[DAY 10] 30-Day Song Challenge

I survived the buttstuff and am back to post Day 10 just before midnight. Sweet biscuits. I made it! (Btw, so far, mostly good news and at least one answer so far, but awaiting biopsy/lab results to know more.)

Today’s theme is another I wish I could skip, but I’m gonna go through with it. Let’s get right to it, shall we?

Day 10: A Song That Makes You Sad

As with many of the others, it’s difficult to narrow down just one. Don’t we all have those cathartic sad playlists? Those that we have to be very careful about when and how often we listen to? I haven’t listened to mine in a long time, because I’ve been on the mend in a lot of ways. And the “sad/down” playlists are risky for the mental state. But I can withstand a few, as long as I don’t dwell too long in it.

Let’s start with this one. Sophia’s “Resisting”. There was a brief time in my life when I listened to this entire album basically on loop. Seemingly endlessly. In the midst of heartache and depression and hopelessness. This was beautiful and cathartic. Sad and uplifting all at once.

From here, it gets undeniably sad. The Frames (and much of Glen Hansard’s work) have a remarkable ability to relate. To pain. To sadness. To hope. To hopes dashed. This is just one of many examples.

I’m treading into dangerous territory here. But let’s keep going, because these are beautiful songs. Sad, though they may be. They’re just so...reminiscent. Such as Damien Rice’s “9 Crimes”.

Another Damien Rice, because fuck.

Fiona Apple certainly belongs here as well.

The entire score Clint Mansell did for The Fountain is something I listen to on occasion. In the dark of night, when I’m in desperate need to feel. To internally emote. To release. To sink and rise and float away on a current of emotion. I can’t even describe what this album does to me. But what I can say is that is is important. Deeply so. This is my favorite.

I’m stopping myself here, before I get too far. Music has that ability, you know? To underscore a mood we’re already in…or to throw a switch and derail your train onto an entirely different track. I’m rapidly approaching that intersection and must proceed with caution.

What songs make you sad? Or underpin your sadness?

[DAY 9] 30-Day Song Challenge (and buttstuff)

I’m feeling good today, great considering the circumstances. I have to leave in two hours to head on in for a colonoscopy and endoscopy. The prep this time was so much easier than the first time I went through this. I guess it’s been about seven years now. Geez. A lot has changed in my life between 35 and 42 (the meaning of life, the universe, and everything). Excepting the need for probing. I’m guessing that will never change.

I may go further into some things that have been going on at a later date, but for now, I will say this. If you have colonoscopy prep in your near future, I have some unsolicited advice for you: For the 2-3 days leading up to the prep day, alter your diet to things such as protein shakes, fruits, and soft foods such as mashed potatoes. No beverages aside from water and clear liquids. No fast food. No junk food. No fried/fatty stuff. (Believe me, I fully comprehend what a tall order that is.) Do all of that prior to your prep day, and things may just go much better for you as they have for me. The first time I went through this, my diet was abominable. I can imagine I was full of fast food and soda and sweets prior to the prep day. And when I say that day was a nightmare I’ve been dreading reliving, it’s a massive understatement. This is obviously never going to be a pleasant experience, but it is certainly possible to lessen the extreme pain and discomfort of it. This time around, I’ve had no pain aside from temporary bloating because of the requisite consumption of excess fluids. But that passes quickly if you’ve prepared your body in advance. So clear the runway, and things will fly more smoothly. (You’re welcome for that awful visual comparison.)

Now, let’s get to some music, shall we?

Day 9: A Song That Makes You Happy

Today’s theme is a pleasant one, as is the epic sleep I’m sure to have post-anesthesia this evening. Seriously looking forward to that! So! A song that makes you happy. Let’s infuse some cheer and optimism in this bitch!

This one is difficult. Not because I can’t think of one, but because there are so. fucking. many. I mean this first one is a no-brainer. It’s the damn name of the song, and if it doesn’t at least brighten your mood to some teeny tiny degree, you probably need to be on stronger meds than I am. Not that you have to like it, mind you. But it’s so damn … happy.

Another happy song with a similar vibe:

Up next, because we all need Prince in our lives:

For a completely different sound and musical vibe but similar impact, the (almost) always happy-making Bill Withers:

I’m gonna end today’s Happy theme with Lizzo, because damn if that strong woman doesn’t make me happy. And I’m feelin’ good as hell.

What songs spark your happy?

If I Were Bipolar

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d be a rapid cycler.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d exit a two-month depression and launch right into an extended mixed episode.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d make some dangerous decisions that would, ya know, put me in danger.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d justify said dangerous decisions with shit like, “this is just what it looks like to live after stifling yourself for the better part of thirty-seven years.”

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d recover from heartbreak by meeting up with a never-ending string of dudes who give less than a shit about me.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d only find pleasure in the kind of job that makes me pull my hair out.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d leave that job on some random Tuesday night, meet up with some stranger, and stay up until 4 AM.

If I were bipolar, I bet I’d return to work the next day and alternate between bouncing off the walls and wanting to shoot myself in the face.

It’s a good thing I’m not bipolar.

The Ubiquitous 2016 Wrap-Up / Navel-Gazing New Year’s Post

The ‘net runs rampant with posts about how 2016 is the most terrible year ever to be had. No, not the years of the Bubonic Plague outbreaks. Not the years of the Holocaust. Not the years of Genghis Khan’s hordes. It was 2016: the year we lost certain celebrities, the year of yet more unfortunate film adaptations and remakes, and then the year Trump became President Elect of the United States. Tragic? The latter, for sure. The former happens all the time. It’s called life. Sucks, yeah. Any loss of life is tragic for the individual and his families. But come on. The loss of my dear Leonard Cohen and isn’t enough for me to call 2016 the worst year on record.

