Log in


These past few days have really been something else.
My baby loves a bunch of authors...Collapse )

I will build a throne.

In an empty vague place again. Damn it. Last night was so nice, except when it wasn't. Trying to add to the conversation, "That place destroyed my soul," and the Couch Potato's comment, "Well that's your soul's fault." Stupid kid doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Except for the part where maybe he does, and I don't know what's my own damn fault. You either defeat your demons or they defeat you.

Watch me stumble, over, and over.Collapse )
Things I want:
-to make lemon cupcakes with lemon buttercream for Easter
-to sit down and paint along with an episode of Bob Ross's painting show
-to finish the Beauty and the Beast cross-stitch piece I'm working on
-to work in a bakery
-to own a bakery
-to live in an apartment above my husband's bar and grill, surrounded by friends
-for my husband's bar and grill idea to really take off
-to live in the Caribbean for a couple of years
-to live in Portland for a couple of years
-to write and publish at least one novel
-to see my friends and family achieve their dreams and be happy
-to watch an episode of a tv show my husband wrote and catch all the references he sneaks in
-to travel all over the world filming conferences for my dad's company
-to learn how to give an awesome massage
-to receive awesome massages on a regular basis
-to experience a true felt shift in my third chakra and thus be able to believe in something I want to believe whole-heartedly
-to make a positive difference in a child's life (just one, that would be enough)
-to age gracefully, and look like my mom when I'm middle-aged and like my grandma when I'm old
-to meet Neil Gaiman and/or Amanda Palmer
-to have lunch with Amy Poehler
-to have a drink with my parents and feel like we understand and respect each other as adults (I've done this :))
-to move out west, and spend the rest of my life surrounded by mountains
-to have sex in a graveyard on a warm summer night

Simple enough.

I told my husband I haven't change in the last two years. He said I have. I know he's right - two years ago I could not have created a list like this. Two years ago I had no idea what I wanted.

I'm getting somewhere better.

They are watching. They are waiting.

I've found what I want to make for Easter. These, right here. You can never have enough lemon. Of course, this means I need to access enough spending money this week to buy lemons, butter, and sour cream or yogurt. Here's hoping.

Speaking of money, I'm heading down to The Office tomorrow (for a local rental company) to sign up for spring/summer work. Cleaning apartments is a good way to make a little extra cash. You can set your own hours and you get to work by yourself or with people of your choosing. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people who take up this opportunity around here, so that means you have to be on top of finding the next project that needs done and claiming it.

It's not a full-time job. It's a way to make ends meet when you're unemployed and living off student loans, though. And I might as well live under the rule that any work experience is good experience, because it's hard to find work as a baker for some reason. :( Speaking of which, I need to print out the application for the Village Bakery.

I've been feeling... like I'm just waiting for something. Waiting for something to happen or for something to click in my brain that makes me feel fully alive. I don't. I'm dragging my feet through the days. I find myself waking up and feeling like I'm always in that moment - six a.m. with the alarm blaring, crawling over my husband to get out of bed. I get dressed, and the dog bounds downstairs as soon as I open the door. I brush my teeth and pee. I take the dog out and make coffee.

Every moment feels like a moment I'm stuck in forever, and a moment I've always been stuck in. The only time I feel anything strongly enough to identify and enjoy is when I'm baking. It's an effort to restrain myself from snapping at people, or finding the same old jokes annoying, or trying to figure out why so much just grates on my nerves. I want to start a blog where I talk about baking... but I don't feel like I'm prepared enough for that kind of... commitment to an audience.

I want to tell stories and write novels and poetry again. I want to be interested. I want to find a way to live by my standards are beliefs... but everything is so hard to examine, so vague and so muddled. I want to ask my therapist about prescribing Adderall, but I'm also really afraid that that'd just be a huge mess. But I keep having fantasies about being able to concentrate... dreaming about what it would be like to grasp hold of the meandering fug and write like I used to, think like I used to... how awesome it would be if cleaning were a ritual that calmed me, instead of a hassle that feels overwhelming and impossible. How wonderful it would be...

if we had the money.
if we had the time.
if we had the space.

It doesn't happen like that, though. I know you can't just sit around forever and wait for something to happen. You have to make it happen.

I'm gonna go ahead and blame it on the weather. I just miss spring so badly. It gives a freedom of movement that's hard to describe... but brilliant to experience.

I'll keep on keeping on for now. Store what extra energy I might have away for concentrated bursts of effort that carry us through.

We'll see.
Today was productive in a silent, I'm-content-in-my-own-head kind of way. I drove my roommate to and from work on an empty tank of gas. I'm pretty sure the next time we go out (even if it's just to the gas station), the car will die on the way.

This has happened before.

(Insert rant about how the worst thing about being broke isn't the long periods of no money, but the short bouts of no money in between periods of relative stability - at least in the long periods we develop consistent methods of coping.)

We watched a cute little indie film called Unicorn City and a new (to us, at least) tv show called How To Be A Gentleman. It was a nice break from the usual onslaught of HIMYM, Parks and Rec, Young Justice, Arrow, Total Drama, and Big Bang Theory (don't get me wrong, I seriously love all of these shows - ESPECIALLY Parks and Rec). But a couple of friends came over (friends who aren't our resident Couch Potato) and my husband turned on Young Justice.

I made Cinnamon Swirl bread and did a bunch of sifting through the internet to find the best tips for French bread, which I plan to make tomorrow and serve to my household with powdered sugar and syrup. I'd love whipped cream but we used the last of that today with the Highlander Grogg. (I have no regrets. It was delicious.)

I'm not being mopey. I'm not being self-conscious (wait, scratch that -_-). I'm not being jubilant or silly. I'm just kind of here.

But I love the process of baking and planning out breakfasts & desserts. I've made French toast before, but I've never put so much thought into it. I wish I had a camera. I would post all the food porn pictures. Anyway... I have two cigarettes left, and something gives me the feeling I won't be on the receiving end of Couch Potato's generosity tomorrow. Must resist temptation to squash my dignity to dust by even thinking about asking. Must smoke trash tobacco until some form of income arrives (which... could be as far away as April 2nd, or even April 18th... Jesus Christ, now I sound mopey... whoops).


Last year I abstained
this year I devour

without guilt
which is also an art

If my soul was a book, it would be a book of Margaret Atwood's poetry. I own such a book. Thus, I own my soul.

Resonating.Collapse )

Maybe... an attempt?

I'll try something here, because talking and reading about humor at TQC has made me think about it. It's an easier angle to approach these thoughts than attempting to delve right in (which results in this Lady writing a sentence, thinking, next sentence I'll get to the details, and then chickening out and writing something vague again).

There is something inherently stupid about the iconic straight-cis-white American male.

And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again.Collapse )

I don't make sense.

Note to self,

Gosh. I'm sorry. That I made you write about something you really don't want to write about. That I made you post it online, where it makes no sense. I'm sorry I let that vague nonsense cloud your head enough to speak of it, when you know better than I do that you simply aren't prepared to do so.

Please, accept my apology and understand that I think you're awesome. You're not a coward and your feelings aren't stupid. In the future, when I feel like torturing you, I will stick to forcing you to make croissants.