I am an awesome artist.

Okay. I think when I post pictures from my phone, they show up at the top of my post. If it isn’t at the top, it’s at the bottom. And if it isn’t in either of those places, I may throw a temper tantrum and I don’t hate not having home internet AT ALL.

Anyway, the picture that is SOMEWHERE on this blog post is a headache scale that I drew a long time ago to give people a way to relate to my pain. I’d give it to my doctor, if I had one, but I am UNINSURED so I don’t and that isn’t irritating at all either. Not that taking it to a doctor would do me any good, since the last doctor I had (years ago), while more than happy to give me a diagnosis of migraines, refused to give me anything to control them as long as I “have a womb.” Because all sane women go out and get major surgery solely to get medication for something completely unrelated to said surgery. Jeez.

On the other hand, that does assume that by not doing that I actually am sane, which is kind of QUESTIONABLE. (Didja see what I did there? Didja?)

DESPITE seeming to be very grumpy today, I really am not. I am just in a lot of pain, which brings me back to the whole point of this!

I didn’t post Thursday because I woke up at 3 that morning with a migraine. I didn’t post Friday because of the same STUPID MIGRAINE. And I am posting today because I feel guilty about not posting Thursday and Friday, even though I don’t normally post on the weekends and still have said migraine, which, if you will refer to the aforementioned pain scale, is at an 8 today.

My headaches. I used to keep track of them. Around 5 days a week, I have a headache that ranges between 4 and 7 on that scale. Once a week or so, I hit an 8 or higher, and once a month I get owned by a 10. The rest of the time, which is something like THREE WHOLE DAYS out of every month, I am pain free.

Generally speaking, they’re all separate headaches, not one that lasts days on end. Those are fairly rare, thank the Gods, because they KILL ME! Or make me want to kill myself, anyway (mostly figuratively speaking), and damnit, when I kill myself I want it to be out of misery, not because I have tried to decapitate myself in a desperate bid to end the pain that is turning my head inside out!

So yeah. The reason I haven’t been posting is because I am too busy wishing I didn’t have a head, which is something that probably could have been summed up with far fewer words, but oh well. You guys like reading my babble anyway, right? RIGHT?!

Okay, I’m done. Bye!

Have a great day y’all.

When my step son was little, he would call me a dumb bitch. Now, I’m not denying that I am a dumb bitch, but no 3 year old child needs to say that, so my in laws decided to give him a replacement word before I murdered him in a terribly violent manner. Instead of letting him call me a dumb bitch, they encouraged him to call me Bambi. Bambi definitely sounds better in public, but I knew what he really meant, and I wasn’t any happier about it. He was still essentially saying something entirely inappropriate, and now I had two phrases to delete from his vocabulary, one of which was the title of a favorite movie of mine! Awesome.

It took many threats of doom and destruction, but I finally got my step son to stop calling me both Bambi AND dumb bitch, much to the dismay of my in laws, who seemed utterly unable to understand why I was protesting to his use of Bambi. As if it actually were something cute and innocent. Hmph. Bambi only sounded cleaner. In reality, it was paint over a stain, and a very thin coat of paint at that!

Anyway, I digress a little. My point here is, replacement words? Kinda stupid. And pointless. They really aren’t any less offensive if you think about it. I dunno. Maybe that’s just me.

What do you guys think? Replacement words: useful tools, or a ridiculous waste of breath?

…I’m not finishing that line.

SPEAKING of unexpected things. Once, years ago, we had this junk car. It was going to go to the crusher, so we decided to have a little fun with it. We took bats and smashed windows, dented the hood, et cetera et cetera. I was kicking the door, and I COULD NOT get the stupid dent to stay in it.

Kick! WHAM! …Pop.
Kick! WHAM! …Pop.

Most frustrating thing ever. Finally after I don’t know how many kicks, the door gave up. The dent didn’t pop out. I was so excited I started jumping up and down, waving my arms around and yelling “YAY!”

Suddenly, behind me, there was applause. I spun around to look and saw that some people had pulled up to the stop sign near the house and decided to stay and watch me kick the door. When I got it, they cheered for me. Ugh. I was so embarrassed. I can turn some really nice shades of red and I am pretty sure I hit every single one of them that day. Goodness. They drove off and I spent the rest of the day in hiding.

I handle unexpected things soo well, let me tell you.

