Samplings of a Letter

I sometimes find myself sitting at my desk wondering if insanity is really such a bad option.  Right now I almost pray for delusions of grandeur and visions of dancing unicorns.  I don't think the truly insane feel pain like this.  Never have I felt so inconsolably lost.  I fake my way through the day with smiles and positivity while inside I'm torn, beaten, and burning.  I'm overwhelmed with the support across the board and don't know how to respond to it....or how to explain that some days no matter how much they all care, it isn't nearly enough.

I'm trying to find the time to learn who I am now...as a person.  I've spent my entire adulthood as a couple and am unsure how to approach the world now that the security of that is gone.  Even time seems to move differently now.  It seems to blur together and stand still at the same time.  Maybe I need a new habit.....or hobby as the case may be, but nothing seems to keep my attention.  TV and movies aren't the same when I'm alone (stupid romance), gaming alone is lame, I can't focus on anything long enough to read.  Hell, writing this has been almost like pulling teeth.  That isn't to say I'm not enjoying writing, but that it takes much more effort than it ever has and makes it hard to want to "try" something that has always come so naturally.  I just want to sleep away my time and not bother with anything else.  I'm always so tired.

Living Alice

Running scared, lost and confused
and stumbled into my very own rabbit hole.
One to give me love. One to give me pain.
One to set me off, one to set me straight.
Which door to choose, which path to take?


Chaos in ways never before imagined
The world upside down by surprise. 
Foes in places unsuspected
for reasons unknown
And no way to turn back or go home.

Waffles

My son is the most amazing little boy in the world. He is caring, loving, and the funniest person I know. Last night, he was snuggly and lovey and I can't tell you how much I love that kid. Really, this post is just a rambling explanation of how amazing Orion is and that each day he shows me just how blessed I am to have him in my life. He's taught me so much about myself and the world. Last night's lesson: True love is sharing your waffle.

My Muse

The muse...the source of inspiration...lifeblood and curse of any writer. Mine tends to want to play after everyone else goes to bed. Usually this is met with an internal struggle debating between the need to get an idea solidified and the desire to sleep. My mind tells me "sleep is for the weak" while my body tells me "sleep or pay tomorrow." There is no chance at making both happy, so a decision must be made. Are those midnight thoughts worth the sluggish morning feeling, or is that extra sleep worth losing a thought that may never be thought by you (or anyone else) ever again?

The muse can be an amazing lover; embracing and fulfilling, giving into your desires and making your wildest dreams come true. It can also be a cold-hearted bitch; coming back time and again at a whim, showing up when you'd rather she not, and hiding away when you're begging her to come home, showing up unannounced on your porch and demanding your attention in the middle of your birthday party.

The muse is that secret voice that whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you're drifting off to dreamland. Sometimes those thoughts will keep you warm and and cozy as the world slowly darkens around you. Sometimes though they will catch you off guard and scare away all chances of rest until an idea is complete.

We have no control of it, nor a true desire to control it. Only a slight annoyance with the way it tends to appear at the most inconvenient times possible. However, if I had to chose, I would rather it show up inconveniently than not show up at all. As I said, it is my lifeblood. Through it I am given the freedom of thought and expression. I'm given the chance to think and explore in a way that my brain would otherwise never be able to. I almost feel sorry for those who have never been so struck by an idea that they must crawl out of bed and write it as quickly as possible while praying that the idea won't fade away completely.

It's the desire to create that keeps me coming back for more, begging for her attention, secretly laying awake at night and hoping to hear her whispering in the darkness. It's generally when it's least expected that she decides to grace me with her presence. Even when I so desperately want to be sleeping and she appears, I'm still grateful she's returned.

So tonight, I spend the night wrapped with my occasional lover, enjoying the sweet familiar embrace, and watch the sun rise.

Now I Lay Me

Now I lay me down to sleep
my soul....I want to fucking keep
If I die before I wake
that's one less breath I have to take.

Now I lay me down to sleep
In my bedroom I will creep
Into bed I will now slide
Right before the sun does rise.

Now I lay me down to sleep
and hide beneath the blankets deep
If I make it through the night
I didn't make it without a fight.

Now I lay me down to sleep
against my chest, the knife I keep
and now you I won't mislead
my wrists are slit and now I bleed.

Now I lay me down to die
and kiss this fucking world good bye
Life became a fucking chore
I could not take it anymore.

Now I lay me down to die
there is no reason for you to cry
It wouldn't matter if you do
For, tonight, my life is through.

Accepting Me

Staring off into space, replaying a conversation that I may someday have to have in the future. Playing both sides in my head in an effort to prepare myself for the worst. It's what I do.

Little things can drive me crazy....like considering how different things would be if I would have ran that stop light, or making sure that I have my ID on me, even if I have checked 4 times already. Eventually these stupid concerns become habit, like touching my ID before walking out the door, or or refusing to say "good-bye" to loved ones when hanging up the phone (I always end with I love you because I think it's a much better sentiment to end on). I try to keep most of this insanity to myself. It's incredibly embarrassing to be caught doing something that logically I understand is stupid, but that doesn't make it any easier to not do it. It's called OCD and it's my life.

There are days that are super easy and it's barely noticeable....days that I don't care if my food happens to touch each other on it's plate and don't wonder if I could pay the bills if my husband were to leave me (mind you we have been together for 10 years so this is a pretty irrational thought). However, there are other days....days that a little thought or idea can drive me insane for hours on end. Days where I replay past conversations to see if I could have made them turn out better, and replay ones that I see myself having in the future to prepare for the worst. Days where I get freaked out when someone else uses my hand sanitizer or tries to hug me. I suffer in my silence because I really do know what that it sounds crazy. I don't want people to think I'm crazy. I have rituals for things...lots of things...that most people don't even notice...even those that are closest to me. I am not a clean freak, and germs don't normally give me the willies, so don't get the wrong idea, but that doesn't mean that I don't suffer in a very different way. I have tried really hard to get past my issues, and some of them I have been able to conquer.

In the past I would never call anyone, and definitely wouldn't call a stranger to do something like, say, order a pizza. Last night I didn't think twice before calling to order food from our local restaurant. I'm not defeated, and I'm not giving up, but more taking the steps to acknowledge that I am different, and I'm ok with that. I think it makes me who I am, but I won't ever let it define me.

Bad Music

I've been told that I have really weird taste in music. To start off, let it be known that "Done Wrong" by Vermillion Lies is currently playing on my last.fm and I'm rocking out in my cubical at work. I love music of many different flavors. If you can spur emotion in me, or make me feel like I should be dancing, or spark a memory, or just do something I tend to fall head over heals in love with your sound. Lyrics are a totally different subject. There have been many songs that I have hated when I initially heard them, but after forcing myself to actually listen to the lyrics I feel myself melting on the inside and letting those words become a part of my soul. Weezer is one of those bands. I really didn't like their sound and the whining of the lead singer just about drove me up the wall, until one day I sat down and listened to the randomness of their lyrics and knew I had been wrong. There are, however, other songs that the lyrics are absolutely horrifyingly terrible, but I love them anyway, because they make me want to move, or dance, or make love, or anything. For example.....there is a song called "Chicken with it's head cut off." Lyrically this has to be absolutely the worst song in existence....but I love it. The sound, the way it makes me feel. I love it. Music just makes me happy....need I say more?