Despite the flaws of the film, I took a good message. And a few laughs.
Trying to get onto a plane where you don't care...all the rhetoric in the world won't penetrate if you are on a higher plane. You try to cater to the clamboring but it gets to be too much. You are intuitive. Have a leaky brain. Think too much and much is others' thoughts.
Always a sense of another watching. Vampires in dark windows. Afraid to take shower upstairs because window in wall and I'd have to close my eyes to shampoo and who knows what might be in the window when I finally open them.
Terrified always have been
get it together
Monday, July 29, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Bad Advice: When Anomolous Situations Make Good Advice the Worst thing you could Possible do
use the RN
Talk about peeps with anomolous drug reactions, not to be confused with allergies or off-label use
Talk about peeps with anomolous drug reactions, not to be confused with allergies or off-label use
Narcisissim is solipsism without an escape hatch.
If an infant is on fire and runs screaming through the room, a solipsist may put down his book and help. A narcissist cannot.
Unless the narcissist digs himself as a hero. Then he may ostentatiously (and incompetently) save the child and take all the attention. Oh, poor thing burned his hands when the rug he was beating the infant with caught fire.
Unless the narcissist digs himself as a hero. Then he may ostentatiously (and incompetently) save the child and take all the attention. Oh, poor thing burned his hands when the rug he was beating the infant with caught fire.
It Takes a Bit of Narcissism to Stay Alive
But if you plan to be in the staying alive business for the long haul, you've got to develop a sweet, helpless, willing-to-be-humble, gracefully losing side.
that was Michelle's mistake.
She invested all her personality chips in force/control/manipulate
few saving graces. Not enough to balance the appearance of the MeMonster/Monstrous victim/Entitled Cruella de Ville
We love a villain. That's the problem I see in a lot of writing that doesn't get published or doesn't sell--all the characters are nice and reasonable.
To write a villain you have to understand the mind of a villain and I think peeps who haven't made a personal journey to the dark side of the soul just can't picture or write a character totally free of conscience and unable, even for a brief emergency moment, to put anyone above themselves in the hierarchy of needs.
The Big Book talks of solipsism.
Narcisissim is solipsism without an escape hatch.
that was Michelle's mistake.
She invested all her personality chips in force/control/manipulate
few saving graces. Not enough to balance the appearance of the MeMonster/Monstrous victim/Entitled Cruella de Ville
We love a villain. That's the problem I see in a lot of writing that doesn't get published or doesn't sell--all the characters are nice and reasonable.
To write a villain you have to understand the mind of a villain and I think peeps who haven't made a personal journey to the dark side of the soul just can't picture or write a character totally free of conscience and unable, even for a brief emergency moment, to put anyone above themselves in the hierarchy of needs.
The Big Book talks of solipsism.
Narcisissim is solipsism without an escape hatch.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Turd doesn't tarnish
thinking backwards...
They don't want me to tell you I'm in the program myself. They're afraid it would tarnish your image of me. Mr. Gato laughed. As if, as if you had any respect for me to begin with. Any image to tarnish. Dogshit don't rust.
The boys snorted or guffawed, but the girl smiled tensely, her eyes wide with concern.
Neither does gold. She blurted, and blushed. She could feel her acne becoming inflamed, sensed sweat breaking out on her oily skin, which would create a freaky shining waxy mask where her face should be. No her face shouldn't be anywhere.
On the cover of Vogue...a voice silently intruded her head. Shut up. Ego. Sometimes she'd catch a glimpse of herself that was startling in its beauty. A trick of the light, a freaky camera angle that hid her flawed androgynous bone structure. A nasty illusion that made it harder to peer at her real self, her none-self. When the illusion faded out. And it always faded out and a truer image of herself dancing, not as a tu-tu'd swan but on a pole, a 10 foot pole, with which no one would want to touch her. Or better, a bag lady, pushing a shopping cart...yes, she'd definitely get a shopping cart, not one of those old bucket ones from Winn Dixie, but one of the sleeker models like from CVS. Ross the bastards, attached a 10 foot pole to each cart so no homeless person could run out the door with it--the pole made the cart too tall to fit though the Exits. But she could fit just as much into the smaller cart. The Red Cross when she worked drawing blood, taught her to pack neatly, cleverly, precisely. She'd be great packing up a boat...maybe she should sell her services...cleaning services. So she'd never have to sleep with a boy she didn't like much for weed ever again.
Mr. Gato looked startled. Gold? I wouldn't go that far. Maybe silver, which doesn't rust but does tarnish.
Why are you so weird?
It would take eons to explain. You have eons?
What's an eon? Like an electron?
You mean an Ion? He goes to the chalkboard and selects the largest piece of chalk...not very large. Chalk was cheap. He used a lot of it, but it didn't come naturally. Talk, that was, not to him. And yet he became a teacher. Deliberately choosing to face his worst nightmare every morning of his working life. A charged electron? He was a counter-phobist-- he'd made up the word but not the concept--doing the things that scare you the most. For whatever reason. Builds character. Speaking of the defects of: he had to be more careful in smaller groups not to turn friendliness to flirting. Bunnies were boiled over lesser crimes.
After 12 years of teaching, he'd developed a style that was casual but not intimate. Rarely, a student caught his eye for whatever reason: a Sumerian Goddess profile ... a particular sort of girlish-boy or Tomboy...a precociously sharp wit ...or a quirky bottomless well of thoughts. This gold girl, this special needs girl, was a little too close to his preferred profile. He mentally took 3 steps back from her. Too bad, being the only girl in the group.
They're either idolized or brutalized. Right, black and white thinking...the very thing I warn against. He had 2 adolescent stepdaughters, one of each alleged type...but the lines blurred and Luz, labeled "fair game" at 12, three years before he came on the scene, sometimes found herself an object of worship, albeit on a smaller scale. Her older sister, Mercedes
They don't want me to tell you I'm in the program myself. They're afraid it would tarnish your image of me. Mr. Gato laughed. As if, as if you had any respect for me to begin with. Any image to tarnish. Dogshit don't rust.
The boys snorted or guffawed, but the girl smiled tensely, her eyes wide with concern.
Neither does gold. She blurted, and blushed. She could feel her acne becoming inflamed, sensed sweat breaking out on her oily skin, which would create a freaky shining waxy mask where her face should be. No her face shouldn't be anywhere.
On the cover of Vogue...a voice silently intruded her head. Shut up. Ego. Sometimes she'd catch a glimpse of herself that was startling in its beauty. A trick of the light, a freaky camera angle that hid her flawed androgynous bone structure. A nasty illusion that made it harder to peer at her real self, her none-self. When the illusion faded out. And it always faded out and a truer image of herself dancing, not as a tu-tu'd swan but on a pole, a 10 foot pole, with which no one would want to touch her. Or better, a bag lady, pushing a shopping cart...yes, she'd definitely get a shopping cart, not one of those old bucket ones from Winn Dixie, but one of the sleeker models like from CVS. Ross the bastards, attached a 10 foot pole to each cart so no homeless person could run out the door with it--the pole made the cart too tall to fit though the Exits. But she could fit just as much into the smaller cart. The Red Cross when she worked drawing blood, taught her to pack neatly, cleverly, precisely. She'd be great packing up a boat...maybe she should sell her services...cleaning services. So she'd never have to sleep with a boy she didn't like much for weed ever again.
Mr. Gato looked startled. Gold? I wouldn't go that far. Maybe silver, which doesn't rust but does tarnish.
Why are you so weird?
It would take eons to explain. You have eons?
What's an eon? Like an electron?
You mean an Ion? He goes to the chalkboard and selects the largest piece of chalk...not very large. Chalk was cheap. He used a lot of it, but it didn't come naturally. Talk, that was, not to him. And yet he became a teacher. Deliberately choosing to face his worst nightmare every morning of his working life. A charged electron? He was a counter-phobist-- he'd made up the word but not the concept--doing the things that scare you the most. For whatever reason. Builds character. Speaking of the defects of: he had to be more careful in smaller groups not to turn friendliness to flirting. Bunnies were boiled over lesser crimes.
After 12 years of teaching, he'd developed a style that was casual but not intimate. Rarely, a student caught his eye for whatever reason: a Sumerian Goddess profile ... a particular sort of girlish-boy or Tomboy...a precociously sharp wit ...or a quirky bottomless well of thoughts. This gold girl, this special needs girl, was a little too close to his preferred profile. He mentally took 3 steps back from her. Too bad, being the only girl in the group.
They're either idolized or brutalized. Right, black and white thinking...the very thing I warn against. He had 2 adolescent stepdaughters, one of each alleged type...but the lines blurred and Luz, labeled "fair game" at 12, three years before he came on the scene, sometimes found herself an object of worship, albeit on a smaller scale. Her older sister, Mercedes
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Look up! That might be my poem.
I can be whoever I want to be...in my own little corner in my own little room. But there's nobody I want to be in my own little corner in my own little room. Look up!
That might be my poem. for the sidewalk. I do want to say "look up" and maybe one poem will be just that, then another poem elucidating.
When I walked through the botanical jungle,
reading the dedication plaques
she planted this...
he built that....
and I heard but did not see
the kingfisher
(fisher king echoes a mythology not yet apparent in this ditty)
now all these poems already written splash into my head
Drop Dead.
Fred.
Cut it out, okay? I'm all grown-up today.
I can write a poem or a story. I can brush my teeth and clean the bathroom. I can visit Josh and Blake's new baby Celeste. I don't know the protocol. And those bills aren't paying themselves. And the shed oh lock cracker back to Marty..."and what the hell just walked on me?"
she didn't think it was funny.
Not today. Too hard.
I can do it (anything I need to)
Even if all I need to lift is
the phone.
Heavyweight with Cheese.
Some days we can't lift it.
But we do.
Because we have to.
Says who?
The last mothercunting Who in Whoville.
There. Mothercunting won't be picked up by censors as a curse word =o
lose 10 points, return to GO, Go to jail go
directly
to
jail.
it's no joke if you've really been there. The joke is the surprise of the people exposed to the joke at finding themselves, people like themselves: honest, upright citizens, going to a
hypothetical gameboard jail.
Doing auto-Step 10 (?) Taking inventory of my interactions today with others-- without planning to. When can be done without shame or fear. Put the hammer down.
Do you see what you are READING? Morbid ain't halfway there.
Even you yourself fell out of love with you. You got disgusted.
Inevitable--no match, not even amongst all my selves.
Solipsism. By default due to fear,
You can do anything. Even ask for help. Even become willing. Even turn it over.
Scene: Intimate friend, bottle of whine STET wine...why can't I have this?
alas, Ophelia,
he was not the only fish in the sea.
Sweet princess.
what is this baby to ME me ME?
you are despicable, you are in a web of your own spinning, don't hurt me
okay
free online dating! Drats foiled again--no one matches my profile
Inevitable. I've tried them all, Match.com, [...] Well, not the Christian sites. I don't think they match up anything but Missionary-position Breeders.
I fill in a little about myself--likes, interests, location--then the matchmaking machine makes its own version of finding the perfect soul mate for me...and the results are?
0. As in:
*pouts*
No arguing with the machine. There is nobody out there for me.
NO ONE matches me. No lid for this pot. No Adam for this Eve. No Tatum for this Eve.
And it's not just that I live at one tip of the Continental stretched far away West of everything. I've widened my criteria to include English-speakers in this corner of the galaxy. and still. Zilch.
The Arabs invented zero because as a desert people they understood emptiness/void. I got that from Janet Fitch's White Oleander. Everything I know I've read in a book. All life experienced from secondary sources. This can create problems IRL (IRL? Hide in bed: Problem Solved) The translations are bad. Or the author is a psychopath with an unintentionally unreliable narrator. Or I'm not on the same page.
You did an overnight with near-strangers, drove in massive downpour (road disappears--follow pair of dim, rain-distorted, dancing red lights ahead of you) --- with bottom falling off car (character defect) no sickness the fear is real.
Nope.
Nope it's not.
You're looking through a bell jar. Like those dancing fuzzy lights you just have to trust they are attached to a car, a car driven by a reasonable person, with the same immediate destination (not Quail Roost Exit to nowhere nor the road's flooded shoulder), that the tires will adhere to the surface (this is not ice, no panic, still we've hydroplaned) etc etc that fucking
TRUST thing. That there's something within reach that will give me a reason to stay alive.
That HOPE thing, that I'll be capable of experiencing. someday. one day.
I can be whoever I want to be...in my own little corner in my own little room. But there's nobody I want to be in my own little corner in my own little room. Look up!
That might be my poem.
I fill in a little about myself--likes, interests, location--then the matchmaking machine makes its own version of finding the perfect soul mate for me...and the results are?
0. As in:
Your search results...
(We expanded the search to include other books relating to “tolstoy”)Hmm, none yet. Maybe try widening your criteria a bit?
Widen this.
*pouts*
No arguing with the machine. There is nobody out there for me.
NO ONE matches me. No lid for this pot. No Adam for this Eve. No Tatum for this Eve.
And it's not just that I live at one tip of the Continental stretched far away West of everything. I've widened my criteria to include English-speakers in this corner of the galaxy. and still. Zilch.