Once I was watching… One of the um, … Dangit, what’s it called? Um…. Hrmmm. Final… FINAL DESTINATION! That’s it! One of the Final Destination movies, when somebody got squished. I was all by myself and it was a total surprise to me. I screamed, leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen. Because in my head I’m 12, that’s why. I spent the rest of the movie peeking around the corner watching it from there. Me, a dork? NEVER! You probably shouldn’t ever watch even a really lame horror movie with me though. Not unless you feel like listening to me squeal every time something happens while I watch the movie from between my fingers because I’ve covered my face with my hands.

12, remember?

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying here is that I’m awesome with surprises. Surprise!

In case you didn’t notice, I have returned my two depressing posts and their comments to their original glory. I censor myself too much every day to do it on my blog too. Enjoy.

It’s January now, dangit! When I was a kid, we had waist deep snow by October, and on Halloween we went Trick-or-Treating in it uphill! Both ways!

Actually, every bit of that is true. I lived in the mountains when I was little, of course there was snow and hills! I know I can be a smart ass at times, but you guys didn’t really think I’d lie to you, did you? I’m hurt!

Someone turned the heater up to 70 last night, and Imma kill whoever it was when I find out. I keep my thermostat set at 60. 64 if I think I might be cold, but 70? 70 is too high like, ever, but especially when Winter apparently FORGOT TO COME THIS YEAR. So I woke up all hot and grumpy and this morning I’m walking around in jeans and a tank top with the windows open. That’ll teach ‘em! Stupid thermostat is back where it’s supposed to be too. 70. Jeez.

So I have been trying to modify some of my more erm… Coarse language a little, recently. (Yes, I know there is a bad word up there. I’m not changing it. Because I don’t want to, that’s why!) I already use substitute words like “bleep” and “ampersand” (yes, I really say those), but I have been trying to get rid of even more cuss words and DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO CLEAN UP YOUR LANGUAGE WHEN YOU’VE CUSSED LIKE A SAILOR YOUR WHOLE BLEEPING LIFE?! It’s ffffffff… Bleeping hard, yo!
Grr.

I do that a lot now.
“Ffffffffffffff… Argh! Where did that wall come from?”
“Son of a…. RRRRRRRRRGH! How does a person trip over flat surfaces so bleeping often? “
“Ow! The mother fffffff – stupid dog bit my stupid ffff – BLAH! My stupid TOE, and it hurt dam…. DANGIT!”

By the end of the day my language has usually devolved into something far less pretty. Chelle. Foul-mouthed, accident prone clutz since… Forever.

Anyway. I have to go now. Walls to walk in to, floors to trip over, dogs to get nommed by, mouths to wash out, thermostat messers-withers to hunt down… You know. The usual. Take care, all. Have a good day!

SECONDLY, I need to give a shout out to my very bestest best friend Jam, whose birthday is today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAM!

On with the show!

My kids. They are loud. Very loud. Now, I know you could say that about most children, but I’m pretty sure mine take it to extremes. And sometimes, they draw me in. Philomelus will run up to me and shriek in my face. In return, I’ll yell right back at him. Then Ploutos joins in, and next thing I know, all three of us are shrieking at the tops of our lungs, each trying to hit the highest note we possibly can. I usually lose myself in the moment until I realize my throat hurts, then it’s all “Guys! Shush! We can’t be this loud!” As I sheepishly look around to make sure no one saw me being so uninhibited, even though I KNOW there was no one nearby. It’s so much fun. People say that when you’re angry you should just yell to let it out, but I’m saying that the really theraputic thing? Is to scream for the joy of it.

We do it with howling too. It started when I would read Philomelus one of his books about animals. We’d get to the coyote and I would ask him what sound it makes, and my little baby boy would let out the sweetest little howl you ever heard. Sometimes we’d howl at Philomelus just to see if he’d howl back. Then came Navi, who howls. I would love to howl with her, so I try to join in (she shuts up). Then my boys will start and we’re all howling together with the dog looking at us the whole while like we’re nucking futs.

I still have dreams of howling with my dog. It WILL happen some day! What’s that you said about me being crazy? I couldn’t hear you over all the noise.

Ahem. Anyway. I am normally a quiet person that enjoys quiet surroundings, but my kids bring out the child in me. The child that revels in life just because she has it and is absolutely unabashed to let the world, even the universe, know exactly that. I recommend trying it some time. Make some noise, just for the fun of it. I dare you.

