angry and sad and confused and tired

Most days are the same now. Even more so than before, when I had a job. Because now, I stay home most days… and stay in bed an extra half hour after I’m really awake… wondering what I must do first.

Usually, I think of something that I want to look up online, but then I think that I should eat first. And then I get stuck wondering what I should eat… and then I drift off and think about something else, until something reminds me that I shouldn’t be in bed but be working but no wait I have to eat first. What should I eat?

Then I finally say to heck with it and get out of bed and open the fridge and open cabinets and drawers in my search for a suitable breakfast. I usually settle on something that needs a little preparation and something to tide me over while I prepare. Usually, the preparation requires another trip through the cabinets and drawers to find something else to add.

Once breakfast is finally ready and I’m at the table, (beginning this week) I watch some TV while I eat. If I’m early enough, it begins with the last bits of Good Morning America. If not, it’s Regis and Kelly then The View.

I go through breakfast slowly… partly because I’m distracted by the tube and partly because I don’t have as big an appetite as I thought I did when I made so much breakfast. So breakfast turns into brunch which turns into lunch and pretty soon I’m wondering why I’m watching Jerry Springer, soaps and court TV.

(Answer: because there’s nothing else on while they’re on commercial break from the live coverage of the police chase in East LA)

My computer is usually having breakfast/brunch/lunch with me. I work a little bit on my website, surf a bit, etc while I eat.

Soon it’s time to scramble to do a few household chores before everyone comes home. Usually it’s just dishes and making rice but a few nights a week, I actually have to make dinner.

The meat is likely to be undercooked because I’m impatient. But the vegetables are likely to be overcooked and mushy because I forget about them. It’s very depressing. Lately, I’ve felt the need to make sweet things too… like I *need* to… like my life and sanity depends on the fudge.

I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on Friday. Except I didn’t have enough oatmeal… only 1/3 of what I needed… and I didn’t have any chocolate chips. So I used only 1/3 the amount of the oatmeal that I was supposed to and melted some Hershey’s dark chocolate in the microwave oven. They came out cake-y.

Anyway so… when dinner’s done, I eat it. Then I get back on my computer…

—

And here I am. Today I am angry because the pork wasn’t done and the sauce didn’t come out like it was supposed to and I suck. But I know that’s really not why I’m angry because I know that I’m angry for no reason.

Initially.

Only initially because now I’m angry that I’m letting myself be angry for no reason.

And then I’m sad because I can’t help being angry and I want to know why. But I’m confused… because I don’t know if I should even wonder why or if I should just stop and how I could just stop. And then I’m just tired.

And I wish I could just stop. Stop thinking about everything that needs to be dealt with because I don’t want to deal with anything. I only like responsibility when I know exactly what to do.

Sometimes when I’m afraid to do something or when there’s something holding me back, I say heck with it and just do it.

—

My dad just came in and said good night. I kissed him and said good night and ‘love you and he sort of grunted… made a “noncommittal sound” as he walked out and pulled the door closed behind him.

And I thought to myself this is so not the time for him to do that. So I cried a little. But then I had to look up “noncommittal” to be sure I had the right term and the tears faded.

I could think about it some more but I don’t want to deal with it.

—

I don’t remember what I was going to say about just doing it.

This wasn’t it but… it seems to be becoming harder to just do it.

Oh I just remembered something that I’d wanted to write about earlier today.

—

Sometimes, when my relationship with God is going well, I think that it would be a nice time to die because I knew that I was on good terms with Him. Doesn’t happen very often but still.

Sometimes I say to myself that I want to die because life seems unbearable but I know I don’t mean it because just as afraid to die as I am of facing my problems.

But this morning, I remembered that my sister was gone and that the only way I’ll ever get to see her again is when I die too. And I thought …

—

the globe

Aside from the obvious virtue of this story, it reminds me of Orson Scott Card’s Enchantment + I like the part about the cherry branches.

from visible thought

Artha shivers. Is this the place? There is the pond, lined with stone just as they told her, and the cherry branches reaching out, just so. But the portal is overgrown; a thick carpet of dead leaves covers the tile, and vines twine through the open ceiling.

She carries the globe tucked beneath her shirt, rounding her belly like she carries a child. If only it were a child, and not this cold, white thing, this thing that has already claimed hundreds of lives. She dares not show its face to the world. Even in the shroud of morning fog, something would see. Some pair of eyes, whether ant or bird or human, would gaze at the globe and then frost over, still and sightless.

Artha pushes aside the heavy vines. Yellowed grape leaves fall to the floor, and the wooden frame of the building creaks. She wants to scream, to cry out to those who built this place to come take the white thing from her, but her voice catches in her throat. It has been too long since she last tasted water or food, since she last spoke to another person.