The Arabs invented zero because as a desert people they understood emptiness/void. I got that from Janet Fitch's White Oleander. Everything I know I've read in a book. All life experienced from secondary sources. This can create problems IRL (IRL? Hide in bed: Problem Solved) The translations are bad. Or the author is a psychopath with an unintentionally unreliable narrator. Or I'm not on the same page.
You did an overnight with near-strangers, drove in massive downpour (road disappears--follow pair of dim, rain-distorted, dancing red lights ahead of you) --- with bottom falling off car (character defect) no sickness the fear is real.
Nope.
Nope it's not.
You're looking through a bell jar. Like those dancing fuzzy lights you just have to trust they are attached to a car, a car driven by a reasonable person, with the same immediate destination (not Quail Roost Exit to nowhere nor the road's flooded shoulder), that the tires will adhere to the surface (this is not ice, no panic, still we've hydroplaned) etc etc that fucking
TRUST thing. That there's something within reach that will give me a reason to stay alive.
That HOPE thing, that I'll be capable of experiencing. someday. one day.
I can be whoever I want to be...in my own little corner in my own little room. But there's nobody I want to be in my own little corner in my own little room. Look up!
That might be my poem.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
STORY changing behavior-- your own
scene: A young woman comes into a meeting older Edmund is chairing. After the meeting, he's signing papers and handing them back, but hesitates over Celeste's.
"You were half an hour late," said Edmund.
"So you're not going to sign my fucking paper? Look, I don't need to be here at all. I could sign every fucking line myself with different color ink and writing with my left hand or my right crossed over my left--I'm good at it. Thing is, I don't need to be here at all and I'm getting haselled for being late. Maybe there's a reason, maybe..."
"Look, sweetheart, I'm just asking..."
I am not your sweetheart. Celeste's ears were turning red.
Relax. I call my daughters "sweetheart". They're around your age, that's all. No disrespect..." he looked at the paper. "...Celeste."
Celeste let out a sigh. She tapped her foot on the leg of the desk. She rolled her eyes.
"Why are you late? Half hour late. That's half a meeting. Half a measure..."
"Yeah, half measures avail us nothing." She stared balefully.
"So you've been coming around--and listening."
"I told you, I'm trying."
"Why are you late?"
"I get out of work right at noon. I have to get the baby from daycare, take her to my mother's, listen to my mother's shit as payment, then I'm on my bike and here as fast as I can make it."
"You can bring the baby"
"Sure, she let's out one peep and we're both banned for life."
"Not quite..."
"I seen it happen. They don't like babies at meetings. And especially not the moms stupid and inconsiderate enough to dare to bring the crying wailing puking thing to this hallowed hall. You gonna pay for an extra hour of babysitting?"
"Some people are touchy. We're all ultra-sensitive. We see insult in every glance. It's our vision that's distorted."
"like in a bell jar"
"Ay, mi madre, you're not reading Plath in your first 30 days? Plath should not be touched in the first year."
"But she understands...I totally fucking relate."
"She stuck her head in an oven. Life? She was doing it wrong. Her point of view is fucked up. Like Salinger...oh, these great truths he reveals about phonies....follow that line of reasoning and next thing you know your standing on top of a clock tower shooting at rock stars to impress a movie star. "
"Yeah, I thought it was you. You had me in class 3 years ago."
"I'm sorry. I don't remember you."
"I was only there for 3 weeks."
"Oh, right...you're the quiet one who disappeared."
"Remanded to rehab."
"Welcome back."
"I got a year. I was in jail, maybe that doesn't count, but I ain't stuck a needle in my arm in a year. I get piss tested. I'm clean."
"Good for you." He signed her paper. "I don't like to sign for someone trimming time off the meeting because he can get away with it. It's like endorsing bad behavior."
"You were okay, for a teacher."
"Thanks. I suppose you were okay, for a student, or else I'd definitely remember you." He handed her the paper. "Keep Coming Back"
"That's 3."
"3?"
Three fucking bumper stickers. You're stepford people. You talk in bumper stickers. It's revolting.
I see why you stayed quiet in class.
I get kicked out of everywhere eventually no matter what I do. I can't catch a break. I keep my mouth shut they think I'm depressed then suicidal then I'm on one-on-one unit restriction. Fuck that shit. I'm not suicidal, I said, I'm homocidal. Next thing I know I'm in 4 point restraints. So I open my mouth and the result is the same only worse. Fuck me.
Think about that. What's your role in all of that?
I was there.
Exactly. If you weren't using drugs, would you have been there?
It was a fucking possession charge.
Exactly.
But my being high had nothing to do with my arrest.
I can't begin to address the insanity in that statement. It's too clear on too many layers cuz I've said the same fucking thing myself about myself and you know what? I was wrong. You get off drugs, you reduce the insanity. You might even see the insanity in statements like that, justifying ourselves, yourself.
I got ratted out.
If you weren't using drugs, you wouldn't have them in your possession, now would you?
It was dumb.
Yeah. We do dumb things.
Um, Mr. Gato....oh, sorry. No last names. anonymity. Like no one recognizes you. You must have other students see you at meetings. What the fuck? Aren't you embarrassed?
Why would I be embarassed? They're here for the same reason I am.
Can I call you? Like what, a sponsor?
You can call me. But I don't sponsor anyone who's been my student. A rule I got from my sponsor. Ask one of the women.
I don't like women. They're catty. I trust you...why can't you sponsor me? I mean I was your student for 3 weeks 3 years ago
You already have an impression of me as someone more powerful, more able to help you...it's inevitable....it's like a shrink sponsoring her patient. The two relationships clash. Anyone can help you, some better suited than others, but believe me there's someone in these rooms that's a much better match than I could ever be.
Well, fuck you then. But I can call you? Can I have your number?
You really should ask one of the women....
They're all alcoholics. They don't understand junkies.
Then go to NA. It's at 4 o'clock. You wouldn't have to be late. Find yourself a junkie with time. Knock yourself out.
You used, didn't you? You're not a straight-up alcoholic, are you? I got that right. But you have time.
You need a sponsor you won't become physically attracted to.
I'm not...
I'm talking future possibilities. It's an intense relationship. Turn it sexual and all sorts of demons come flying to the surface. I'm talking serious drama. Drama you don't need in your first year. Drama I don't need.
But you have time...I don't know how to do it. I'm going crazy.
Sweetheart...oh, sorry...
It's okay now. It's nice even. Like you might could care someday.
I do care. I care about every person in this room. Every one who asks me for help. That's a principle of the program.
I'm asking you for help.
And I'm giving you help. I'm telling you to get at least one woman's phone number before they all clear out.
You're a slick motherfucker. You should of been a lawyer.
I tried. Didn't work out. Never finished law school. Consequence of addiction.
Working for minimum wage as a teacher in Key West?
Not quite.
Bartenders make more than teachers.
In Key West, bartenders make more than lawyers. In season.
"You were half an hour late," said Edmund.
"So you're not going to sign my fucking paper? Look, I don't need to be here at all. I could sign every fucking line myself with different color ink and writing with my left hand or my right crossed over my left--I'm good at it. Thing is, I don't need to be here at all and I'm getting haselled for being late. Maybe there's a reason, maybe..."
"Look, sweetheart, I'm just asking..."
I am not your sweetheart. Celeste's ears were turning red.
Relax. I call my daughters "sweetheart". They're around your age, that's all. No disrespect..." he looked at the paper. "...Celeste."
Celeste let out a sigh. She tapped her foot on the leg of the desk. She rolled her eyes.
"Why are you late? Half hour late. That's half a meeting. Half a measure..."
"Yeah, half measures avail us nothing." She stared balefully.
"So you've been coming around--and listening."
"I told you, I'm trying."
"Why are you late?"
"I get out of work right at noon. I have to get the baby from daycare, take her to my mother's, listen to my mother's shit as payment, then I'm on my bike and here as fast as I can make it."
"You can bring the baby"
"Sure, she let's out one peep and we're both banned for life."
"Not quite..."
"I seen it happen. They don't like babies at meetings. And especially not the moms stupid and inconsiderate enough to dare to bring the crying wailing puking thing to this hallowed hall. You gonna pay for an extra hour of babysitting?"
"Some people are touchy. We're all ultra-sensitive. We see insult in every glance. It's our vision that's distorted."
"like in a bell jar"
"Ay, mi madre, you're not reading Plath in your first 30 days? Plath should not be touched in the first year."
"But she understands...I totally fucking relate."
"She stuck her head in an oven. Life? She was doing it wrong. Her point of view is fucked up. Like Salinger...oh, these great truths he reveals about phonies....follow that line of reasoning and next thing you know your standing on top of a clock tower shooting at rock stars to impress a movie star. "
"Yeah, I thought it was you. You had me in class 3 years ago."
"I'm sorry. I don't remember you."
"I was only there for 3 weeks."
"Oh, right...you're the quiet one who disappeared."
"Remanded to rehab."
"Welcome back."
"I got a year. I was in jail, maybe that doesn't count, but I ain't stuck a needle in my arm in a year. I get piss tested. I'm clean."
"Good for you." He signed her paper. "I don't like to sign for someone trimming time off the meeting because he can get away with it. It's like endorsing bad behavior."
"You were okay, for a teacher."
"Thanks. I suppose you were okay, for a student, or else I'd definitely remember you." He handed her the paper. "Keep Coming Back"
"That's 3."
"3?"
Three fucking bumper stickers. You're stepford people. You talk in bumper stickers. It's revolting.
I see why you stayed quiet in class.
I get kicked out of everywhere eventually no matter what I do. I can't catch a break. I keep my mouth shut they think I'm depressed then suicidal then I'm on one-on-one unit restriction. Fuck that shit. I'm not suicidal, I said, I'm homocidal. Next thing I know I'm in 4 point restraints. So I open my mouth and the result is the same only worse. Fuck me.
Think about that. What's your role in all of that?
I was there.
Exactly. If you weren't using drugs, would you have been there?
It was a fucking possession charge.
Exactly.
But my being high had nothing to do with my arrest.
I can't begin to address the insanity in that statement. It's too clear on too many layers cuz I've said the same fucking thing myself about myself and you know what? I was wrong. You get off drugs, you reduce the insanity. You might even see the insanity in statements like that, justifying ourselves, yourself.
I got ratted out.
If you weren't using drugs, you wouldn't have them in your possession, now would you?
It was dumb.
Yeah. We do dumb things.
Um, Mr. Gato....oh, sorry. No last names. anonymity. Like no one recognizes you. You must have other students see you at meetings. What the fuck? Aren't you embarrassed?
Why would I be embarassed? They're here for the same reason I am.
Can I call you? Like what, a sponsor?
You can call me. But I don't sponsor anyone who's been my student. A rule I got from my sponsor. Ask one of the women.
I don't like women. They're catty. I trust you...why can't you sponsor me? I mean I was your student for 3 weeks 3 years ago
You already have an impression of me as someone more powerful, more able to help you...it's inevitable....it's like a shrink sponsoring her patient. The two relationships clash. Anyone can help you, some better suited than others, but believe me there's someone in these rooms that's a much better match than I could ever be.
Well, fuck you then. But I can call you? Can I have your number?
You really should ask one of the women....
They're all alcoholics. They don't understand junkies.
Then go to NA. It's at 4 o'clock. You wouldn't have to be late. Find yourself a junkie with time. Knock yourself out.
You used, didn't you? You're not a straight-up alcoholic, are you? I got that right. But you have time.
You need a sponsor you won't become physically attracted to.
I'm not...
I'm talking future possibilities. It's an intense relationship. Turn it sexual and all sorts of demons come flying to the surface. I'm talking serious drama. Drama you don't need in your first year. Drama I don't need.
But you have time...I don't know how to do it. I'm going crazy.
Sweetheart...oh, sorry...
It's okay now. It's nice even. Like you might could care someday.
I do care. I care about every person in this room. Every one who asks me for help. That's a principle of the program.
I'm asking you for help.
And I'm giving you help. I'm telling you to get at least one woman's phone number before they all clear out.
You're a slick motherfucker. You should of been a lawyer.
I tried. Didn't work out. Never finished law school. Consequence of addiction.
Working for minimum wage as a teacher in Key West?
Not quite.
Bartenders make more than teachers.
In Key West, bartenders make more than lawyers. In season.
Friday, July 19, 2013
It's not a big thing. It's everything. Hold both thoughts at once
...with no resentment, one against the other.
like in Buddhism. Without judgement.
more story in journal. mostly dialogue. writing as it plays out in my head. can fill in business later.
or write a fucking play noooooooooo you need to collaborate coordinate production involves many people and I afraid of people.
oh what's not a big thing? everything. nothing.
just keep writing you will put it together coherently later
no I won't
I will never be coherent.
I am a split. I do not cohere.
spirals of anna spinning out of order into space
trying to get your shit together. Alcoholics worry about this. Non-alcoholics' shit doesn't fall apart in the first place.
I mean, not to the point where you feel you need to tent/rebuild/tear down/fix up.
Fucking flourescent light bulbs. Do they come in different sizes? how do you know what to replace it with? why is it so complicated?
