A Quirk-ful Life

I have A LOT of bad habits. most are fairly harmless. BUT. i am not willing to admit them here or now. or ever. at least publicly. i masturbate at least once or twice a day, but i’m not ashamed of that in the least. i don’t even feel slightly guilty about it. i’ll just say that i chew my nails, that i leave the water running when i brush my teeth, and usually forget to use coupons and leave it at that.

what? you say i’m a procrastinator? that i make list after list and never finish it all? i have several books in the works and am too afraid of failure to finish them? ok. so you got me. so what? i admitted to chronic, daily masturbation- isn’t that enough? or i do need to also admit that i rarely follow through on anything? that i rarely vacuum out my car? am i supposed to talk about my swearing? about my negative nelly/cynical jaded bitch attitude? well, i won’t.

i love bloody gory movies, and don’t work out enough. i love carbs and when i actually get the chance to read- i enjoy young adult fiction. i don’t wear my seatbelt all of the time, and i’m a bit of a boozy partygirl, despite being a mother. i get dandruff and would prefer to wear pajamas constantly if it was socially acceptable. i just TODAY found out what macarons actually were. i don’t recycle as much as i could. i am extremely carnivorous. i DESPISE romantic comedies. i don’t consider myself a feminist and love when boys do stuff for me. i hate my dogs sometimes and don’t vacuum steps. i hate breakfast and red velvet anything. i’m judgey and hate most people. i am often late.

i am flawed. i admit it. hell, i didn’t even shower today and i was at the mall. BUT. i did take down and put away the christmas tree and visited a good friend. i probably said ‘the f word’ as many times as i checked facebook and ate too much junk food. but that’s who i am. and i like myself a lot- even if I’m not guilty for walking around the mall unshowered.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/daily-prompt-quirky/

Who Can It Be Now?

If i had the choice to be ANYONE in the world- living or dead?   *thinks*  I’m surprising even myself by saying that i’d choose being me- no matter what. and although my life has been one fucked up hotmess after the next, i still wouldn’t ever change being good ol’ *Miss Tee*, if for no other reason than i’m a tenacious motherfucker and i really would like to see how my epic tale ends.

however, having chosen myself, if i had ‘it’ to do all over, i would like to make the following changes-

  1. lose all of this weight.  or at least, have the knowledge and forethought as a younger version of me to NEVER have gained this mass of mess to begin with.
  2. not listen to my parents as much as i did.  being a kid/teen/young adult, i foolishly believed that my parents always were always most concerned with my well being.  i figured that since they were adults, and were responsible for me, that they knew best, and would never do anything that wasn’t for my ‘own good’.  but now, having been a parent for nineteen years and with some actual life experience, i see just how fucked up my parents were.  hindsight is truly 20/20, and my therapy sessions would double if i dwelled on all of the mistakes my parents dragged me through, not to mention most of it wasn’t even ‘best intentions’-type of stuff.  adults make mistakes. and parents are adults. parental word is NOT god.  i know this NOW.
  3. make better choices.  including but not limited to- not falling in love so quickly, learning to be on my own and more independent in general, and learning more LIFE SKILL-sy things like car maintenance and home repair.
  4. not get pressured into school right out of high school.  the biggest regret of my entire life was being forced into secondary education before i was ever ready.  i never had the choice to just float and make mistakes before i was thrust into the BIGPEOPLE WORLD, and over two decades later, i still feel like i am paying for that.  i wish i had the chance to experience life a lot more before being thrust into adulthood at age seventeen.  i learned how to live paycheck to paycheck, and how to live off of credit cards, only to have to get money from my credit cards to pay my credit card bills.  i learned how to live on one meal a day, mostly on ‘discarded’ sandwiches from the cafe where i worked.  i learned how to work two jobs until i was so exhausted that i skipped class- A LOT.  i had absolutely no social life which caused so much unhappiness and resulted in more bad choices and i cared very little about moving forward in life.  worst of all, this probably resulted in my agoraphobia, panic anxiety disorder and yes, a lot of my weight problems.  to top it off, i graduated very mediocrely, which obviously didn’t help me land any topnotch art jobs, except, at an art supply store, ironically called Top Notch.

i don’t like to live in the past and try not to dwell on all of the shit, but it’s hard to not get bogged down in blame or a big ol fat shame spiral when things are less than shiny- even more than twenty years later.

however, having said all of this,  i was lost in the moment as we were driving around Ocean City looking at Christmas lights the other night, and realized that i finally am living in THE PRESENT.  i no longer want to sit and try to make up for mistakes in the past, and i’m certainly not going to wait around until my life is ‘perfect’ before i start living.  it took forty years for me to get here, and with any luck, i’ll be around on earth at least forty more (*knocks on wood*), and i don’t want to waste any more time on the ‘what if’s’ or thinking i can’t do things UNTIL (*insert thing i’ll probably never get around to*).  at the bottom of it all, i’m not unhappy with who i am, i know that i still have an amazing lifetime ahead of me, and don’t want to miss a thing.

