because I'm so god damn sick of the sound of my own voice whining that I'm about to divorce myself.
and, like Thumper's dad told him, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say nothin' at all"
(yes, it nearly killed me to write "don't say nothin"--eeek!! but, I can hardly correct a sweet little bunny's grammar, right?)
There haven't been a lot of summers that started off with this much rain, here in Utah, but the last one I remember didn't end so well. That spring was like living in the northeast, not the southwest--rain, rain, and more rain. Summer arrived aburptly and somewhat breathlessly--adjusting its skirt and wiping the smudged lipstick off its cheek--on the first day of June. People in a desert don't know how to handle that much rain, and everyone had started acting a little shifty. The summer itself was so hot, it seemed to last forever, but when September first hit, the thunderstorms began and the rain started back up--with snow dusting the mountain tops within the week. The change in weather seemd to trigger something...something primal, perhaps...but the spring's shiftiness turned to seething rage--or delirious laughter, depending on the person, the time of day, or the color of the sky. A full moon happened to fall in that first week of September, too...and oh, if Mother Nature could have taken that back, she would have. It was, most likely, the straw that broke that camel's back. Tall slender women seemed to sway in the wind, like trees--their hair or jewelry or skirts making an unsettling sound...dry leaves? Short, roundish men were becoming stationary with surprising rapidity--surprising for things to stop moving so abruptly and yet still appear to have never before moved. They took on a greyish pallor--with moss on the shady side. There were reports of young children bursting into flames, at junctures where normally they would have burst into tears. "Sorry Jimmy, your puppy got hit by a car--" POOOF! Gone, with only a set of braces gleaming up out of a pile of ashes to prove he had been there at all. Me? I reached up and grabbed a bolt of lightening, one dusty afternoon under heavy masses of grey clouds, with my bare feet squishing into the mud. It gave me a little shock as it touched my outstretched palm, but I closed my fingers around it and gave a little tug. Down it came, bringing its crash of thunder behind like a chariot. I rolled it up into a ball, pressed together in my small hand, and shoved it deep into my pocket. The rain was coming harder, now, and I turned my face up--gulping it down. I glanced behind me, and felt a little silly, but I knew it would work--I jumped straight up, and with that I took flight. I flew straight into the storm, and gathered it around me, directing it, moulding it. Ride the lightening? Yeah. ...something like that.
(I don't know how that came out, I'm not reading it back just yet. and if you're new here, I only write one way: fast and rough. kinda like sex...minus the fast part.)
Or at least maybe I'll become a real blogger again.
was I ever a real blogger?
perhaps oui, perhaps non.
all I know is, lately, I feel so out of step it's like I'm doing a god damn line dance in a ballet class.
and the strangest things make me feel...
the strangest ways.
that sounds so vague, doesn't it?
I like being vague, sometimes, ok?
to summarize: I keep getting my feelings hurt over super stupid stuff.
taking things personally that have nothing to do with me...
feeling left out of secret happy clubs.
and then, to top it all off, I come here to try to write away my simply inane sadness, and I can't write shit.
or, rather, I write only shit.
(bah, black sheep?)
oh yeah, and I feel like I'm giving too much and getting nothing back,
but that's my own fault.
I just need to stop doing things I don't want to do.
yes, that means you.
that was a joke--could you tell?
I know, it felt a little more painful than a joke is normally supposed to be,
It was nowhere near as painful as a kick to the groin--
no matter what your gender.
I actually have sunk so low that I watched the E! True Hollywood Story of the Hilton Sisters.
ONLY in the hopes of finding something other than the utterly detestable--
to no avail.
yes, yes, I know.
intervention is probably requisite at this point.
put me in a drug rehab center, would you?
I think it would remind me to
do you know what I would do if I was a Psych major?
or, more like working on my Masters or PhD in Psychology?
I would read blogs, to practice diagnosing all the craziest wild deviant behaviors.
I would LOOOVE to hear my diagnosis.
with delusions of grandeur.
fucking right, man.
only, there's no delusion...
I am grandEUR than you, at least--
see? I should be on the funny farm cultivating funny vegetables, or rubber chickens, at least.
for all yous 'mericans who have a holiday tomorrow--
I know I will--
(despite what you read here...)