Platitude Paradise

I always loved that line in "The Mask". This post won't be nearly as cute and endearing as that movie was.  This is not going to be pretty. I strongly suggest that anyone who doesn't want a reason to smack me right up the side of my head may not want to read any further. I'm about to share something that, if I had a brain in my head - or an ounce of self respect - I would lock in a vault and pray nobody ever found it. I need to understand what is happening inside my head right now, and it seems like I can't always do that without laying it all out in the air and letting the sun dry all the damp, moldy bits ... you know, so I can take it all in. See it as a whole. Not all intertwined inside the folds of my grey matter. I am standing in a room coated in a thick layer of insidious gas ... like say, ether ... and a couple of flint rocks rolling around together in my hands. It's like I can't be happy unless I have something to obsess about. Som...

Is THIS me, or what? Well ... maybe not so intelligent or quiet ... but the rest fits. Oh, I don't think you can smoke thistles, so maybe not that, either. Crap ... even my metaphors are flawed these days. It's cloudy ... and cold. The truck is supposed to be fixed today ... providing nothing else breaks in the process (like the caliper did when Hubs tried to bleed the brakes last - costing us an additional $120). We are supposed to go camping tomorrow ... providing the weather holds. I can't find my tail ... prolly fell off anyway. I'm totes NOT... 'okay', that is. Although, I will tell you that any hugging is done at your own risk. Could go either way, I might freak at being touched ... or I might dissolve into a snot flying, projectile tear fest of a melt down. There's really no way to know which it would be ... I might recommend a 'no touch' policy ... for you...

ALL ABOARD! It's time for a ride on the crazy train, folks. I am neurotic.  I know ... *GASP*, right?  Seriously though ... I am not unaware of my short comings as a humanoid. I suffer from an upsy-downsy sort of existence even when the terrain around me is relatively mundane. I honestly thought for most of my life (to this point) that it was an anti-boredom mechanism built into my drama soaked brain. So, for the most part, I have been inclined to embrace it somewhat. Here is a highly inconvenient truth for me to chew on - neurosis does not a successful business starter-upper, make.  Let me give you a visual for instance: click click click click ... click ... So we get started on the climb. This is the more labour intensive part of the process, but oddly is the part in which I am most comfortable - mostly because there is action on my part and therefore, I have a false sense of control. I like control. I know ... *...

My Mom is moving out next weekend. It's finally here.  THIS is what we've trained for, people! I find myself fervently wishing our house was sold and that we were also moving on ... into a more affordable and subsequently healing housing situation. We aren't, but I am still attempting optimism in the healing department.  I have long believed that regret is a wasted emotion. It really is. I mean, you should learn from your past, but spending valuable time on regret seems highly counter productive ... but I have to say if ever I felt regret, it is about this situation I find myself living of late. Don't get me wrong, I really love my house ... but more than anything , I just don't want it to beat us. I regret buying it more than any other one decision I have ever made (and truly, that is a weighty statement right there). Further to that buyer's remorse, I regret getting it into my head that my mother should live with us ... and I regret trying t...

I'm going to be entirely self-indulgent. Cripes ... I couldn't even type that without snorting out loud. I think I have successfully chased away all of my readers ... or certainly anyone who ever comments. That's alright, it would be much better for me if I could just be completely candid and unedited. I doubt it's going to happen, but it's worth a try, I suppose. I am so bloody worried about what others think of me, I'm becoming a pathological obsessive freakazoid.  I had this long conversation in my head today while I was having a shower. I was having it with JJ (the conversation, not the shower).  ~ I am still going to meet with him to discuss the possibility of doing some work with his employer. It would be a cherry gig if I could get it. Honestly, it would give my company a massive punt forward. For better or for worse, really. It would either prove to me once and for all that I CAN actually do this ... or that I can't. Either way, it sa...

"I was a heavy heart to carry ... My beloved was weighed down ... my arms around his neck ... my fingers laced to crown I was a heavy heart to carry ... My feet dragged across the ground ... and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown My love has concrete feet, my love's an iron ball ... wrapped around your ankles ... over the waterfall" Ever have a relationship like this?  I did .  Oh ... how did I love him ... let me count the ways. I loved him like a love song ... before Selena friggen Gomez went and ruined that line.  It was like a wrought iron sculpture, the love I had for that boy:  Massive ~ Heavy ~ Black ~ Beautiful "JJ" was my first love, my 'first time' and my first real taste of heartbreak. We spent most of the two years we were a couple (at the ripe old ages of 16/18 and 17/19) embroiled in a massive power struggle. Of course at the time, I was struggling with the recent brutal rape ...

...as in: I am fraught with self doubt. If I could make just one wish, I think it would be to have the ability to know the difference between instinct and fear. { Oh - who the hell do I think I am kidding? If I had one wish, I'd want money. Plain and simple. Then, it wouldn't matter what was fear and what was instinct. } I performed an organizational service for a client this past Friday. It was awful. Truly. She has OCD and (based solely on my non-professional and completely uneducated medical opinion) a hoarding disorder. But, she wants help ... she just isn't ready. I learned a BIG lesson. Several of them, actually. The "Coles Notes" version of the story is as follows: I spent just over nine hours working on three of four closets I was hired to organize. I got to hour six (and closet three) and she lost it and had to have everything back the way it had been. So, I did as I was asked. She paid me half of the original $90 quote (which was barely a third ...