Nancy would be more help than Tom.
we're just waiting for Godot here.
like in Buddhism. Without judgement.
more story in journal. mostly dialogue. writing as it plays out in my head. can fill in business later.
or write a fucking play noooooooooo you need to collaborate coordinate production involves many people and I afraid of people.
oh what's not a big thing? everything. nothing.
just keep writing you will put it together coherently later
no I won't
I will never be coherent.
I am a split. I do not cohere.
spirals of anna spinning out of order into space
trying to get your shit together. Alcoholics worry about this. Non-alcoholics' shit doesn't fall apart in the first place.
I mean, not to the point where you feel you need to tent/rebuild/tear down/fix up.
Fucking flourescent light bulbs. Do they come in different sizes? how do you know what to replace it with? why is it so complicated?
Nancy would be more help than Tom.
we're just waiting for Godot here.
AA Sayings Expained for Odd ones who don't get it
who scorn it.
Not fluffy.
Soft thug.
oh bast, no
transference. happens all the time. don't sweat it. it will resolve.
Not fluffy.
Soft thug.
oh bast, no
transference. happens all the time. don't sweat it. it will resolve.
If you can't surrender, call a truce
waiting to not be afraid. won't happen.
do I want it to happen?
tired of life
do I want it to happen?
tired of life
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
For Those Too Smart to Get The Program. Idiot Savant
They say you can't be too stupid to get the program, but you can be too smart.
they also say
Think think think
and
don't think.
At the point where you can do a 4th step fearlessly, where you can realize it is simultaneously a big fing deal and no big deal...you are ready.
hyper intellectualization.
reading about how to socialize when there is a group of willing, trustworthy, slightly batty perhaps but doing what you have not yet managed...life on life's terms.
Rain but no thunder. Semi-confirmation.
I'm prepared for trip. 3 packs cigarettes.
OK I did laundry so I have a change of underwear.
Am I up for this?
a 3 hour cruise
a 3 hour cruise
we're doomed.
N like weeble wobbles but comes up happy. A talent for happiness I was not born with. I suppose it can be learned. I'll never be elegant or natural at it but
wait for it
fake it til you make it.
If you can fake it til you make it, what happened to absolute honesty? that's the Apology for telling my sponsor to f off Conundrum. Do I give an insincere apology if I feel I am right?
Can I ever be absolutely sure I am right?
And if not, how can I be absolutely sure
sobriety
is the only solution?
Well, not the only one. The only one so far that works. Sort of works. For some people. Dumb people. Sheep. Kool-Aid drinkers.
There was one woman protesting the night of the Jonestown Massacre. It's on tape--swear to bob. Jim Jones super narcissist wanted a record of this glorious night. They weren't comitting suicide, they were protesting not being allowed to live free.
Live free or die indeed. Show me the handcuffs. Take me away. I'll live in chains. A prisoner gets to love her chains.
wow did I do a good job of talking myself into chains.
now change.
I thought: deadline for poetry contest and stopped me cold.
silly.
a problem can't be solved from the level it was originated on. You gots to get up a little higher to see what god wants you to do, as you understand god
oh god not that again. group of drunks. good orderly direction. gaggle of ducks. great Oz diddling
shhhh...............................................................wake up!
How do you disguise a name that is initials in real life? How many do I know (no affiliation with any group is implied--general population) BJ (a dog named after a sex act =0) TJ, JT, PJ, MJ, JP
J seems to lend itself... john jean jan jaques jonathon jeanne
maybe I should stash some just in case.
car alarm sounds
wooop wooop wooop
fuck me I hate having to take this shit seriously. but that's the only way to take it lightly. When you can hold those two thoughts in your head simultaneously, you have it. Lucky ducks don't see the contradiction and have one less thing standing in the way.
It's all it is just one less thing.
Like forrest gump
idiot savant.
they also say
Think think think
and
don't think.
At the point where you can do a 4th step fearlessly, where you can realize it is simultaneously a big fing deal and no big deal...you are ready.
hyper intellectualization.
reading about how to socialize when there is a group of willing, trustworthy, slightly batty perhaps but doing what you have not yet managed...life on life's terms.
Rain but no thunder. Semi-confirmation.
I'm prepared for trip. 3 packs cigarettes.
OK I did laundry so I have a change of underwear.
Am I up for this?
a 3 hour cruise
a 3 hour cruise
we're doomed.
N like weeble wobbles but comes up happy. A talent for happiness I was not born with. I suppose it can be learned. I'll never be elegant or natural at it but
wait for it
fake it til you make it.
If you can fake it til you make it, what happened to absolute honesty? that's the Apology for telling my sponsor to f off Conundrum. Do I give an insincere apology if I feel I am right?
Can I ever be absolutely sure I am right?
And if not, how can I be absolutely sure
sobriety
is the only solution?
Well, not the only one. The only one so far that works. Sort of works. For some people. Dumb people. Sheep. Kool-Aid drinkers.
There was one woman protesting the night of the Jonestown Massacre. It's on tape--swear to bob. Jim Jones super narcissist wanted a record of this glorious night. They weren't comitting suicide, they were protesting not being allowed to live free.
Live free or die indeed. Show me the handcuffs. Take me away. I'll live in chains. A prisoner gets to love her chains.
wow did I do a good job of talking myself into chains.
now change.
I thought: deadline for poetry contest and stopped me cold.
silly.
a problem can't be solved from the level it was originated on. You gots to get up a little higher to see what god wants you to do, as you understand god
oh god not that again. group of drunks. good orderly direction. gaggle of ducks. great Oz diddling
shhhh...............................................................wake up!
How do you disguise a name that is initials in real life? How many do I know (no affiliation with any group is implied--general population) BJ (a dog named after a sex act =0) TJ, JT, PJ, MJ, JP
J seems to lend itself... john jean jan jaques jonathon jeanne
maybe I should stash some just in case.
car alarm sounds
wooop wooop wooop
fuck me I hate having to take this shit seriously. but that's the only way to take it lightly. When you can hold those two thoughts in your head simultaneously, you have it. Lucky ducks don't see the contradiction and have one less thing standing in the way.
It's all it is just one less thing.
Like forrest gump
idiot savant.
Monday, July 15, 2013
U R so can't do in AM
overwhelmed
pathalogically
the boy shared he still wanted to read how to be. a few smirks, no, friendlier but still knowing...words words words....
finding the right one
anyway, point was he ain't gonna figure out how to be by reading it.
mam semblabe
ma souer
u might have brain but that's all u have building a character around one slice. not sustainable. like beauty nothing but seems arrogant about that but only thing so inferioroty complex
very bad learner
life dyslexic
pay attention they show you tricks
dont be afaraid to lose
getting a bottle of wine as a gift
3 days post-white chip
does god have a mofuckng sense of humor?
like monk who dissed dakini because offer forbidden
fruits...no I be pure to vow.
you're doing it wrong
invitation to sin
when it doesn't fucking matter...
so why not freely chose "no thanks"?
pathalogically
the boy shared he still wanted to read how to be. a few smirks, no, friendlier but still knowing...words words words....
finding the right one
anyway, point was he ain't gonna figure out how to be by reading it.
mam semblabe
ma souer
u might have brain but that's all u have building a character around one slice. not sustainable. like beauty nothing but seems arrogant about that but only thing so inferioroty complex
very bad learner
life dyslexic
pay attention they show you tricks
dont be afaraid to lose
getting a bottle of wine as a gift
3 days post-white chip
does god have a mofuckng sense of humor?
like monk who dissed dakini because offer forbidden
fruits...no I be pure to vow.
you're doing it wrong
invitation to sin
when it doesn't fucking matter...
so why not freely chose "no thanks"?
Saturday, July 13, 2013
war of 1812 overture
The one between russia n france
not the one btwn America n Britain
was what the song was written for.
I mean TCHIACOVSKY?? cummon...whose country would Pyotor be writing about? When he wasn't writing about swans. Wasn't he gay? persecuted for it? fucked over by the very country he'd immortalized in song?
Things haven't changed much, am I right?
gratitude. pussies have gratitude.
winners have additude.
or latitude.
oh, rymes with latitude
isn't poetry grand?
platitude
fat n rude
oh it's not cool to rhyme anymore?
well, I'm marching to a different drummer
you can cummer
long if you wanner.
you can come along if you want to, without poetic license.
LOLcatspeak iz poetry sumtimes iz Y I likes it.
But no one would put it in cement.
fools
should along with 6-toed paw print.
kittens on brick walls
lawsuits based on Hemingway House being a circus.
Wrap a ring around Key West and you got that circus thing covered.
covered tent.
3 rings: new town, old town, and the Navy
alternately,
Key West, Big Pine Key, and Marathon (anything North of that is no longer Paradise. Islamorada is on the short list)
not the one btwn America n Britain
was what the song was written for.
I mean TCHIACOVSKY?? cummon...whose country would Pyotor be writing about? When he wasn't writing about swans. Wasn't he gay? persecuted for it? fucked over by the very country he'd immortalized in song?
Things haven't changed much, am I right?
gratitude. pussies have gratitude.
winners have additude.
or latitude.
oh, rymes with latitude
isn't poetry grand?
platitude
fat n rude
oh it's not cool to rhyme anymore?
well, I'm marching to a different drummer
you can cummer
long if you wanner.
you can come along if you want to, without poetic license.
LOLcatspeak iz poetry sumtimes iz Y I likes it.
But no one would put it in cement.
fools
should along with 6-toed paw print.
kittens on brick walls
lawsuits based on Hemingway House being a circus.
Wrap a ring around Key West and you got that circus thing covered.
covered tent.
3 rings: new town, old town, and the Navy
alternately,
Key West, Big Pine Key, and Marathon (anything North of that is no longer Paradise. Islamorada is on the short list)
while hitler was overrunning moscow
Stalin dithered, reading a biography of, I believe, an 1812 general, underlining the sentence, "Until the last moment, no one knew what ..........chev would do"
sort of like Bush W making decisions. Not good nor bad decisions. Any decision would do. Uncertainty principle. Do Something.
Don't sit there trying to find the answers in a book.
at least now I know what the 1812 Overture was all about. I mean I sort of knew, but you gotta take history in perspective or it makes little sense. That's why it takes so long. Infinitely long.
You'll never read enough.
First, though, stop the pain.
sort of like Bush W making decisions. Not good nor bad decisions. Any decision would do. Uncertainty principle. Do Something.
Don't sit there trying to find the answers in a book.
at least now I know what the 1812 Overture was all about. I mean I sort of knew, but you gotta take history in perspective or it makes little sense. That's why it takes so long. Infinitely long.
You'll never read enough.
First, though, stop the pain.
story idea totally based on real people living and/or dead, see also Zombies Sell
But a story about a funny nurse with 2 kids who lost her chronically depressed/alcoholic husband to suicide a couple months ago?
zombie jokes or around halloween (Zombies sell)
I like turtles.
viral
viral, I tell you.
who is zimmerman--the answer
no, I did not have my head totally up my arse. It's the case where the defenseless young black man wandered onto a white man's property and the white man shot him. Apparantly a jury found the white guy "not guilty"
and the press is running it up the flagpole.
or am I being too cynical. just how much attention should be paid?
--ask R's wife, life imitates Death of a Salesman
maybe k helped if I tell that story. somewhat relevant. not just filling space because that's what YOU think conversation is...sometimes it is, yeah, but not always and you never know when so you have to pay attention to f'ing idiots...c'est moi (I have found the enema)
I am sorry for cracks about anyone who may be hurt when I put being funny before being kind. You can be both. Wow
I remember being like 10 or 11 and making a joke about a guy who committed suicide by putting a gun in his mouth and I said "gee I wonder if it tasted good" and no one laughed and I kept tugging at them and repeating "gee I wonder if the bullet tasted good" Absolutely not understanding why no one was getting my joke.
Aspergers-like thought process. Not Narcissist. Easy to confuse the two. Both rude, nasty--one by choice (control, sadism) the other cluelessly (gains nothing from the exchange)
Except maybe a lesson in cluelessness. I can has it.
But a story about a funny nurse with 2 kids who lost her chronically depressed/alcoholic husband to suicide a couple months ago?
That's stopped me. Re-think. who is the constitutionally incapable one here?
Was that thunder? Old British/Celtic legend says thunder is a valadation from the heavens.
who's got the lower lifespan estimate? just who plans to bury who here?
now
today
live
and the press is running it up the flagpole.
or am I being too cynical. just how much attention should be paid?
--ask R's wife, life imitates Death of a Salesman
maybe k helped if I tell that story. somewhat relevant. not just filling space because that's what YOU think conversation is...sometimes it is, yeah, but not always and you never know when so you have to pay attention to f'ing idiots...c'est moi (I have found the enema)
I am sorry for cracks about anyone who may be hurt when I put being funny before being kind. You can be both. Wow
I remember being like 10 or 11 and making a joke about a guy who committed suicide by putting a gun in his mouth and I said "gee I wonder if it tasted good" and no one laughed and I kept tugging at them and repeating "gee I wonder if the bullet tasted good" Absolutely not understanding why no one was getting my joke.
