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04 September 2004 @ 07:42 am
[sticky post] mrow  
Poetry from 99 to 04 or so so ages 11-17 ish.  It's crazy to look back at, most of it I hate, some of it I like snippets I suppose. It's all so terribly cliche, and angsty, and urgh.

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Grump-O-Meter: weirdweird
16 January 2017 @ 09:42 am
This is not ME.

Tried to go back to work tonight, panicked going up to.  Burned through my Ambien in under four hours but that is 4 hours more sleep than expected during a full dread attack.  I sat my ass down at my computer on time, logged in, booted everything up.  Realized I had no support, first time back in a year and because I've been so fucking flaky because I'm a panicky goddamned mess they didn't realize I was going to be there so I had no net.

Took about 10 minutes to freak out about that, and while I did that I look at my internal site to see if the new manager had been assigned.  Saw a new manager listed with a hell of a lot more title than expected, and my chat agent status moved to No and flipped shit.  Still went into chats, managed it for about 2 hours of not having a fucking clue and getting continually more panicky and the whole what if they're going to fire me thing.  And checking to see if any manager I've ever had was on to ask them if they could maybe explain really quickly and nope. 

So yeah.  Pulled the plug on my computer and spent like another 4 hours trying to come down from it.  Pacing, and trying to breath regularly, and singing of all things Hamilton because the faster it is the more I have to concentrate the less I'm thinking about anything else.  I'm not used to being broken like this, I'm not this person.

I am the person who stays calm when shit hits the fan, there have been so many times in the past it has.  But these days it's like my walls are paper thin and they just crumble.  I should be stronger but I'm fucking not right now, right now I just want soft squishy things and that's not so much an option.  There's no threshold you hit where life goes cool, you've done all the hard things for your life now.  Hit that quota!
05 January 2017 @ 02:41 am
Depressing is knowing you have to get out of bed to do something other than have orgasms for the day.  Like why?

I feel like orgasms should be a solid plan for lazy days.  Like I refuse to get out of bed for less than 20 today, no.

Yes, upcoming day plans.  Maybe a lazy sunday or some shit, nothing but orgasms and drifting.

Life goals.  Clearly I'm a motherfucking adult >.<
04 January 2017 @ 05:56 am
A smattering of thoughts I guess.

Or just things?  Fucked if I know.

Emotionally I'm fucking tons better, so that's nice.  Went back to typing again and I'm sitting at 112wpm.  Trying to organize my playlists is going to be the death of me but I wouldn't have it any other way.  Loving new music, and sharing that music with people and just fucking enjoying it is probably one of the true-est things in my life.

Been thinking about life and death a lot recently, it weighs but I refuse to contemplate the future too hard.  In other ways it makes me think as well about music, there is a story there - a song created from a moment or feeling.  It meant something personal to the creator, but in every moment since then it has woven into the background of the lives of others.  Become anthems and heartbreak, the sounds of joy and love and in those instances it means something different to each and every person.  To me songs are like journal pages, I imagine them bound together by the twine of life and covered in scribbles and coffee rings.  Signatures left over from the people who shared them with me, leaving an indelible and permanent imprint on the fabric of my psyche.  People I've talked to once that I will always remember because of a song, the songs I sang with my mother in a different time as different people.  Coffee stains and dog ears, the emotions and the moments - music is the scrapbook of myself and it comes entirely from the stories and feelings of others.

I wonder sometimes at my relationships with people, some of my relationships are so fucking long.  When they matter they're seemingly forever.  I can't even fail at a relationship in less than a couple years.  My roomie has been my friend since birth, though we've gone through tough times.  Knowing me is not an act of brevity, also I think that probably means I don't let go well.

The world is... fuck me. How do you discuss what the world is currently?  It's heartbreaking and there is such a sense of helpless rage sometimes.  Why do we hate so goddamned much?  Build those walls saying only care about x or y, dehumanize people or ethnic groups.  No it's not worse than it's ever been, that's a fairy tale with glasses most certainly rose tinted.  It has always been shitty, it will always BE shitty because people are hard pressed to accept equality with the innate desire to be better, at least in my opnion.  It doesn't mean we can't try though, can't reach out a hand when the opportunity strikes and speak up when it needs to be done.

I have goals for this year, the most eh.. normal one I suppose is regarding flexibility.  I want to be able to do a standing split more forward, so that someone would be able to take an ankle and lead me into a split.  Tricks and contrivances made to amuse I guess, but still fun.  And there is joy in showing people a fat girl can do something, people frustrate me with how little they think I can do.  Baseline flexibilty when I got the idea to learn?  Placing my leg up on the wall while standing and my feet being above eye level.  I do splits and backbends and all sorts of things so FUCK YOU for thinking I can't do something.  You may not see my value but I line my bones with tricks and hold them close and warm.