Most Horrible String of Events to Date….

-i didnt salt my eggplant enough and had that back-of-the-throat-itchy-allergic-reaction-thing
-was so hungry and angry about not wanting to waste my eggplant that i ate it all anyways- which ended with me having flu-like symptoms
-was late for work because of all of the damn construction around West View
-my ipod shit the bed. like, it died a horrible death- “red X in a circle” icon of doom and everything
-my phone decided to shit the bed and crash when i went to look for a solution to my ipod’s “red X in a circle” thing
-my laptop crashed as i was looking up how to fix my phone’s problem that was caused by my ipod
-found my spare ipod and peer pressured myself to the gym, where my spare ipod decided it didnt want to work either, so i was forced to listen to the gym’s awful “Workout Motivating Mix”—which you have to know, was horrible, you guys.
-nearly FELL THROUGH AND OVER the stationary bike that i was trying to mount. i’m really short AS WELL AS fat, so getting onto equipment made for normal humans is ALWAYS a challenge.
-was too embarrassed to adjust the seat of my stationary bike, so i rode that fucker for 25 minutes awkwardly and in pain, knees knocking the handlebars. CLASSY AND AWESOME.
-left the gym not feeling exercised, but defeated and music-less.
-EXIT TO GET ME HOME WAS BLOCKED FOR NO APPARENT REASON so i was detoured around a shady neighborhood for 25 minutes, lost as fuck.
-found my way to where i needed to be, and was met with a WALL OF TRAFFIC. NO ONE LET ME MERGE, so i became murderous.
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark”- hit 5th STAGE OF HATE
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark” and “LOW FUEL” light came on.
-actually considered getting out of my vehicle and pooping on side of the road.
-traffic finally started moving before i pooped on the side of the road and started flinging my feces at vehicles because i officially hit 6th STAGE OF HATE.
-got home, thankful to not have pooped my pants, run out of gas, murdered anyone, or in jail.

this all happened to me yesterday. and this horrible string of events is PRECISELY why i suffer from agoraphobia and HATE leaving my house.
i thought i’d share.
i can always look back and say- “well, today might be bad, but at least it isnt as bad as that night i actually considered pooping on the side of a busy road”.

side effects

Celexa.  Cymbalta.  Prozac.  Lexapro.
Paxil.  Ativan.  Seroquel. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm….. there you go.

Just a few things I need, indeed, to stay up
Interesting to think I can be fed my moods, or lack thereof, in a cup.

Wellbutrin.  Zoloft.  Zyprexia.  Valerian root tea.
All served up and ready to produce an even better me.

The celexa gave me lockjaw so bad that I thought I had died.
Cymbalta didn’t do anything so I sat around and cried.
Prozac made me feel funky and all jittery with the shakes.
Lexapro I don’t remember much, but the horrible stomach aches.

cute and sugary coated like that rhyming poetry shit- that’s just not me.
my quirky doctor wanted me to write out how I was feeling and that was the first bunch of crap that just popped into my brain.
and it made me want to barf.  it made me actually feel worse than before i sat down to write it.

but the other part, the part that i wrote and DIDN’T SHARE?  was so much worse. 
and you never want to do something that opens yourself up for judgement by your therapist,
or allow them to see the basketcase that you really are.

On Writing

so, i have always loved writing. i always enjoy the control of it, the catharsis, the release, the power. i love the creation and evolution and even organization of written words. not to sound trite, but i have been writing as long as i can remember- even going so far as getting caught and BUSTED in 4th grade for a naughty illustrated short story called “HORNY MOANA.” but as life went on, reality and the BIGPEOPLE WORLD clouded my brain from ever becoming a successful writer. self doubt, improbability and the general PIPE DREAM of being an accomplished writer was squashed dead, like the proverbial cockroach. i can look back to a period of almost a decade where i believed writing to be such a farfetched fantasy that i didnt write ANYTHING AT ALL. no real surprising coincidence that it was about the time of my FIRST GREAT DEPRESSION….