Aspergers-like thought process. Not Narcissist. Easy to confuse the two. Both rude, nasty--one by choice (control, sadism) the other cluelessly (gains nothing from the exchange)
Except maybe a lesson in cluelessness. I can has it.
But a story about a funny nurse with 2 kids who lost her chronically depressed/alcoholic husband to suicide a couple months ago?
That's stopped me. Re-think. who is the constitutionally incapable one here?
Was that thunder? Old British/Celtic legend says thunder is a valadation from the heavens.
who's got the lower lifespan estimate? just who plans to bury who here?
now
today
live
who is zimmerman--the question
or; sniff sniff is that my own butt I smell again?
get used to it
is why we love the smell of our own farts
reminds us
like Tich Nat Han's flowers on his toilet
(he is so funny IN ENGLISH and charming--he picked my question from a bowl of many to answer I do have a way with an epigram)
when i'm not running on and on and on
slow down not speed up odd message breathe
rest smarter not longer
you fill your brain with stalin and wonder why you revert to panic as your resting mode. resting your body feeding your brain nightmares
it's research. I need to handle it. is why drawn to cho (not margaret, well, her too I mean Chod but pronounced "cho" not even that Tibetan's odd but I love sound.... is it merely the theatrics of Tantra i'm drawn to?), tong lin breath
I'm not even sure of my own sincerety in my beliefs. no wonder i don't take them seriously but if i don't take them seriously i'll never know...but u keep picking wrong like Goebbles picked Hitler and stuck so hard to his principle he oversaw personality
another reason we let stalins take over.
don't be so scared.
u will know what to do and be able to do it. Not like 5th--6th grade too scared of morning coming to sleep. They were wrong they didn't get you...vicious circle...the more they don't get you the weirder you get, not deliberate manipulation (tho i'm trying to learn-- so I can teach you and protect ourselves and heal ourselves) you don't have to live like a refugee
even if you are one
as long as you are less of
an
asshole
(smell familiar?)
every day.
they'll never put this in cement
and how is he related to this apocalypse I keep hearing about?
NEWSflash...if U R scared batshitless, u cannot do anything
u cannot do anything
if not batshit
uncertainty we all have to live with
on this little blue island
of misfit toys
whose daddies abandoned us
whose mommies disappeared
you scare so easily
working on it
i am not a storyteller I CANNOT TELL A STORY
work on it
get used to it
is why we love the smell of our own farts
reminds us
like Tich Nat Han's flowers on his toilet
(he is so funny IN ENGLISH and charming--he picked my question from a bowl of many to answer I do have a way with an epigram)
when i'm not running on and on and on
slow down not speed up odd message breathe
rest smarter not longer
you fill your brain with stalin and wonder why you revert to panic as your resting mode. resting your body feeding your brain nightmares
it's research. I need to handle it. is why drawn to cho (not margaret, well, her too I mean Chod but pronounced "cho" not even that Tibetan's odd but I love sound.... is it merely the theatrics of Tantra i'm drawn to?), tong lin breath
I'm not even sure of my own sincerety in my beliefs. no wonder i don't take them seriously but if i don't take them seriously i'll never know...but u keep picking wrong like Goebbles picked Hitler and stuck so hard to his principle he oversaw personality
another reason we let stalins take over.
don't be so scared.
u will know what to do and be able to do it. Not like 5th--6th grade too scared of morning coming to sleep. They were wrong they didn't get you...vicious circle...the more they don't get you the weirder you get, not deliberate manipulation (tho i'm trying to learn-- so I can teach you and protect ourselves and heal ourselves) you don't have to live like a refugee
even if you are one
as long as you are less of
an
asshole
(smell familiar?)
every day.
they'll never put this in cement
and how is he related to this apocalypse I keep hearing about?
NEWSflash...if U R scared batshitless, u cannot do anything
u cannot do anything
if not batshit
uncertainty we all have to live with
on this little blue island
of misfit toys
whose daddies abandoned us
whose mommies disappeared
you scare so easily
working on it
i am not a storyteller I CANNOT TELL A STORY
work on it
U need to write a poem...poetry
but no one reads poetry.
egoist...find me the toughest market. no wonder you're exhausted but listen
so aren't we all.
How long to gaze at navel
as long as it takes
it has taken what it has taken.
U R here now.
Oops...now you're not.
Uncertainty principle
to be
ABSOLUTELY SURE
that we are right
goes against the most basic principle of
quantum mechanics.
[i'm sorry if the lunatics have taken over the asylum but y'know
at least they've had therapy.]
I'VE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DESK [no that was accidental hitting of caps lock... i'm not shouting...{ it took
looonger
to explain that
than it would of took
to fix it.}]
we do that too.
i'm thinking in poetry
but wonder if it makes sense.
content is crucial not just pretty words...
should the words be pretty? will anyone hear them? we all of me hear them?
Am I being self-centered or merely telling my own story like they teach us in 12 step.
I can't write almost anonymous if I'm not there anymore
well no one's perfect...
almost indeed.
Double lives shadow characters nemesis nemesises? nemisi?
do not be afraid to look at anything
after you've written it.
I can write alright
I can't re-write. I used to be a great re-writer.
Do I have a capable persona to return to?
Only one way to find out.
How much does one have to lose?
Steve and I now have approx same clean date.
Fuck me hard running backwards.
don't leave me alone with well it's an anonymous program
show me how
and pray for courage to do next right thing
I got get me greek
I can't get it.
I keep grogging off in the middle.
I'm not sure we have completely overlapping taste in movies but I bet there's a bunch of not-quite-mainstream ones we both like; Passionfish is one. Priest (the Irish one about a gay priest not another movie of same name comes up first in most searches) is another. Aimee & Jaguar. Memento.
if writing poetry, don't need 500 words cuz ideas r deliberately compressed. Like Campbell's Soup.
My Babci (grandmother/Polish) moved to Philadelphia as a young woman to housekeep and worked in Campbells soup factory:
I'll do a verbal Warhol
Campbell's soup
tomato
Campbell's Soup
chicken noodle
Campbell's Soup
tomato
Marilyn
Cambell's Soup
tomsto
because peeps are sooo oversaturated with colored images coming at them constantly now any idiot can post pictures and most do (ie, why bother--work on that)
they'll be hungry for nostalgic ditto pages that smell good and sort of get you
high
but not really kind of like O'Doules
not really--used to say in PA: you have to read the labels very carefully. It says "non-alcoholic" beverage. That means it's for non-alcoholics. You don't qualify.
So it goes
anyway, no one wants to hear my grandmother story. I'm a lousy story teller. I have a funny voice but no natural gift for telling a story. So I keep reading thinking I'll understand how to write a story. But I never apply it.
Why should I apply it?
oh,
I'm applying it now
because there is only now
and if you can't be happy in the now
why be at all?
some lead settled lives. safe. I thought I did but I was in terrible danger and being hurt badly but going on and on and on
my Stalin
it makes no sense
hence
the Uncertainty Principle
I'm OK
no I'm not
I'm OK
no I'm not
I'm whatever I'm supposed to be at this moment?
If only I could believe
I want to be quantum
I want to be in two places at the same time so I
never make up my mind unless
someone is looking.
That's different.
I am Schrodinger's cat
Don't look at me
force me to be
something.
Hell is other people
so is heaven
see?
Uncertainty
egoist...find me the toughest market. no wonder you're exhausted but listen
so aren't we all.
How long to gaze at navel
as long as it takes
it has taken what it has taken.
U R here now.
Oops...now you're not.
Uncertainty principle
to be
ABSOLUTELY SURE
that we are right
goes against the most basic principle of
quantum mechanics.
[i'm sorry if the lunatics have taken over the asylum but y'know
at least they've had therapy.]
I'VE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DESK [no that was accidental hitting of caps lock... i'm not shouting...{ it took
looonger
to explain that
than it would of took
to fix it.}]
we do that too.
i'm thinking in poetry
but wonder if it makes sense.
content is crucial not just pretty words...
should the words be pretty? will anyone hear them? we all of me hear them?
Am I being self-centered or merely telling my own story like they teach us in 12 step.
I can't write almost anonymous if I'm not there anymore
well no one's perfect...
almost indeed.
Double lives shadow characters nemesis nemesises? nemisi?
do not be afraid to look at anything
after you've written it.
I can write alright
I can't re-write. I used to be a great re-writer.
Do I have a capable persona to return to?
Only one way to find out.
How much does one have to lose?
Steve and I now have approx same clean date.
Fuck me hard running backwards.
don't leave me alone with well it's an anonymous program
show me how
and pray for courage to do next right thing
I got get me greek
I can't get it.
I keep grogging off in the middle.
I'm not sure we have completely overlapping taste in movies but I bet there's a bunch of not-quite-mainstream ones we both like; Passionfish is one. Priest (the Irish one about a gay priest not another movie of same name comes up first in most searches) is another. Aimee & Jaguar. Memento.
if writing poetry, don't need 500 words cuz ideas r deliberately compressed. Like Campbell's Soup.
My Babci (grandmother/Polish) moved to Philadelphia as a young woman to housekeep and worked in Campbells soup factory:
I'll do a verbal Warhol
Campbell's soup
tomato
Campbell's Soup
chicken noodle
Campbell's Soup
tomato
Marilyn
Cambell's Soup
tomsto
because peeps are sooo oversaturated with colored images coming at them constantly now any idiot can post pictures and most do (ie, why bother--work on that)
they'll be hungry for nostalgic ditto pages that smell good and sort of get you
high
but not really kind of like O'Doules
not really--used to say in PA: you have to read the labels very carefully. It says "non-alcoholic" beverage. That means it's for non-alcoholics. You don't qualify.
So it goes
anyway, no one wants to hear my grandmother story. I'm a lousy story teller. I have a funny voice but no natural gift for telling a story. So I keep reading thinking I'll understand how to write a story. But I never apply it.
Why should I apply it?
oh,
I'm applying it now
because there is only now
and if you can't be happy in the now
why be at all?
some lead settled lives. safe. I thought I did but I was in terrible danger and being hurt badly but going on and on and on
my Stalin
it makes no sense
hence
the Uncertainty Principle
I'm OK
no I'm not
I'm OK
no I'm not
I'm whatever I'm supposed to be at this moment?
If only I could believe
I want to be quantum
I want to be in two places at the same time so I
never make up my mind unless
someone is looking.
That's different.
I am Schrodinger's cat
Don't look at me
force me to be
something.
Hell is other people
so is heaven
see?
Uncertainty
Friday, July 12, 2013
The Crack-Up
you can't copyright a title, sorry F.ScottF. I'm not crazy about his work anyway. Like that Rabbit Running guy who made a cult out of boring white men.
split I'd say 5 to 20 hard to tell some very similar mabye same. Now I guess I'm flying above the rest of the crazies as far as grave emo and mental disorders goes.
couldn't stop myself--well, I had no motivation to try. It felt okay. Like please someone see. Odd our choice of confidant.
she saw us. that's why. I don't know why she could but she could. I don't know what it will change but I'm not scared. Trust. What I can figure out on my own is so nothing. Was so nothing.
like a rollodex.With hypnosis brought out "past" life. Did not feel authentic. this tonight did.
I've been showing a tiny slice of self to everyone. I don't know how to do otherwise. Everyone but the "short straw" or bravest self/s hid meetings. I must seem hollow.
I remember when I first got sober, I was so proud of myself for smiling and saying a few words to a gas station attendant (remember those?)
For a while I had a sense it would all collapse the moment K left and I'd be hanging over the void, shrieking on the edge of nothingness. but that got better.
I used to disdain people like me ... Aunt Pittypat.
where's my smelling salts?
Scarlet ACOA and sisters. she is family hero, SueEllen dunno, Carreen is the lost child (get the to a nunnery!
split I'd say 5 to 20 hard to tell some very similar mabye same. Now I guess I'm flying above the rest of the crazies as far as grave emo and mental disorders goes.
couldn't stop myself--well, I had no motivation to try. It felt okay. Like please someone see. Odd our choice of confidant.
she saw us. that's why. I don't know why she could but she could. I don't know what it will change but I'm not scared. Trust. What I can figure out on my own is so nothing. Was so nothing.
like a rollodex.With hypnosis brought out "past" life. Did not feel authentic. this tonight did.
I've been showing a tiny slice of self to everyone. I don't know how to do otherwise. Everyone but the "short straw" or bravest self/s hid meetings. I must seem hollow.
I remember when I first got sober, I was so proud of myself for smiling and saying a few words to a gas station attendant (remember those?)
For a while I had a sense it would all collapse the moment K left and I'd be hanging over the void, shrieking on the edge of nothingness. but that got better.
I used to disdain people like me ... Aunt Pittypat.
where's my smelling salts?
Scarlet ACOA and sisters. she is family hero, SueEllen dunno, Carreen is the lost child (get the to a nunnery!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
paragraph 1: set tone; explain why important (summer killed rosenbergs); interesting setting NY/KW
is knives a theme? cutting off penis, dakini practice, cooking. eating, gardening, surgery (arrogance to stick knife in belly), SCA bamboo, cutters.
background: PTSD mother's early painful death
shirt with no bra; menstrual shit, boys were cooler but i no good at sports. I'd have been the nerdy boy. Alpha dykes--chaz bono audacity to say we all were atheletic. think again. its all that testosterone.