She clears the leaves from the center of the floor, exposing a circle made from slivers of white tile. In the center, sits a shallow metal bowl. Its edges are caked with rust and dirt, but Artha can see her reflection in the very bottom. White. Her hair, hands, eyes, and even her lips. She whimpers with fear, and lets the globe drop.

Thrum! The whole world shakes. Leaves twist up from their decayed piles on the floor and spiral up, up and out, slapping Artha’s arms and face. Voices come and go in the vortex of wind. Artha hears her name, hears her memories, and hears the globe. She sees nothing but white.

Later they will speak of her with awe and regret. They will build her a statue and clean the muck from the pond and rip away the vines. They will tell their children how Archa carried the plague from the world and destroyed it here, in this place where the cherry branches reach out just so.

wanderlust

I’m a sucker for stealthily-but-not-really-stealthily romantic writing… and references to the sea. Whatever, here it is.

from bury your fucking secrets

his name was wanderlust
he told me a story of the ocean
and a girl with shells in her hair
he whispered into my ear
and held me as i shivered.

his hair was choppy,
deep sea blue
and he wore black pearls in his ears.
as he protected me from the chill of the ocean breeze
a warmth grew between us
and a kiss he offered to me.

the brackish taste of his lips
though normally deterrent
entranced me
for he was not a normal boy.
his name was wanderlust.

the end of the week

If I had a day job, I would be itching to get off work. I might even consider clocking out early because I can’t wait for the weekend to start.

However, as it is, I don’t have a day job. I have been, for the past month, working intermittently on my website which is nearly the only thing keeping me from sending out my resumé.

I was almost there, on Monday. Only, I had forgotten to do any cross-browser testing. So I did and confirmed my prior suspicions that Windows, Internet Explorer and Safari are in league against me. That is not to mention that fact that I am doubting my overall design, because that is the least of my worries now.

So I decided to approach the CSS in a very different way and change the layout very slightly, hoping to accommodate the errant browsers, and now I am utterly lost. This does not bode well for my career.

CSS doesn’t seem to make sense to me anymore. I used to think that it did, that it was easy; I think it has joined the Axis.

I have a crush on CSS… no, I am in love with it. I pine for us to be together in sweet harmony and create wonderful beautiful website babies together. Because I know that CSS is what I need to make superior babies.

But our future seems bleak because I cannot understand it… or maybe my infatuation is making it difficult to think straight. Or maybe I’m panicking because my weekend is full and I need to get this done now because I still have to do that mock-up for a freelance client and I still have to make dinner and I am forgetting that I need to slow down.

—

I am going uphill, with a backpack full of rocks that I have to get over the hill. If it were easy, these rocks would be things that I could simply say to, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re important enough to warrant a seat on my back,” and I would be able to do my now-almost-familiar habit of slowing down.

Not so, this time. All of these are things I need to deal with… and there are things coming up that sneak their way into my brain and make things worse.

I don’t know what to do first so I procrastinate, which makes things worse-er.

—

I need to breathe. I think I may need to cry. I need to make dinner. I need to wash the dishes. I don’t even have kids yet. And the things I need to accomplish aren’t really difficult things. And I know this. I know I can do this… but I am in doubt that I will have enough time and that I’ll have the mental resources to do these things.

I feel so drained and tired and I know that it’s because I’m sleeping too much and moving too little. I am upset with myself for procrastinating all week and getting very little done. Then I am frustrated for being upset because it only makes me feel bad and makes it hard to be productive.

—

I think about the things I have to do and I feel so overwhelmed. And it feels so stupid that I keep going in circles, writing about the same thing only using slightly different words… when I could be working, when I could be doing something… but I don’t feel capable. I feel paralyzed. Helpless. Frustrated.

Did I say frustrated?

And even more frustrated (same circle) that I don’t have to be frustrated because this is something I can do. But then I wonder why didn’t I do it all this week?

Then I wonder maybe I should cancel on everything I was supposed to be at this weekend? But I know that’s not an option.

I feel like there are so many things that have piled up but there really aren’t. It’s not a big deal, what I’m going through.

Or maybe I shouldn’t tell myself that.

Sh~t.

I’m dry of words.

not to sully: twenty and certain

This is so beautiful on so many levels that I won’t say anything else for fear of ruining it.

from nevergirl

The last time I slept underneath the stars, I remember, I was in love. The moon looked like it had been spun out of stories and silver; and the sky was so clear I felt I could look up, fall into it, and slip unnoticed among the stars. I was young, and happy, and in love, and my world at that moment whirled around the big blue sky above me and the boy I was writing love letters to. Even now, all I have to do is close my eyes and I’d be there again, twenty years old and so certain in my happiness I’m sure my face glowed like the stars above me.