Realization also comes from taking a long ass look at how I write, vaguebooking man.  Vague-fucking-booking.  I fill pages with inane ramblings, or take a while to circle to the point when something is tender and scary to talk about, because the vulnerability in those words scares me.  The attempt to be precise and pinpoint something is laborous, and wholly uncomfortable in how open and naked it leaves you.  I have been told that talking to me about causes for things is like a verbal spiderweb, but is that not the truth of a cause or reason?  Rarely formed without threads tying it to the actions of the past - a reason or a history or even a reaction if told truthfully and if it impacted meaningfully is very telling indeed.  I'm broken on the inside, not the outside.  The outside is foulmouthed, vague, full of snark and innuendo and humor, or haunting the edges of the room with walls a mile thick.  Response though is not about the action, it is about what the action stirred.  The response to a poem or a movie or a play whatever, that will not entirely be based in whatever was being done - it's comprised of how it hits you.  And when the impact is really there, to explain why or what or how it makes you feel is to lay bare the deepest parts of you and explain your own motives.  Or I dunno, it seems?

Beer, beer is good.

I still want to dance with someone, maybe this year?  But there are so many other changes coming this year.  I don't know that I'll write more here for a good long while, I think perhaps it traps me in the shitty things rather than helps bring me out.
16 December 2016 @ 11:36 pm
playing poor kid foods bingo with the roomies, and oh the things we remember.

tuna salad with tons of noodles to stretch it (still a favorite)
dry ramen crushed with the dry seasonings packet for lunches at school
tomato/ banana sandwiches
cheese sandwiches
mayo sandwiches
cabbage and kielbasa soup (still a favorite )
etc.  it's not BAD food, some of it is fucking delicious - but we all ate the same shit because it's fucking cheap.  grits my friends,  grits. 
15 December 2016 @ 06:35 pm
Grits are such finnicky little cunts - like.. they absorb taste like no other.  And when making like 15 cups of grits, even a tiny bit of stuck at the bottom will make them taste like shit.  This is my fuss face as I try to resolve that issue, also I like pepper - the roomies hate it.  This is going to be a problem.  QQQQQQQQQQQQQQ

But I feel bad because I fucked up dinner.  Like, I know they're going to complain.
13 December 2016 @ 03:39 am
It's always funny to me, that I'm the one considered the most sexually "out there."  Every single one of my friends has no qualms about making a joke regarding my promiscuity, my kink, my boldness.  I learned to wear my weaknesses (or some of them) like armor.

I've had sex with one man, and it was a nightmare.  A minefield of self-worth issues and ultimately completely crushing to what little self-esteem I had.

I just figured out from a funny video on facebook that what random dude was trying to do was dry hump me.  That's the term yes?  I just found it... weird.

I'm the first person for those jokes, but they're so far off base it's hilarious.  I have kink, quite a bit I guess but it's not the way most people might I think.  Mostly it's the control to reaffirm the other party is willing and shows me they WANT, which relaxes that steady inner fear.  It allows for sets of tasks to be done, to be broken down to component parts that are easier to handle.  People scare me, fucking up scares me, the inside of my head scares me, it's all there so it has to go somewhere or in fact it goes nowhere and I shut down.

It's funny I guess that I'm the most outspoken and brash of us.  Weakness as armor, it's the same as overloading people on information so they don't see the little bits you want kept safe. 
11 December 2016 @ 01:25 pm
Today is apparently a day for posting, a third one fuck.

But okay - facebook is sidebaring me about changes to food stamps.  Chips and ice cream are too unhealthy and what the fuck ever they're changing with all that.

I hate it.  Not because chips or ice cream AREN'T unhealthy, but because I feel like that is a level of policing that is unfair and discriminatory.  Truth - I grew up on foodstamps when we could get them.  Poor as balls, scrounging for change to purchase shit for dinner.  Mom going without food so I could eat, dad who didn't pay child support but lied about it so we got fucked on both ends.

No, we didn't actually have ice cream in the house like fucking ever.  But here's the deal yeah?  IT SHOULDN'T BE ANYONES FUCKING CALL.  It's Tom Cruise levels of fucking hovering.

I have heard shitfucks for years talk about how people shouldn't be able to buy this or that, and how they're middle class but have nothing because of the goddamned poor, and how the little nigger girls are popping out babies to live off the wages of people who actually work blah blah blah blah blah.  It's marginalizing, and dehumanizing, and it's distasteful.  I'm trying to find words to sum up the feels accurately.