I have testosterone deficiency. several tests. Low sex drive thank bast.
she called me eleanore of aquitaine. where is she now? all these people. say I have great potential then leave me flailing
background: PTSD mother's early painful death
shirt with no bra; menstrual shit, boys were cooler but i no good at sports. I'd have been the nerdy boy. Alpha dykes--chaz bono audacity to say we all were atheletic. think again. its all that testosterone.
I have testosterone deficiency. several tests. Low sex drive thank bast.
she called me eleanore of aquitaine. where is she now? all these people. say I have great potential then leave me flailing
Acedia aka sloth aka depression aka lack of ability to care
I am a liar. A very good one.
Good in the sense of capable.
And also in the sense of honorable.
Because although I lie, it's always for a very good, honorable reason.
Like when Scarlett O'Hara lies about, [well about anything], she states she is doing it to spare her mother pain. This is one of those good intentions the road to hell is paved with.
Or is she merely justifying.
See here is the fear...I don't trust myself to be good, honorable.
So what?
If you dig deep enough you can find pain, suspicion, sorrow in many past experiences. In present experiences.
If you dig deep enough, you can find (it kills me to write this) joy, elation, comfort, acceptance from people who here is comes back to the dark side....from people who seem okay, do one or two okay things, then turn out to be monsters.
You are PTSDing. then you drive people away with your inappropriate intensity. (if only you could use it to the good, joyful) then you get acedia because no one cares.
Care: a crying out. Some CAN see how pulled out you need to be.
The debt. One thing. It's absurd to kill yourself over money.
Money v. Life: no contest.
Principles before personalities.
But it's not money. It's that I am unable to care for myself. Make a fucking decision. Must be driven. This is honest.
I am at a point where I feel like a small child trying to manage an adult life.
Don't tell me I am not a small child.
She is running the show and she is terrified.
Numb.
Worry:
Kelly's port blocked
Tom wacked
Marty in a fog but says he'll help.
No, I don't want T to know I talked to his sponsor. Then he'll try all the harder to hide it.
He's your kind of liar and that's not a good thing.
He's a very good liar. Until he's not.
Oh, I can run circles around him in the lying department. A truth is, he's boring.
and he said "are you naked?" that night. Now that was inappropriate and reason enough
He's so pathetic. I don't need to be living with someone more pathetic than I.
Apathetuc
yes I slipped and I can still get away with telling no one. But who am I hurting? Me--remember Michelle who made "Eve" drop urine samples to live with her.
Almost Anonymous -- not a room you want to spend much time in. but it exists and let's not try to sweep the elephant under the rug.
Fake it til you make it-- a nice concept. studies show forcing yourself to smile even if you don't feel happy will make you happy.
We are nailing down book. We are getting sober. We are getting out of debt. We are staying alive, keeping ourselves alive (for now)
I was planning on how to write instructions for the person who is going to take care of my diabetic cat.
Good in the sense of capable.
And also in the sense of honorable.
Because although I lie, it's always for a very good, honorable reason.
Like when Scarlett O'Hara lies about, [well about anything], she states she is doing it to spare her mother pain. This is one of those good intentions the road to hell is paved with.
Or is she merely justifying.
See here is the fear...I don't trust myself to be good, honorable.
So what?
If you dig deep enough you can find pain, suspicion, sorrow in many past experiences. In present experiences.
If you dig deep enough, you can find (it kills me to write this) joy, elation, comfort, acceptance from people who here is comes back to the dark side....from people who seem okay, do one or two okay things, then turn out to be monsters.
You are PTSDing. then you drive people away with your inappropriate intensity. (if only you could use it to the good, joyful) then you get acedia because no one cares.
Care: a crying out. Some CAN see how pulled out you need to be.
The debt. One thing. It's absurd to kill yourself over money.
Money v. Life: no contest.
Principles before personalities.
But it's not money. It's that I am unable to care for myself. Make a fucking decision. Must be driven. This is honest.
I am at a point where I feel like a small child trying to manage an adult life.
Don't tell me I am not a small child.
She is running the show and she is terrified.
Numb.
Worry:
Kelly's port blocked
Tom wacked
Marty in a fog but says he'll help.
No, I don't want T to know I talked to his sponsor. Then he'll try all the harder to hide it.
He's your kind of liar and that's not a good thing.
He's a very good liar. Until he's not.
Oh, I can run circles around him in the lying department. A truth is, he's boring.
and he said "are you naked?" that night. Now that was inappropriate and reason enough
He's so pathetic. I don't need to be living with someone more pathetic than I.
Apathetuc
yes I slipped and I can still get away with telling no one. But who am I hurting? Me--remember Michelle who made "Eve" drop urine samples to live with her.
Almost Anonymous -- not a room you want to spend much time in. but it exists and let's not try to sweep the elephant under the rug.
Fake it til you make it-- a nice concept. studies show forcing yourself to smile even if you don't feel happy will make you happy.
We are nailing down book. We are getting sober. We are getting out of debt. We are staying alive, keeping ourselves alive (for now)
I was planning on how to write instructions for the person who is going to take care of my diabetic cat.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Key West Chronic-cles Sick Humor for Sick People
We will not suggest you suck on lemon drops if you are thirsty and you can't drink and you can't pee cuz your kidneys don't function.
Next time someone says their bottom was wetting themselves, I'm going to say, "wait! there's More!"
Yes, it CAN get worse.
Steve can't even get into a homeless shelter because he can't pass a piss test.
speaking of kidneys and dialysis. oh this is sounding serious.
there are many ways to die. the hard thing is finding how to live. --the Brave One
Of course we're all too sick to organize it or keep it going.
how offensive is
you're backing out. you're fiddlefucking.
rest. it's a good idea. you can't do it alone. you can't do it today. or you can only do it today.
you'll get there.
Next time someone says their bottom was wetting themselves, I'm going to say, "wait! there's More!"
Yes, it CAN get worse.
Steve can't even get into a homeless shelter because he can't pass a piss test.
speaking of kidneys and dialysis. oh this is sounding serious.
there are many ways to die. the hard thing is finding how to live. --the Brave One
Of course we're all too sick to organize it or keep it going.
how offensive is
you're backing out. you're fiddlefucking.
rest. it's a good idea. you can't do it alone. you can't do it today. or you can only do it today.
you'll get there.
Oh I want to Look up K's funny Blog...not til you've...
Make getting off the couch like "after you finish your spinach" not like "I'll spill your loathesome guts fecal matter slime all over the front porch for the world to see."
you know why russia was so fucked up?
Vodka
You know why mid east is so fucked up?
no vodka.
on that post where white is black but you don't have to justify your choice. I could do anything now or nothing (within parameters of my moral system assuming I have one) and be equitably happy. The thing I am doing does not affect my inner peace.
A child: now it's good, it has to stay exactly this way or it will never be good again FEAR
Now it's bad it will always be bad feel terrible because you have ruined your mood FOREVER.'
you know why russia was so fucked up?
Vodka
You know why mid east is so fucked up?
no vodka.
on that post where white is black but you don't have to justify your choice. I could do anything now or nothing (within parameters of my moral system assuming I have one) and be equitably happy. The thing I am doing does not affect my inner peace.
A child: now it's good, it has to stay exactly this way or it will never be good again FEAR
Now it's bad it will always be bad feel terrible because you have ruined your mood FOREVER.'
Fear, Like Anger, Is a Luxury I Cannot Afford
May have put my finger on the yin/yang switch for the 12-steps. Those who can't do, teach.
Those who can teach.
Those who can, teach.
Those who canteach.
Those who can teach.
Those who can, teach.
Those who canteach.
Our Guardian Anglo
Self-appointed.
[he shared this in a meeting so I'd never be able to publish it, unless in the future I get a resentment against the program and say "fuck it"to anonymity] will you just write it gdamait
He talked about breeders, and how he, as a HETEROSEXUAL male (in Key West some of thecloset cases straight men feel a need to point out they are indeed HETEROSEXUAL every chance they get make.) used to feel offended until he saw how the Haitians and Cubans were breeding like cats. Now he understands how one can hate a breeder. I may be reading more into it than he intended and I may be misremembering and conflating but that's good cuz this is fiction.
Bickersons.
How not to feel all bummed out if you don't show this to Jessica. Because you are showing them.
now you are caught in their evil web even tighter she only pretends to like you so you'll take some of the burden of Kelly from her
that is so twisted in so many ways I can't begin to sort them out. LOL
Me and Josef Stalin. Stalin was diagnosed as paranoid by his psychiatrist. Stalin was so afraid the diagnoses would be made public he had the psychiatrist killed or sent to a Gulag. That's a true story.
[he shared this in a meeting so I'd never be able to publish it, unless in the future I get a resentment against the program and say "fuck it"to anonymity] will you just write it gdamait
He talked about breeders, and how he, as a HETEROSEXUAL male (in Key West some of the
Bickersons.
How not to feel all bummed out if you don't show this to Jessica. Because you are showing them.
now you are caught in their evil web even tighter she only pretends to like you so you'll take some of the burden of Kelly from her
that is so twisted in so many ways I can't begin to sort them out. LOL
Me and Josef Stalin. Stalin was diagnosed as paranoid by his psychiatrist. Stalin was so afraid the diagnoses would be made public he had the psychiatrist killed or sent to a Gulag. That's a true story.
Liontamers: at Svetlana to the pack
Liontamers: how daughters have coped with exceptional parents.
Scarlet's father: not real meany. of course, he was fictional. And he only whipped his slave once: for not grooming a horse. So a man who values animals over humans. (K would approve)
Throwing in a fictional character--serve purpose. Clean. no missing backstory.
--useful to illustrate--instantly recognizable as meme. Fairy stories. It was the MOTHER, step, behind the man who was the true evil.
Not true for Stalin nor Hitler nor Jim Jones nor Michelle
We like to think that behind every mean man is a big old teddy bear. Bears have claws. Real ones. The snow white story: "no one is coming".... we like to see him cringe before a woman. There are men like that. (Josh--even typing that I'm not sure he doesn't tie his wife in knots or seriously berate her at home privately,,,my trust issues)
Maybe Steve is another. But the gentleness shows. But Hitler loved his dogs. That's what I'll say to K next time she says she judges humans by how they treat animals.
For some, animals are a bridge. For others a wall. A substitute. Be wary.
Scarlet's father: not real meany. of course, he was fictional. And he only whipped his slave once: for not grooming a horse. So a man who values animals over humans. (K would approve)
Throwing in a fictional character--serve purpose. Clean. no missing backstory.
--useful to illustrate--instantly recognizable as meme. Fairy stories. It was the MOTHER, step, behind the man who was the true evil.
Not true for Stalin nor Hitler nor Jim Jones nor Michelle
We like to think that behind every mean man is a big old teddy bear. Bears have claws. Real ones. The snow white story: "no one is coming".... we like to see him cringe before a woman. There are men like that. (Josh--even typing that I'm not sure he doesn't tie his wife in knots or seriously berate her at home privately,,,my trust issues)
Maybe Steve is another. But the gentleness shows. But Hitler loved his dogs. That's what I'll say to K next time she says she judges humans by how they treat animals.
For some, animals are a bridge. For others a wall. A substitute. Be wary.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Don't Take Away my Anger
Anger is a luxury addicts can't afford.
But sometimes anger is the only emotion that will get me moving.
I can't afford to strip my life of anger.
Perhaps I'm mislabeling it. Let's call it "passion for equanimity"
When I've been ... listen, I can't talk about the divorce without anger. Without anger there is regret, remorse, shame... burdens I can't afford.
Alpha males can't afford anger. Beta females (alcohol in the testube) can't afford self-immolation. Because that's what happens when I quash my anger instead of allowing it to motivate me to change.
Anger does not have to be personalized. I can use the Buddhist technique of feeding demons. Instead of starving myself of emotion, I allow that emotion to feed off itself/myself until it is satisfied. It then becomes an ally--a partner--someone/thing to turn it over to. Not self but yes self transformed into a being so powerful no demon can control it.
I practice the Chod.
And Smosh: tomahawk chop is my death blow. Mary Ann states humor is a tool. I do love the sick sites.
Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. I've been riding in Death's chariot one way or another since babyhood. I just want to stop now.
Maybe this will be a posthumous publication.
Friend is drinking ODoulles and Fre Wine. Damn it, that's no way to relapse. Buy a bottle of fucking whatever you fucking love best- Jack Daniels, Kaluha, Baileys, that cinnamon stuff and relapse
LIKE A BAWSE.
Fucking wimps.
OMG what am I saying? O that's terrible. Judge not.
Is that rain? Oh, thank you for the sound of rain. Before I tear off on an obscure track. It's always the right time to make a gratitude list.
I am metaphorically down on my knees. I know my life is unmanageable, and my joints would be more so if I actually got down on my knees. Oh, here's Covey (Dr. C as K calls him) moving my knees back and forth for his PA: hear that? that's crepitis. Here THIS you sadistic jerk.
