How was today, Dear?

I guess if all this is going to be is some shit diary, then that is where I will go with it. Semi- private. Only the Government will read my angst and maybe some Martians if I do this sans tin-foil hat. So be it.

Today was shit. Yesterday was shit. I didn't sleep well. I have no enthusiasm and even less- um- something. Words?

My Mother's sister was schizophrenic. Back in the day- WAY back- when my Grandmother was fighting all by herself to keep my aunt from having shock treatments, and second only to actually having someone ill in the house with little resources, was the idea that the neighbors would know and perhaps gossip. I tell you this because I am more so than ever lately trying to gauge my own mental health. Sans tin-foil hat and actual doctors.

My closest sister ( in age and warmth) and I have always suspected we wouldn't escape the ghosts and illnesses that surely run in our family. My Mom was the most loving woman on the planet, but every once in a while she would lose her shit. Mostly towards my father. I thought of him as strong and mild mannered. I still do, he's my Daddy. I know that is how my daughters see their Dad, too, and rightly so. But I wasn't married to my Dad. I don't know what she privately put up with any more than my daughters can see why I ended my marriage to their Dad.

Where was I going with this, you ask? I dunno. Just ranting.
I am questioning where I stand now, I guess. How much more crap I am prepared to laugh in the face of. I was really really happy for a few years. Now I am not. I guess that is ultimately what this blog will be about- seeing concrete "proof" with dates and moods.

So for today, then, things are shit. I want to be happy again. I am turning into my Mom- making the face we used to call "the nose" and I think I may be grinding my teeth at night; something I haven't done since 2007.

The list of demands: to be changed/ amended/ lessened/ added to at MY random whim:
I want to not be taken for granted.
I want to be kissed when we part- for a day job or the night's sleep.

A partial list, obviously. I still love us both enough to not put the big nasty stuff here for the Government and the Martians.

If this has become a storage situation, man the fuck up and let's be done. We both deserve better than this. I do, anyway. The jury is still out on you.

April 7 2016

Yeah, yeah, I see it's been a year. No promises.

I am so ashamed. I wasted this day.

I might die this year. Could happen. And what the hell did I do today? I wasted it. With tears. With anger and pain and ugly thoughts about ugly things. I wasted it on self pity. On pity for you. Not you, dear reader. On him. What a waste of a day.

I am not totally lost in my nutsness. I know I won't cure cancer or finish writing the great American novel ( or start it officially for that matter), or tackle the mess of limbs and vines and broken fence pieces that have plagued us and our dear back neighbor Mrs. Jacobs for the past couple of summers. I know that even on a good day, on my goodest, betterest, best day, I wouldn't have gotten any of that done, I am not that nuts, that lost in my nutsness. I should have done something, though, beyond the crying.

tah marro is ahnotha day

So... It is another day, Scarlett. Not a do-over, but another clean slate, as they say
(whoever they is) (are?). "And how was to-day, Dear?" Meh.

Sincere apology, good.
The sun is out, that's good.
I spoke to a kid, that's good. (Not a random kid, one of the two I birthed)

Again today, my thoughts are with my dead Mother. The shit she hid. The shit she said. The shit that frightened her into spouting her favorite expression: "You shouldn't know of it"

What would she tell me today? "Don't be a schmuck. Everything is fine. Look, it's nice out, go outside, get some sun. WAIT. Do you have sunscreen? You shouldn't know of it..."

Thanks, Ma.

Do-Over Day

Under a week post to post? Hey, aren't we on a roll?

But today might not count. Might be a figment of our collective imaginations.

I want a do-over. Today sucked. Not sucked in any big Earth-shattering way. Just whiney for most people who have bigger, Earth shattering issues. No horror- show diagnosis, no cops at the door, or 3 a.m. life altering phone calls. But it sucked for me. As in: "Sucks for you".

I want to do-over today. I was told- in actions, not words, or rather, I was made to feel, in actions not words, ugly. Beyond the usual amount of ugly, unworthy, or undesireable I generally feel on a day to day basis. Petty at my age, but hey, "Sucks for you."

Yes, yes, it does. Big suck. Suck-suck. Suck with a Capital S. Sssssssssssssssssss.

What made it mess with my head on an even more intense level? It occurred to me, while crying again hours later, that some of my tears were falling for my Mother. I was literally crying for my Mother to come make me feel better. She has been dead for seven years and I truly doubt I would have told her about this particular incident anyway as it was quite intimate and painful.

I am fifty-two years old and someone truly hurt me and I cried for my Mother.

"SUCKS FOR YOU."

Remember when I said I would keep up with this? Do-ya-huh-huh-do-ya? That was almost 4 years ago. I'm baa-acckk.

It is Easter Sunday, April 5th, 2015. 9:16 p.m. EST. Let's see how it goes, shall we?

For today, then:

how do you know when it's the beginning of the end?
is being aware it could happen the same as letting it happen?
is it the same as making it happen?
can you stop it from happening, or will the constant awareness propel it faster and farther than it
would have naturally (happened) were you in a blissfully unaware state?
does being aware of the awareness make you nuts?
no, i mean, it does definitely make you nuts,
but does it make you nuts? nuts nuts?

Welcome to my NEW new life. Leaping into the new Millenium 2.11

Oh yeah. Let's do it again, Kool-Aid Man.

In my frenzied quest to find my coolio SimsSu picture Chad and Jennie made me some years ago, I came across this blog dooflicus I started 3 (OMScience!) years ago.

A tiny tweak to reflect the feebay and etsy shop names I settled on, and we're ready to roll again...

My skills haven't improved, but like my bike riding, what little knowledge I did have ("push here") hasn't completely left me. Yet. So we will begin again and maybe keep at it for more than 3 postings.

Eventually I would like this to be entertaining, possibly informative, full on shameless pimpage for my etsy shop and a few shops there or brick and mortar that I deem worthy.

MY favorite bands, music, snack foods, random factoids, and pure crap thoughts that need to be purged from my head at any given time and for no particular reason.

A Diary, yes?
I offer nothing more.
Make of it what you will, but I do ask that you spare me passing judgement. I judge me plenty enough for the both for us. Every damn day.

Childhood Disappointments #0001 (of an unlimited series)

On a Friday afternoon when I was in 2nd grade, our young student teacher made an exciting announcement. On Monday we were going to make a cloud. A cloud, an actual cloud right there in the classroom. Most of the kids couldn't care less; it was Friday and freedom was mere moments away. I was ecstatic, too- a cloud! A cloud! In the room! Man, did Science ROCK! A cloud! Miss Resnick, I believe her name was (shit- is that right? It's been (gulp) decades)...Miss Resnick, the tall Goddess of Science would reveal all on Monday.

Late Monday afternoon, after hours that felt like days of antsy anticipation, Miss Resnick was ready to uncover the box of supplies...

Magical Miss Resnick! I could barely breath!

She took from a box a hot plate, a tea kettle, and a foil pie tin.
Hot plate on high, with water boiling and whistling in the kettle, she held the bottom of the pie tin over the kettle's steam.

"Look, Students, CON-DEN-SA-TION."

No "cloud". A wet friggin' pan.

On the upside, I haven't thought about this is years and years. And Miss Resnick must be super old by now. Bitch.