The idea that being destitute or in need should dictate what food you are allowed to eat, what items you are allowed to own, where or how you should sleep... the ideas are inhumane.  The bottom line is that help is needed, and the people needing help should not be made to feel lesser than, there is no level of subjugation or restriction that will satisfy everyone as to the just-ness of the assistance provided.  Life is not about comparing, especially not from the outside.  Do not glance in a window and whine that someone has a toy you don't, and for fucks sake don't say they don't deserve something nice or beautiful because they have nothing ELSE.  To be needy or to be poor shouldn't mean you have to sacrifice everything, and yes I do see getting down to saying chips and ice cream aren't okay as "everything."

Here's why: I've heard complaints about the cars they drive - should they have a car if they're that needy?  Why don't they sell it, it's worth money.
Why do they have nice jewelry or nice clothing or a gaming system.
Why do they live in a larger house, or have so many kids.
Why do they have steak in their cart, or ice cream, or meat in general.

To be poor should not mean that you must live in a drafty shack with rags, eating cans of unheated beans and ramen because you have nothing else.  That DOES exist, worse situations exist, but it's not the entire definition and to narrow down need to such a tiny percentage of people negates those who might also be needy until they get there.

Essentially it demands that those who need help continue to decline until they are at that point, that is not a system of rehabilitation or a system of assistance.  It's a cruelty.

Also noting that you never know why that person who has steak in their cart has it.  Returning to the guilt from earlier, my mom sometimes made amazing birthday meals for me and because I only got to visit every once in a while (part of summer, and every other xmas holiday so weeks out of a year)  I didn't realize until later she was using her foodstamps.  So yeah, she was one of those people so very villified.  Trying to make a nice meal for the daughter she saw once a year, using her entire monthly allotment for a meal or so and living on bread for the rest of the month.  I feel like shit that she suffered that way, and I know she did it out of love.  But also?  Fuck y'all judgemental cunts who don't recognize that another person has the right to try to do something nice.

To be poor is to apparently give up the right to make choices, since you need help beg like the dog you are for the scraps you are allowed to have.  Suck a dick.  Rich or poor or whatever other label people are goddamned people, and every situation is different and deserves to be fucking SEEN.

also also also also

The people abusing the food stamps are selling them for meth <3  so it doesn't matter anyways.
11 December 2016 @ 01:04 pm
Another tiny note of fucking hilarity.  I had an itch, I scratched it.  That left giant red lines, which is ok - I dig them.  Roomie comes in and goes on about how painful it looks, so I decided on show and tell for pain limits.  Paddle brush, arm, several very firm strokes on the same spot.

Goal : if that doesn't hurt why would scratching an itch?

Reality : oh you must have really sensitive skin that marks super easily.

No, sir.  I just don't notice that shit, nerves are strange for me.  I can be hit hard enough to bruise, even with things like flat paddle brushes and not wince.  But dude just assuming it's because my skin marks easily gives me the fucking giggles considering how much of a giant pussy he is about shit.  I've lightly tapped him before and heard about how it hurts.  psssshhhhhht.


If tapping you with a nail, or lightly punching a shoulder is cause for ouch - you don't get to talk about my pain tolerance.  ;)

The fun stuff is fun, but I'll stand there and finish my cigarette on my feet with a toe ripped a third of the way through.  Sooooo.

Yep, I have princess skin <3
05 December 2016 @ 04:06 pm
Winter is always harsh I think, beautiful but harsh.  Some of my best memories are there, but also most of my worst.  Nix that actually, I don't have a lot of good winter memories, mostly they're shit but I'm hardheaded and refuse to have my holiday spirit squished out.  More leeched out, that slow siphoning suck of bullshit.  Mired in fucking quicksand is how I feel, just trapped and slowly sinking but like regular quicksand it won't KILL me or anything.  Just... shithouse.

Also, I decided to play with the weight I have and holy fuck did I neglect to realize how weak I've gotten.  10lb and I can only do it in sets of 50, I did 200 or so each arm first day.. but only 100 the next few because OW.  Which is also stupid, but yeah.  100-200 of TEN lb?  That's utterly pathetic.   Hear me roar and flail with my noodly arms of destruction.  I should just convert to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster now and save myself the fucking embarassment.

Speaking of, nothing says fun like commenting stupid cheesy shit on someone elses status.  Like hello - I'm the virtual equivalent of that dude wearing the deeply unbuttoned blouse in loud print with the overbearing stormfront WALL of dollar store cologne smacking you in the face, cheap and sleezy and awkward as fuck... it's nice to meet you.  I'd like to have the floor open up and swallow me right now <3    But I also am not quite smart enough to say anything else so I'm just gonna leave it limp wristing here for the moment, a placeholder that will hopefully spark enough interest that you take on the onus of communication so I can safely go back to what I was doing.  Sucking at in any way saying hello.

Train to oh god why departing in 5....