Actually, he's a good doctor. He once saved Michelle's life. He owes me.
All signs pointed to Michelle being done away with before age 65. 100% service-connected disabled vet? I'd be rolling in it.
Circumstances leading to the divorce. My part in it. Of course--I fucked up. But the punishment did not fit the crime. I feel I used myself up caring for her (my decision, yes, in a sense--more on that re: the narcissist/borderline/codependent relationship) then she tossed me out like a wet, torn kleenex. Called the fucking cops on me, and never spoke to me again.
Except when SHE violated the restraining order by sending messages via that helpmate that's now in jail for accumulated gambling-related crimes.
And my lawyer--there is no bottom to the pit of my anger at his attitude not only in my case but for other women I've heard about. I said I was going to do something about it when I got my shit together but I never got my shit together.
Please, god, goddess, universe, let it be now. I am tired sooo tired I wake up and dread the day and only think, a few more hours and I can legitimately go back to sleep. I read about a retiree with that attitude when I was younger and thought it was about the saddest, most pathetic thing I'd ever read.
My car, my clothes are getting shabby and I've no resources to replace anything. Put out my begging bowl. I'm too poor to declare bankruptcy.
Okay, first things first. Start a morning routine besides diving back into a novel back between the sheets oh that sounds so good even alone it's all I can do.
Being interviewed for first some rehab program: What's the First Step? I looked at him oddly. No, he wasn't kidding.
1. We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
Apparently a lot of peeps go into the program saying they're all enthusiastic but when he asks the first step, they are clueless.
Reciting it is one thing. Work work fucking work. I hate that. Gobbling turkeys after meetings....so cheery....work work work. Like it's that easy. That simple. When I can't even describe the work we are supposed to be so vigorously performing..........................................................................................................................................
I guess writing this is part of it. First time I've done this before rising. Purring Sita helps. Bast protect him.
But sometimes anger is the only emotion that will get me moving.
I can't afford to strip my life of anger.
Perhaps I'm mislabeling it. Let's call it "passion for equanimity"
When I've been ... listen, I can't talk about the divorce without anger. Without anger there is regret, remorse, shame... burdens I can't afford.
Alpha males can't afford anger. Beta females (alcohol in the testube) can't afford self-immolation. Because that's what happens when I quash my anger instead of allowing it to motivate me to change.
Anger does not have to be personalized. I can use the Buddhist technique of feeding demons. Instead of starving myself of emotion, I allow that emotion to feed off itself/myself until it is satisfied. It then becomes an ally--a partner--someone/thing to turn it over to. Not self but yes self transformed into a being so powerful no demon can control it.
I practice the Chod.
And Smosh: tomahawk chop is my death blow. Mary Ann states humor is a tool. I do love the sick sites.
Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. I've been riding in Death's chariot one way or another since babyhood. I just want to stop now.
Maybe this will be a posthumous publication.
Friend is drinking ODoulles and Fre Wine. Damn it, that's no way to relapse. Buy a bottle of fucking whatever you fucking love best- Jack Daniels, Kaluha, Baileys, that cinnamon stuff and relapse
LIKE A BAWSE.
Fucking wimps.
OMG what am I saying? O that's terrible. Judge not.
Is that rain? Oh, thank you for the sound of rain. Before I tear off on an obscure track. It's always the right time to make a gratitude list.
I am metaphorically down on my knees. I know my life is unmanageable, and my joints would be more so if I actually got down on my knees. Oh, here's Covey (Dr. C as K calls him) moving my knees back and forth for his PA: hear that? that's crepitis. Here THIS you sadistic jerk.
Actually, he's a good doctor. He once saved Michelle's life. He owes me.
All signs pointed to Michelle being done away with before age 65. 100% service-connected disabled vet? I'd be rolling in it.
Circumstances leading to the divorce. My part in it. Of course--I fucked up. But the punishment did not fit the crime. I feel I used myself up caring for her (my decision, yes, in a sense--more on that re: the narcissist/borderline/codependent relationship) then she tossed me out like a wet, torn kleenex. Called the fucking cops on me, and never spoke to me again.
Except when SHE violated the restraining order by sending messages via that helpmate that's now in jail for accumulated gambling-related crimes.
And my lawyer--there is no bottom to the pit of my anger at his attitude not only in my case but for other women I've heard about. I said I was going to do something about it when I got my shit together but I never got my shit together.
Please, god, goddess, universe, let it be now. I am tired sooo tired I wake up and dread the day and only think, a few more hours and I can legitimately go back to sleep. I read about a retiree with that attitude when I was younger and thought it was about the saddest, most pathetic thing I'd ever read.
My car, my clothes are getting shabby and I've no resources to replace anything. Put out my begging bowl. I'm too poor to declare bankruptcy.
Okay, first things first. Start a morning routine besides diving back into a novel back between the sheets oh that sounds so good even alone it's all I can do.
Being interviewed for first some rehab program: What's the First Step? I looked at him oddly. No, he wasn't kidding.
1. We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
Apparently a lot of peeps go into the program saying they're all enthusiastic but when he asks the first step, they are clueless.
Reciting it is one thing. Work work fucking work. I hate that. Gobbling turkeys after meetings....so cheery....work work work. Like it's that easy. That simple. When I can't even describe the work we are supposed to be so vigorously performing..........................................................................................................................................
I guess writing this is part of it. First time I've done this before rising. Purring Sita helps. Bast protect him.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
unmanagability
god where do I start? I can't imagine a life for myself. I can't get out of bed in the morning. I dread sunrise because of the obligation to be up and about. I want to hide. I want to disappear.
I can't see any reason for going on. nothing is worth the cost of moving a muscle. And having it ache. I can't move a muscle without pain and ok that's what I have to deal with... I want to go back on opiates. At least I could get out of bed.
I am afraid. Nothing real can be threatened. There is nothing that is not real.
I've made a mess of things. This can't go on. I have to choose.
It seems like a mountain not worth climbing. They make you feel so small when you talk to creditors. All my life I paid my bills--never let interest accumulate until this past couple years. I can't be bothered to even check my statements...I found two bogus ongoing charges I have to deal with. Well one I dealt with. The other was closed for holiday.
I should have gone to Jessica's. I don't know how to be a friend. I figured if she wanted me there she'd have invited me herself.
It's like I'm stealing your friend like I stole Lois from Michelle. And all hell broke loose.
I don't know how to be a friend. I am ice cold or I have no boundries. There's no in-between. Spent so much of adolescence in hospital visiting mother. Come home from school, get in car, go to hospital. Cook dinner or burger king. Once I brought home pizza for dinner and dad was disappointed. Not mean like Michelle but in my dreams they are one.
Why did she die? Why did she die so slowly and in so much pain? I feel my fibro is payback. I want it. She only made it to 42. I don't deserve these years I don't want them.
Not once was the word "cancer" used. Not once was I told my mother was dying. I thought "malignant" was good. My cousin, one year older, maybe 12 at the time told me "no, that's cancer."
No one helped me. How can I get over that. Poof. Magic. I'm over it.
I had a cyst they needed to look at when Michelle was alive and at one point I knew I KNEW she would not be there for me if I were really sick. Lois offered to go to the doctor with me and Michelle was pissed because I took the friend I stole from her with me to find out if I had cancer like my mother instead of Michelle. Then she made a fuss because the office was not handicap accessible, so I had to have them clean the wasps' nest out of the elevator so Michelle could accompany me.
She made it all about HER is the thing. It was my potential tragedy and she couldn't stand the spotlight not on her and HER tragedy. She played the spotlight for 20 years after being given 6 months to live and I fell for it.
We're supposed to love one another, right? Where do I go wrong?
Useless. Useless. That feeling of uselessness -- a lot of peeps pronounce it "useFULLness" which defeats the purpose but it doesn't matter does it, as long as you get the point. I hate my brain. Why can't I be normal? Nothing is fair.
I torture myself but I let myself drift into unreality in books ...
Powerless. I can see the house degenerating. I don't want to fix it I want to sell it and move to Asheville or Colorado. I am not fabulous enough for Key West. But I'm terrified to move.
I have shit in storage the bitch lost the key and I haven't been inside since. Gods help me. I could have bought the contents 3 times over for what I've paid in storage because I don't know how to get the lock off. Kelly can help. She is criminal.
Help me sell rolex, pictures. stomach churns not at the loss but at "I don't know how to do this" Fuck me. I'll figure it out. Sell trailer and move to Penna
I feel so small. Like alice.
I am grateful for friends today even though they are all fucked up or hate me
I can't see any reason for going on. nothing is worth the cost of moving a muscle. And having it ache. I can't move a muscle without pain and ok that's what I have to deal with... I want to go back on opiates. At least I could get out of bed.
I am afraid. Nothing real can be threatened. There is nothing that is not real.
I've made a mess of things. This can't go on. I have to choose.
It seems like a mountain not worth climbing. They make you feel so small when you talk to creditors. All my life I paid my bills--never let interest accumulate until this past couple years. I can't be bothered to even check my statements...I found two bogus ongoing charges I have to deal with. Well one I dealt with. The other was closed for holiday.
I should have gone to Jessica's. I don't know how to be a friend. I figured if she wanted me there she'd have invited me herself.
It's like I'm stealing your friend like I stole Lois from Michelle. And all hell broke loose.
I don't know how to be a friend. I am ice cold or I have no boundries. There's no in-between. Spent so much of adolescence in hospital visiting mother. Come home from school, get in car, go to hospital. Cook dinner or burger king. Once I brought home pizza for dinner and dad was disappointed. Not mean like Michelle but in my dreams they are one.
Why did she die? Why did she die so slowly and in so much pain? I feel my fibro is payback. I want it. She only made it to 42. I don't deserve these years I don't want them.
Not once was the word "cancer" used. Not once was I told my mother was dying. I thought "malignant" was good. My cousin, one year older, maybe 12 at the time told me "no, that's cancer."
No one helped me. How can I get over that. Poof. Magic. I'm over it.
I had a cyst they needed to look at when Michelle was alive and at one point I knew I KNEW she would not be there for me if I were really sick. Lois offered to go to the doctor with me and Michelle was pissed because I took the friend I stole from her with me to find out if I had cancer like my mother instead of Michelle. Then she made a fuss because the office was not handicap accessible, so I had to have them clean the wasps' nest out of the elevator so Michelle could accompany me.
She made it all about HER is the thing. It was my potential tragedy and she couldn't stand the spotlight not on her and HER tragedy. She played the spotlight for 20 years after being given 6 months to live and I fell for it.
We're supposed to love one another, right? Where do I go wrong?
Useless. Useless. That feeling of uselessness -- a lot of peeps pronounce it "useFULLness" which defeats the purpose but it doesn't matter does it, as long as you get the point. I hate my brain. Why can't I be normal? Nothing is fair.
I torture myself but I let myself drift into unreality in books ...
Powerless. I can see the house degenerating. I don't want to fix it I want to sell it and move to Asheville or Colorado. I am not fabulous enough for Key West. But I'm terrified to move.
I have shit in storage the bitch lost the key and I haven't been inside since. Gods help me. I could have bought the contents 3 times over for what I've paid in storage because I don't know how to get the lock off. Kelly can help. She is criminal.
Help me sell rolex, pictures. stomach churns not at the loss but at "I don't know how to do this" Fuck me. I'll figure it out. Sell trailer and move to Penna
I feel so small. Like alice.
I am grateful for friends today even though they are all fucked up or hate me
Fatal Error #1: I befriended her friend
Not exactly her friend. Her sponsee. Michelle was a stickler for the rules that suited her take on reality. Per Michelle (genuflect) sponsor/sponsees could not be friends.
I've had several sponsors. Some were friends, some were not.
With my handicap at making friends, I can't afford to split such hairs. The Asperger's thing again. Tell me there's nothing wrong with me. Professionals have been telling me there's nothing wrong with me, in between times I've been institutionalized and medicated for that nothing that was never wrong with me...
It seems I spend half my life trying to convince people there is something wrong with me and I need help, and the other half trying to convince them I am fine and just to leave me alone.
Anyway, Let's call her Lois..came to the house a few times to do sponsor/sponsee things with Michelle. I let them have space. I barely said "hello." Then we had to evacuate for a hurricane and Michelle invites Lois along to "help". As we are driving up the Keys away from danger, Michelle, Lois, and I chat. I find Lois is a "kindred spirit" as Anne of Green Gables would say. A rare person who "gets" you: your flights of fancy--your punchline-free jokes--your love of the pattern a bridge's boards make on the ripples of a stream. You don't need to explain. She nods. You know exactly what she's remarking about: a brilliant bit of red ( )in a sea of grey-green leaves. You say: insect. She absorbs the filmy iridescent dragonfly.
She sees the tension between Michelle and me that I miss. I've become numb to it. I tell Lois, who is 20 years older than I and obviously exhausted that I will bring up the luggage, the cats, the oxygen bottles...it takes a while but I do.
When Michelle asks for the car keys as if I've absconded with them, instead of unloading her shit, I lose it and throw them at her. She is astonished. Lois is pleased.