something inside broke and i was unable to process any of my emotions which all seemed to be fighting to try and get out at once. i hated so much about my life, my self, my everything. i cried nonstop for days and days. my brain was short-circuiting and i couldnt figure out what to do, so i picked up a notebook and started to write again.

i remember writing for two days solid. it was dark and sinister, cruel and cold, and moreover, it was barely legible. but it didnt matter. words spewed forth and as if by magick, disappeared into the universe. so writing was back on the menu, and for awhile, was all the mental medication i needed. after awhile BIGPEOPLE life got in the way again, and started taking over my writing time, until it was little more than a scribbled sentence or two on a napkin.

once again, unsurprisingly, my depression hit back, and even harder this time, cracking me in the back of my skull with a diagnosis of “agoraphobia”, “acute chronic depression” and “social anxiety disorder.” great. add to that absolutely no self confidence, rotten self esteem and harshly critical unsupportive peers that said that writing was a ridiculous waste of time, even as a mere hobby. my writing career was over before it was even a seed in my brain.

many more braincloudy years passed, and i kept ticking down time, slogging through housewifery and reality television, until one day i rediscovered one of my old journals. it was if i actually could hear the light come on again, and i began to write again. i described my painful and lonely journey through depression and as before, felt myself blossoming back to life. in that moment, i realized that writing was one of the only things that made sense to me, and that it was something i had to do. i realized that i HAD to be a writer. that as a hobby, or dabbler or a full-blown best selling novelist, that by goddess, i had to write. that was almost a decade ago and since then, i have been making AND TAKING steps to living my fully realized dream; becoming a professional (and paid) writer.

this is a scary thing, a daunting task. an unbelievably, impossibly stupid goal uphill, both ways, in the snow.  and i realize this is the hokey schmaltz back-story of most writers, especially since i love what i write and i always have. HOWEVER, i rarely, until recently have ever shared my work, so based my confidence of my writing SOLELY on my own opinions. the times when i allowed others to read things, all have been very well received, with loads of compliments and pats on the back. but, i’m not that easily convinced and still doubt my writing ability. i have since named this “THE AMERICAN IDOL COMPLEX.” THE AMERICAN IDOL COMPLEX is when starry-eyed and naive people go on American Idol because their family and some people at a karaoke bar in a bo dunk town told them that they were “the best singer they ever heard.” they have unnecessarily and totally inaccurate assessments and opinions of themselves, and ultimately end up looking like idiots in front of the world. now, i never plan to publicly humiliate myself in front of millions of people, but the idea is the same.

i will say this, taking things painfully slow, spending months researching and planning seems to be working and finally paying off. i am finally gaining more confidence sharing my work and getting all of my little wordy ducks in a row. i am incredibly proud of myself, and all that i have accomplished, in the short time since i put my plan into action. i never listened to my mom too much because she wasnt much for sayings, but i’d like to think that if she said anything, she’d say “slow and steady wins the race.”

now, i still dont flatter myself to think that i will ever become a female David Sedaris like i always tell my son, but regardless, i am actually taking steps and accomplishing more than i expected thus far. and although i have been doin’ the whole “slow and steady” thing over a span of many, many years, i finally feel like i am gaining momentum, and have been writing my little heart out, now i am starting to get impatient. i found myself resenting my (paid) job today and all week, for that matter, because it was getting in the way of my writing. now, i’m not cool or conceited enough to believe that i dont need a paid job or income, in fact i have been lacking in the money department for a few months. winter is always a slow time for me; tis the nature of the beast, but years before, i always was proud of myself for powering through and getting myself back to good.

this year?  there is little motivation to have my own business; my focus and attention are all on writing.  and i know that my business is what gives me the luxury of having so much free time to write, but i feel that familiar creeping dread of “gotta go to work tomorrow” that i had with every other job.  i always prided myself on being happy to go to work, and not wasting energy like the rest of the 9 to 5’ers on being miserable.

“means to an end,” they say, and i’m going to keep on keepin’ on, but it was just what was on my mind today as i finished updating the zine and then trooped out the door to “make the doughnuts,” so to speak.  again, i don’t flatter myself that i am better than other hardworking people, least of all my boyfriend that works harder and more awful hours than most, but like i said, this was just the thoughts on the ol’ brain.  i would guess that this feeling is as much motivation that i need to keep me on my path.

my brain is on fire and once again words are fighting to get out, but this time, i am prepared.  i am ready!  the writing switch has been flipped.  no way i am going back now!  it’s full steam ahead, captain!  WRITING HO!