I SHOULD be happy with what I have; a roof over my head, a husband that provides for my children while letting me stay at home with them – and they’re all HEALTHY children at that!  I have friends and family that care about me… But I’m not happy. I’m miserable. I’m miserable and I feel so guilty about that. Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have? What kind of horrible person am I that I can’t be happy?

People say that I need to get out or buy myself “something nice”, but that makes me feel even worse. You’re telling me that, in order to be happy, I have to get away from the people I love? How ridiculous is that? Not only that, time and money spent on me is time and money not spent on my family. It makes me feel selfish and material. I do not want to be that person.

I think about suicide not because I am in a bad situation, but because I can’t get away from myself.  I am so, so tired of being angry and depressed. I’m tired of turmoil. I just want some peace. Inner peace, outer peace… Just peace. This constant, overwhelming depression is wearing. In my darkest moments, it seems as though the only way to end it is… Well, to end it all.

Most days I feel utterly isolated and alone. I don’t know how to reach out to people, and I don’t know how to let people in. In all honesty, I am afraid of both. I am scared that someone will see into the far recesses of my soul and recoil from what they find there. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to hurt any more than I already do. Sometimes I want to hide so that no one can see me. Sometimes I want to run away. And that makes me so very ashamed of myself.

On rare occasion I do get brave enough to talk about what’s going on inside my head, but I feel guilty about that, too. My friends aren’t my friends so I can bring them down. They aren’t there for me to dump on. They don’t want to listen to me whine. It isn’t fair to them. So most of the time, I put on a fake, happy front and pretend to be strong, pretend that everything is okay. In reality, in the depths of my heart, I feel like I’m suffocating on these stupid tears that won’t quit coming. Tears that have no right or reason to be here. Nothing is okay. I feel like nothing will ever be okay and I don’t know why!

I feel like a terrible person. Like I am fundamentally flawed and that I will never be fixed. Worse, that I CAN’T be fixed. I feel that, because I am unhappy, I am failing everyone that I love. I want so much to be normal. I have it made, right? I have a good life. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t understand why I can’t just be happy.

I said I was going to try to blog more often, and I will. I stopped blogging because I didn’t want to be -that blog-. You know, the one no one reads because it’s become so suffocatingly depressing that even just seeing that it’s been updated gets a person down. I realized yesterday though that being that blog? Is probably better than being the blog that nobody reads because it isn’t, you know, updated. So here I am, updating.

I’ve been doing a lot of questioning of my self lately. My self worth, specifically. I am trying to convince myself that the words I have heard from so many people throughout life, including myself (Well you’re about worthless, aren’t you?), aren’t as true as I believe them to be. I have so far been unsuccessful.

I’ve been thinking about happiness a lot too. I have come to see that happiness is both subjective and relative. For a long time, I thought that I was happy, or should be, anyway, simply because I am alive, my husband isn’t physically abusive, my children are provided for and I have been in worse places in life. Now though… I don’t know. Maybe I want a happiness that makes me smile, makes me laugh. I deserve that, don’t I? Don’t I? Ugh. I don’t know the answer to that I question. I’m not sure I do deserve that. I really don’t know.

I’ve been in a very dark place since moving back to Oklahoma. At times I have resented having children because as long as they need me, I can’t commit ess-you-eye-see-eye-dee-ee. I don’t resent my children. I could never do that, I love them with every fiber of my being. It’s the most powerful feeling I have ever experienced. But I resent that they’re keeping me here, tied to this world from which I really would like to make a hasty exit. And it sucks.

I’m going to try to write here more often. It probably won’t be pretty writing, but maybe getting stuff out will be healing for me. I’m getting to a point that I’m not sure I care how much my children need me anymore. And that scares me. I think I need to heal. But I am afraid of that, too.

I hope all of you are well. Take care.

I was recently reminded by a Regular Reader that some of you do care about what’s going on with me.

I have been trying to better myself. Quiting smoking,  trying to eat more (anorexia, depression and stress dropped me down to a scary 120 pounds – not good for someone of my height), and being more appreciative of the good things and people in my life.

I am still in a difficult and troubling time, but I am here and mostly okay. I know I keep saying this – but I will try harder to keep up with my blog.

Again, I love you all, and I appreciate your support more than I can say. Be well, everyone.