Later we talk and Lois tells me she can't understand why I put up with Michelle. I've been told this before and I still don't understand. I committed to Michelle. I make excuses for her bad humor.
Somehow I believe her good humor will return.
But I don't know that she ever had a good humor. I thought she treated me fine in the beginning. But even then people were warning me about her.
I assumed it was because she was a male-to-female transsexual. I protected her. In the closed-down world of NE Pennsylvania, I felt Michelle needed someone who would be her friend despite her oddity. And she did look odd. She was not born a petite feminine-type male. She could not pass. She was 6'2" tall, skinny, angular. Very strong jaw. Wore her hair in a beehive, gods know why, she said the women of the 50's were her ideal (Marilyn wore no beehive!). Also, she so preferred to use her own hair. A false piece was an admission of defeat. But she had male pattern baldness.
A little technical information. Boy and girl babies are all girl babies until testosterone kicks in. If you catch a child before puberty, you can prevent those give-away secondary sex characteristics. Beards, deep voices, baldness... But once you've passed puberty, all the female hormones in the world won't completely reverse the testosterone effect.
As someone from New Jersey who'd moved to NEPA (locals would not even talk about it) said, "why would you go through all that trouble just to be an ugly woman?" Not very kind, but a legitimate question. The nerve it must have taken her to walk into a room full of NEPA people for the first time dressed as a woman. With the beehive, sharp red lipstick, and ill-fitting clothes from Salvation Army...there were things to admire about her. She'd been wealthy but had to declare bankruptcy due to drug and alcohol issues, a nasty divorce, a house she was eventually evicted from...
[I'm drawn to people going through shit. It's not fair. I want friends who are healthy, wealthy, and wise but I attract the dying and the insane like flies to shit. Maybe it takes one to know one. But I'm not dying.
I mean, we are all born astride a grave. Why is my mother's death forefronting itself. Duh terminal Kelly duh. Now Tom relapsed. Fuck it. I know I'm sick but how can I get better if I only attract those sicker than myself? ]
anyway...
Michelle grew very small breasts. She even got mammograms at the Veterans Administration Hospital. Nice thing about vets, being a vet sort of excuses all kinds of social no-nos, within the VA system. I said, "If you only got them ten years ago, how could they be cancerous?" They don't do mammograms on 23-year-olds.
I think she enjoyed the trip. Validation of femaleness.
why can't I stick to the fucking topic?
Michelle accused me of stealing Lois and ruining the sponsor/sponsee relationship. It was more abominable because I'd jeopardized sobriety. Michelle could get on a high horse about things and multiply your error exponetialize your error by pulling higher principles out of her rabbit's hat.
And further down the rabbit hole we go.
The ultimate crime was inviting her to use our washing machine while the Big Pine laundromat was closed down for some reason. The only laundromat withing 40 miles or so. I simply invited her to use our washing machine and dryer until the laundromat re-opened.
Well. How dare I do such a thing without consulting Michelle? Now, if you're a wife and a friend needs to do a couple loads of laundry, would you say, "sure, use my machine" or would you say, "I have to consult with my husband before making such a household decision."? Michelle was convinced she'd ruin the machine. Or something.
Control. I stole her friend and now I was running rampant in our/her house messing with all her stuff.
Joyce Maynard wrote a memoir that includes her romance with J. D. Salinger. Some have tossed asparagus at Joyce for violating the holy hermit's privacy, but the things she said rang so true I have to applaud her.
Narcissism is a personality disorder. It's beyond liking yourself. It's seeing yourself apart from nearly everyone...and only those in your golden circle are deserving of being treating like human beings. The rest are cogs and sprogs in your machine. And once you cross the line from golden circle to cog or sprog, it's all over.
That's what our marriage counselor warned me about.
I didn't listen. I could not believe a person could turn on another person like Michelle turned on me. If I hadn't experienced it, I'd have a hard time believing it. I even got taken in by narcissists after Michelle...that's another story, an anonymous story, and the only reason I can get this written.
I've had several sponsors. Some were friends, some were not.
With my handicap at making friends, I can't afford to split such hairs. The Asperger's thing again. Tell me there's nothing wrong with me. Professionals have been telling me there's nothing wrong with me, in between times I've been institutionalized and medicated for that nothing that was never wrong with me...
It seems I spend half my life trying to convince people there is something wrong with me and I need help, and the other half trying to convince them I am fine and just to leave me alone.
Anyway, Let's call her Lois..came to the house a few times to do sponsor/sponsee things with Michelle. I let them have space. I barely said "hello." Then we had to evacuate for a hurricane and Michelle invites Lois along to "help". As we are driving up the Keys away from danger, Michelle, Lois, and I chat. I find Lois is a "kindred spirit" as Anne of Green Gables would say. A rare person who "gets" you: your flights of fancy--your punchline-free jokes--your love of the pattern a bridge's boards make on the ripples of a stream. You don't need to explain. She nods. You know exactly what she's remarking about: a brilliant bit of red ( )in a sea of grey-green leaves. You say: insect. She absorbs the filmy iridescent dragonfly.
She sees the tension between Michelle and me that I miss. I've become numb to it. I tell Lois, who is 20 years older than I and obviously exhausted that I will bring up the luggage, the cats, the oxygen bottles...it takes a while but I do.
When Michelle asks for the car keys as if I've absconded with them, instead of unloading her shit, I lose it and throw them at her. She is astonished. Lois is pleased.
Later we talk and Lois tells me she can't understand why I put up with Michelle. I've been told this before and I still don't understand. I committed to Michelle. I make excuses for her bad humor.
Somehow I believe her good humor will return.
But I don't know that she ever had a good humor. I thought she treated me fine in the beginning. But even then people were warning me about her.
I assumed it was because she was a male-to-female transsexual. I protected her. In the closed-down world of NE Pennsylvania, I felt Michelle needed someone who would be her friend despite her oddity. And she did look odd. She was not born a petite feminine-type male. She could not pass. She was 6'2" tall, skinny, angular. Very strong jaw. Wore her hair in a beehive, gods know why, she said the women of the 50's were her ideal (Marilyn wore no beehive!). Also, she so preferred to use her own hair. A false piece was an admission of defeat. But she had male pattern baldness.
A little technical information. Boy and girl babies are all girl babies until testosterone kicks in. If you catch a child before puberty, you can prevent those give-away secondary sex characteristics. Beards, deep voices, baldness... But once you've passed puberty, all the female hormones in the world won't completely reverse the testosterone effect.
As someone from New Jersey who'd moved to NEPA (locals would not even talk about it) said, "why would you go through all that trouble just to be an ugly woman?" Not very kind, but a legitimate question. The nerve it must have taken her to walk into a room full of NEPA people for the first time dressed as a woman. With the beehive, sharp red lipstick, and ill-fitting clothes from Salvation Army...there were things to admire about her. She'd been wealthy but had to declare bankruptcy due to drug and alcohol issues, a nasty divorce, a house she was eventually evicted from...
[I'm drawn to people going through shit. It's not fair. I want friends who are healthy, wealthy, and wise but I attract the dying and the insane like flies to shit. Maybe it takes one to know one. But I'm not dying.
I mean, we are all born astride a grave. Why is my mother's death forefronting itself. Duh terminal Kelly duh. Now Tom relapsed. Fuck it. I know I'm sick but how can I get better if I only attract those sicker than myself? ]
anyway...
Michelle grew very small breasts. She even got mammograms at the Veterans Administration Hospital. Nice thing about vets, being a vet sort of excuses all kinds of social no-nos, within the VA system. I said, "If you only got them ten years ago, how could they be cancerous?" They don't do mammograms on 23-year-olds.
I think she enjoyed the trip. Validation of femaleness.
why can't I stick to the fucking topic?
Michelle accused me of stealing Lois and ruining the sponsor/sponsee relationship. It was more abominable because I'd jeopardized sobriety. Michelle could get on a high horse about things and multiply your error exponetialize your error by pulling higher principles out of her rabbit's hat.
And further down the rabbit hole we go.
The ultimate crime was inviting her to use our washing machine while the Big Pine laundromat was closed down for some reason. The only laundromat withing 40 miles or so. I simply invited her to use our washing machine and dryer until the laundromat re-opened.
Well. How dare I do such a thing without consulting Michelle? Now, if you're a wife and a friend needs to do a couple loads of laundry, would you say, "sure, use my machine" or would you say, "I have to consult with my husband before making such a household decision."? Michelle was convinced she'd ruin the machine. Or something.
Control. I stole her friend and now I was running rampant in our/her house messing with all her stuff.
Joyce Maynard wrote a memoir that includes her romance with J. D. Salinger. Some have tossed asparagus at Joyce for violating the holy hermit's privacy, but the things she said rang so true I have to applaud her.
Narcissism is a personality disorder. It's beyond liking yourself. It's seeing yourself apart from nearly everyone...and only those in your golden circle are deserving of being treating like human beings. The rest are cogs and sprogs in your machine. And once you cross the line from golden circle to cog or sprog, it's all over.
That's what our marriage counselor warned me about.
I didn't listen. I could not believe a person could turn on another person like Michelle turned on me. If I hadn't experienced it, I'd have a hard time believing it. I even got taken in by narcissists after Michelle...that's another story, an anonymous story, and the only reason I can get this written.
Roomate relapsed.
I'd sensed something was up. He was so isolating, more than I do even, which is saying something
Michelle set up a false reality
Michelle set up a false realityAnd when I challenged the parameters of that reality, she balked. She railed. She grew vicious. These are head games and they are dark. I was pulled down a rabbit hole and now I'm a starved, shivering, naked bunny with vultures circling and lions drooling.
help
That's what narcissists do. and I've been told, be glad she'd dead and get on with your life. And I let everything slip through my fingers because I had no idea how to hold on to anything. I feel five years old.
Part of me knows there''s a happy world out there. Part of me believes that's a lie. It's for others, not me I will always be hurled into the void screaming on the edge of nothingness. I was terrified to look out a dark window as a kid for fear I'd see a vampire. Not a baby, I mean like 11, 12 years old too old to believe in ghosts.
I don't believe in god but I believe in dark forces waiting to tear me limb from limb like Whats-her-name under the influence of Dyonisius. Murdered her own son. Well god murdered my mother, tore her limb from limb in lingering pain for years what should I trust?
Then Michelle with emphysema
Now Kelly.
I don't know if I can do it. Haven't I had my share of dying friends, mothers, wives? WTF? No one healthy comes near me they don't need me.
help
That's what narcissists do. and I've been told, be glad she'd dead and get on with your life. And I let everything slip through my fingers because I had no idea how to hold on to anything. I feel five years old.
Part of me knows there''s a happy world out there. Part of me believes that's a lie. It's for others, not me I will always be hurled into the void screaming on the edge of nothingness. I was terrified to look out a dark window as a kid for fear I'd see a vampire. Not a baby, I mean like 11, 12 years old too old to believe in ghosts.
I don't believe in god but I believe in dark forces waiting to tear me limb from limb like Whats-her-name under the influence of Dyonisius. Murdered her own son. Well god murdered my mother, tore her limb from limb in lingering pain for years what should I trust?
Then Michelle with emphysema
Now Kelly.
I don't know if I can do it. Haven't I had my share of dying friends, mothers, wives? WTF? No one healthy comes near me they don't need me.
Napolean's 4th Step
When I was still married, Michelle and I were watching a documentary on Napoleon Bonaparte. In all innocence, I exclaimed when they described his personality, "that's just like you!"
Michelle was not amused.
Napoleon was a hero and a monster. His mind was great: his soldiers loved him because his ideas reformed warfare and allowed a small fierce mob to beat the crap out of long lines of well-trained redcoat-type soldiers.
It's Independence Day. Our Sangha teacher called it interdependence day.
I was listening to NPR this morning and the author of a book about Bunker Hill talked about how George Washington had to get the new Americans on his side, regardless of their differences. The differences were huge and the zit popped as the Civil War, but the country unified long enough to beat the pants off George III and free the colony from England.
People into numerology and stuff probably have cool things to say about how our first president and our last king shared a name.
Something about differences and similarities all tossed together, shaken and stirred, will often come out more or less balanced in people raised in the same country, common cultures, values and stuff. Right or wrong we're more alike than not.
We may rant at each other on facebook, but we do get that info out there. We agree on the power of the truth. The truth is so powerful some of us spend most of our lives running from it.
It's harder to do nowadays.
My spouse was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. There's the connection with Napoleon. Do you have to be a little squirrelley to be a great leader? That's where I opt out. But maybe I ought not to. I feel like I'm in a dark cave and only just have the slightest sense of what to do...I'm a blob in space and nothing more. I can't get my brain around creating a life. I can't imagine people who think they can create a life for someone else.
Then blow a fuse when the life they've envisioned doesn't fit the person. The narcissist blames the person. The person by then, having been subjected to the whims and cruelties of the narcissist has no defense--it's been eaten away no matter how strong she might have been at one time. And we do not see it.
But we have to see it. I am paralyzed with fear. I can't finish this. where's that quote?
