but still am having a lot of trouble with panic. Even though it’s not a mental state any longer, my body is still going through the motions. I don’t get it. I mean…I’m happy…talking to the people who work there, then…bam! My heart starts pounding, I start to sweat…shake…can’t breathe. But there is no fear metally or emotionally. Shit! I have to get myself together because I’m going to have to grocery shop soon and I don’t know how I’m going to get it done. I looked on Amazon and Walmart…I still can’t figure out if they ship meat. Hell…I may just have to head to the back 40 and kill something. I really don’t want to. I hate gutting things out and such. But…I’m gonna have to do something soon.
I guess that’s about it. I’m having a happy day and hope every one of you are, too. For most of us, they are few and far between.
Happy Sunday, y’all!