"Do they have legitimate, soluble grievances with America (Geoffrey Warwo, in Quicksand, speaking of Middle East countries) Israel, and the West, or, as British novelist Martin Amis has written, are they agonistic...marked by darkness sequestration, the shockingly bitter and unappeasable self-exclusion from the planet, its fear of ridicule, its fear of truth.... tendency to dissect instead of implement their dissatisfaction"
to utterly oversimplify, sounds like he's accusing the Middle East of having an alcoholic personality. And they don't even drink. That's worse--dry drunk, no 12-step solution. oy vey.
I was teased in my first rehab that I couldn't get sober because I was too focused on all the trouble in the world. Focus on yourself they said.
Buddhism gives us a way to do both. Yes, examine the navel, but dedicate the practice to all sentient beings. And studies show that prayer/positive thinking does have some eerie quantum-level effect on behavior.
I wonder what the self-immolating tibetans have to do with the horrible forest fires in the USA? Nothing, you say? Think again. But be careful.
Thoughts may be things...
smile! pet a cat...call a friend...say "awww oooo ahhhh" at fireworks
be safe and happy forth of july
Michelle was not amused.
Napoleon was a hero and a monster. His mind was great: his soldiers loved him because his ideas reformed warfare and allowed a small fierce mob to beat the crap out of long lines of well-trained redcoat-type soldiers.
It's Independence Day. Our Sangha teacher called it interdependence day.
I was listening to NPR this morning and the author of a book about Bunker Hill talked about how George Washington had to get the new Americans on his side, regardless of their differences. The differences were huge and the zit popped as the Civil War, but the country unified long enough to beat the pants off George III and free the colony from England.
People into numerology and stuff probably have cool things to say about how our first president and our last king shared a name.
Something about differences and similarities all tossed together, shaken and stirred, will often come out more or less balanced in people raised in the same country, common cultures, values and stuff. Right or wrong we're more alike than not.
We may rant at each other on facebook, but we do get that info out there. We agree on the power of the truth. The truth is so powerful some of us spend most of our lives running from it.
It's harder to do nowadays.
My spouse was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. There's the connection with Napoleon. Do you have to be a little squirrelley to be a great leader? That's where I opt out. But maybe I ought not to. I feel like I'm in a dark cave and only just have the slightest sense of what to do...I'm a blob in space and nothing more. I can't get my brain around creating a life. I can't imagine people who think they can create a life for someone else.
Then blow a fuse when the life they've envisioned doesn't fit the person. The narcissist blames the person. The person by then, having been subjected to the whims and cruelties of the narcissist has no defense--it's been eaten away no matter how strong she might have been at one time. And we do not see it.
But we have to see it. I am paralyzed with fear. I can't finish this. where's that quote?
"Do they have legitimate, soluble grievances with America (Geoffrey Warwo, in Quicksand, speaking of Middle East countries) Israel, and the West, or, as British novelist Martin Amis has written, are they agonistic...marked by darkness sequestration, the shockingly bitter and unappeasable self-exclusion from the planet, its fear of ridicule, its fear of truth.... tendency to dissect instead of implement their dissatisfaction"
to utterly oversimplify, sounds like he's accusing the Middle East of having an alcoholic personality. And they don't even drink. That's worse--dry drunk, no 12-step solution. oy vey.
I was teased in my first rehab that I couldn't get sober because I was too focused on all the trouble in the world. Focus on yourself they said.
Buddhism gives us a way to do both. Yes, examine the navel, but dedicate the practice to all sentient beings. And studies show that prayer/positive thinking does have some eerie quantum-level effect on behavior.
I wonder what the self-immolating tibetans have to do with the horrible forest fires in the USA? Nothing, you say? Think again. But be careful.
Thoughts may be things...
smile! pet a cat...call a friend...say "awww oooo ahhhh" at fireworks
be safe and happy forth of july
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
man talk
It's an acquired taste. Like sushi. No, forget that, forget the fish. Although good sushi doesn't taste fishy. I mean not the associated nastiness we hook onto the term "fishy." Old fishy is fishy. Fresh fishy is fish...sweet, savory, firm.
Slime
Oh, young man. That slime is the nectar of the gods. Clean pussy is fresh, earthy. If it smells or tastes bad it's because you gave her some infection that needs to be treated. Mushrooms. You liked mushrooms when you were a kid?
Naw.
But you like them now?
On pizza. Breaded and fried. Let's order out...
Your treat?
Then I won't have enough to take your daughter to a movie.
Anyway, little kids like cotton candy. Just sweet.
I still like it.
Like I said, little kids like cotton candy. As you age, your palate becomes more sophisticated. You can appreciate more complex things. Not just sugar and salt. A variety of savories.
You're telling me to sophisticate my palate on your daughter's pussy?
Step-daughter. You're safe, right? Condom...every time. Even if she's on the pill.
I don't screw around.
Mundy tilted his head and looked at Matt through slit eyes.
Seriously. Mercedes is my first and only.
No wonder she...
Say what? She asked you to talk to me?
No no no... it's a long story. Look, guys your age, it's normal, you think the girl is as hot as you, as ready as you, all the time. You just have to think about her in math class and boing...
shit.
Girls are slower.
But if she's sliming....
Stop with the slime. That's a good sign but it doesn't mean she's entirely ready. You gotta be sensitive. Play it by ear.
You want me to get my ears down there, too?
I say, try anything once.
I wish you were my father.
No, if I were your father you wouldn't have a pool in your backyard.
True.
Thanks.
Why'd you wanna be a teacher for anyway? Why not do something that makes money?
I ask myself that question daily. Some of us are doomed to serve is all I can figure.
So, like, you're cool with me and your daughter doing it?
I only came into the picture 4 years ago. Not much I can do. She takes after her mother. I didn't say that.
I didn't hear it.
All I can do is damage control.
Mundy looked off into the dark. They're nice girls. All three of them. Just...
Merci's cool. I'm her one and only. It's Luz that's wild. I mean...I've heard...
Oh, I've heard. I mean I've HEARD...not just talk but, never mind...
Howling at the moon?
You've heard it, too?
No, man, I don't go there... I hear talk. Sorry. She's your daughter.
Step. Like I said, four years of damage control. She wants me to teach her to drive. I shudder at the thought. That's more freedom than any 16 year old should have, least of all Luz.
She gets plenty of rides.
Hey
No, I didn't mean, oh, hell...
Don't worry about it.
Slime
Oh, young man. That slime is the nectar of the gods. Clean pussy is fresh, earthy. If it smells or tastes bad it's because you gave her some infection that needs to be treated. Mushrooms. You liked mushrooms when you were a kid?
Naw.
But you like them now?
On pizza. Breaded and fried. Let's order out...
Your treat?
Then I won't have enough to take your daughter to a movie.
Anyway, little kids like cotton candy. Just sweet.
I still like it.
Like I said, little kids like cotton candy. As you age, your palate becomes more sophisticated. You can appreciate more complex things. Not just sugar and salt. A variety of savories.
You're telling me to sophisticate my palate on your daughter's pussy?
Step-daughter. You're safe, right? Condom...every time. Even if she's on the pill.
I don't screw around.
Mundy tilted his head and looked at Matt through slit eyes.
Seriously. Mercedes is my first and only.
No wonder she...
Say what? She asked you to talk to me?
No no no... it's a long story. Look, guys your age, it's normal, you think the girl is as hot as you, as ready as you, all the time. You just have to think about her in math class and boing...
shit.
Girls are slower.
But if she's sliming....
Stop with the slime. That's a good sign but it doesn't mean she's entirely ready. You gotta be sensitive. Play it by ear.
You want me to get my ears down there, too?
I say, try anything once.
I wish you were my father.
No, if I were your father you wouldn't have a pool in your backyard.
True.
Thanks.
Why'd you wanna be a teacher for anyway? Why not do something that makes money?
I ask myself that question daily. Some of us are doomed to serve is all I can figure.
So, like, you're cool with me and your daughter doing it?
I only came into the picture 4 years ago. Not much I can do. She takes after her mother. I didn't say that.
I didn't hear it.
All I can do is damage control.
Mundy looked off into the dark. They're nice girls. All three of them. Just...
Merci's cool. I'm her one and only. It's Luz that's wild. I mean...I've heard...
Oh, I've heard. I mean I've HEARD...not just talk but, never mind...
Howling at the moon?
You've heard it, too?
No, man, I don't go there... I hear talk. Sorry. She's your daughter.
Step. Like I said, four years of damage control. She wants me to teach her to drive. I shudder at the thought. That's more freedom than any 16 year old should have, least of all Luz.
She gets plenty of rides.
Hey
No, I didn't mean, oh, hell...
Don't worry about it.
Monday, July 1, 2013
I Made A Note of What I Wanted to Write About oh if she weren't sick...
Michelle admitted if she weren't disabled I would never have entered her orbit. No peeps who can fend for themselves would be attracted to me. They see the sucker in me and they pour on the charm. And since no one but crips and psychos ever approaches me, I'm flattered and drawn in.
Smart doesn't matter. Smart is worth shit. I don't know why Kelly is so down on people who are not as smart as she is. Be mad a dog can't write your checks. It's not like they are dumb on purpose. It's not like they could get it like smarter people do. It's what it is. Like acquiring a language.
I think it may be a metaphor for "the world doesn't know how to meet my needs". The opposite of the codependent theme (I can't meet their needs): "I can't make him stop drinking....screwing around....beating the kids...."
One half the world has unfulfillable need, the other half has the desire to fill that unfillable hole.
It gets pathalogical when one side or the other believes the hole can be filled, should be filled, must be filled, deserves to be filled. At any cost. At the cost of the life of one to fill the other. Thus the implosion of our marriage.
We each were convinced we were getting better (well she was perfect so there was no better to get to...no sarcasm just narcissim) and the other was batshit ratshit crazy.
You are the doughnut. I am the apple-raspberry filling. When it works, it's perfection. But really it's fatty and unwholesome and squirting out around the edges and the sugar coating gets all over you little black dress
"I'll be like the hole in a doughnut!" where's that from? The atheist chapter?
AA has been such a perfect foundation for other spiritualities I want to shoot off to. People think I'm so advanced when I talk in weirdo spaced-out groups, but really it all comes back to the spiritual principles. Unity...selflessness...trust...
And all those things can be used the wrong way...awareness...it's easy to love everyone when you are stoned but it doesn't last. It's the right answer, but I need to know how you get there. Like calculus. Show the work. Sometimes I didn't really know---it was a leap of faith. I have good instinct when I'm open to it. But too trusting. Too loyal.
Gordy. The new kid? Another psycho. Why do I empathize? Why can't I tell them to get lost like everyone else does. "You make no sense, boy, and you smell of booze. call me when you're sober"
What kind of person am I? I'm 50 I should know this. As the frog outside my window says over and OVER: fuck fuuuck fuck fuuuck stupid frog. or not so stupid.
I would be stupid enough to pick a dumbass blog that doesn't provide a word count. Not that I expect you to read 500 words a day. Pick n choose. It helps to have someone out there to send it off to.
fuuuck...
Smart doesn't matter. Smart is worth shit. I don't know why Kelly is so down on people who are not as smart as she is. Be mad a dog can't write your checks. It's not like they are dumb on purpose. It's not like they could get it like smarter people do. It's what it is. Like acquiring a language.
I think it may be a metaphor for "the world doesn't know how to meet my needs". The opposite of the codependent theme (I can't meet their needs): "I can't make him stop drinking....screwing around....beating the kids...."
One half the world has unfulfillable need, the other half has the desire to fill that unfillable hole.
It gets pathalogical when one side or the other believes the hole can be filled, should be filled, must be filled, deserves to be filled. At any cost. At the cost of the life of one to fill the other. Thus the implosion of our marriage.
We each were convinced we were getting better (well she was perfect so there was no better to get to...no sarcasm just narcissim) and the other was batshit ratshit crazy.
You are the doughnut. I am the apple-raspberry filling. When it works, it's perfection. But really it's fatty and unwholesome and squirting out around the edges and the sugar coating gets all over you little black dress
"I'll be like the hole in a doughnut!" where's that from? The atheist chapter?
AA has been such a perfect foundation for other spiritualities I want to shoot off to. People think I'm so advanced when I talk in weirdo spaced-out groups, but really it all comes back to the spiritual principles. Unity...selflessness...trust...
And all those things can be used the wrong way...awareness...it's easy to love everyone when you are stoned but it doesn't last. It's the right answer, but I need to know how you get there. Like calculus. Show the work. Sometimes I didn't really know---it was a leap of faith. I have good instinct when I'm open to it. But too trusting. Too loyal.
Gordy. The new kid? Another psycho. Why do I empathize? Why can't I tell them to get lost like everyone else does. "You make no sense, boy, and you smell of booze. call me when you're sober"
What kind of person am I? I'm 50 I should know this. As the frog outside my window says over and OVER: fuck fuuuck fuck fuuuck stupid frog. or not so stupid.
I would be stupid enough to pick a dumbass blog that doesn't provide a word count. Not that I expect you to read 500 words a day. Pick n choose. It helps to have someone out there to send it off to.
fuuuck...
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