Fine, I glossed over the Trump bit. That was intentional. I don’t wanna talk politics, but if you wanna know how I feel about him, specifically – I’ll just say – fuck that guy. And not in a fun – I wanna do you all night long kinda way. But with like a mile long, herpes-infested cucumber-up-the-ass kinda way. That opinion has nothing to do with politics, by the way. (Okay, that’s not 100% true.) But it tends to spring forth from a woman when a man tries to grab her by the pussy because he’s a slimy-ass rich celebrity who thinks he can get away with it, because he can. And is my little STD-ridden cucumber fantasy hypocritical? Yes, I’m aware. That is all.

~

So. That’s the Internet’s 2016. My 2016 was far less focused on celebrities, and actually far less focused on Trump that my little rantlet makes it sound. A couple of Very Important People encouraged me about how well I’d done this past year, not to mention all the encouragement I received here from the WordPress fam. But the thing is, the saying, “I’m my own worst critic” is an adage for a reason. Upon reflection, I’m thinking they were right. It was messy (isn’t life supposed to be?), but I did make progress. Sure I want it to happen faster, cleaner…Right. Fucking. Now. But that’s not how shit goes down. In my typical random fashion, here’s some shit that did go down in my 2016.

Divorce – Yep. Let’s get that one out of the way. Surprised? “Regulars” probably are. Thing is, I was separated for somewhere between 4 and 5 years. But he refused divorce, and I didn’t pursue legal channels to enforce it. So I was stuck. In so many ways, I was stuck. 2016 was the year I finally asserted myself, broke the toxic patterns that had ended our marriage and stood up for myself. It took roughly five years, but it’s now official. Now…one never marries intending for things to go down that way. We’d been a couple since I was fifteen. But if things do go sour (and they did), it’s fucking toxic to be held in limbo for so long. With the support and urging of a couple of very strong and important friends, oh and some strong doses of anxiety meds, I finally asserted myself and ended that limbo.

Therapy – I finally caved and tried therapy, after at least twenty years of decrying it as a scam. I’ve tried talk therapy as well as meds, but with all that I had going on concurrently – in addition to limited financial means – I haven’t found the right combination yet. But. I do intend to try this out again. I’m still taking Lexapro, at least until my refills from Louisiana run out (soon), and I have a handful of Xanax left. But I haven’t been able to afford new doctors yet. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get that sorted soon. So 2016 was the year I finally really began addressing my mental health.

Masturdating and Social Interaction – Along with my therapy, I also pushed myself to move beyond my boundaries. At least a bit. I took myself out to a couple of movies (Deadpool, yeah! And something with Bill Murray, because Bill Murray!). I took myself to a concert. I took myself to a poetry slam (which I haven’t told y’all about!). I took myself to Happy Hour (more than once). And I even took coworkers up on invitations a few times. I mean, this chick drank IN PUBLIC. She did not dance. She did not karaoke. (How many times does she have to say HARD LIMIT for people to get it?) But how she laughed. Oh how she laughed. 2016 was the year Stephanie hid a little less.

Quitting a Toxic – But Solid – Job & Moving Across Country – For the town I lived in, I had it made at my job. Aside from Queen Bitch, that is. But the direction things were moving in the last month or so would have had me in a new department under a brand new director with a brand new title and brand new salary. Yeah. There was no pressure at all at work. They didn’t beg me to stay or make my decision increasingly harder and more panicky each and every day. No. Not a chance. (I hope your sarcasm detectors are on and working.) Point is: Stephanie took shittons of Xanax in the last month and especially in the last two weeks in Louisiana. I met with a brand new therapist on the proverbial eve of my departure, and after an extended session, he agreed with all of my decisions. Except: he disapproved of the job I intended to accept in Oregon. It would have sapped me of my all and left me wrung out and an even greater emotional danger to myself than I already was. In the end, I agreed with him (though I had a tough time with the decision), but that has me still unemployed at the moment. I have made the move, though, and I’ve been in the Greater Portland Area since September. Newsflash: I Fucking Love Oregon. And, as yet, I have no regrets. 2016 was the year I gambled everything, turned my back on “everything I’ve ever known,” and risked staid stability to chase a dream in spite of everyone breathing down my neck what a fool I was. And I’m damn fucking proud I did.

Dispensary – Fucking right. I visited a dispensary for the first time. I’m in Oregon, dudes. What did you expect? So yeah, I got a J and a lollipot. I still have half the j left. (I may have a piss test in my near future. Yeah. Even in Oregon.) And I’m totally having the lolli if I land the job. Or at least part of the lolli, in celebration. Hm. Or maybe the other half of the j. Oh yeah! Pretty sure I’m gonna smoke it up with someone over Skype. I’ll toke over here. He’ll toke over there. It’ll be neato. Except I’ll have to find somewhere to do it, because of my “roommates.” Yeah. Remind me to tell you about them. I’m in a…weird situation. But one I’m grateful for. It’s just…fucking weird and uncomfortable sometimes. A lot of times. Anyway. Yeah. Old Stephanie never would have been brave enough to just stroll into one of those places, even though I’d have smoked whatever my friends brought out of there. I don’t see why people still think it’s such a big fucking deal. I’ve been smoking pot since…11 or so and I turned out. I still wouldn’t have gone in there. 2016 Stephanie? Dispensary-bound!

~

There’s probably more shit. I mean, it was a whole fucking year. But I need to get my shit ready for tomorrow. I don’t have a real job yet, but I do have a little side gig in the afternoons. Tutoring some kids on algebra and science. It’s not much, but at least it’s something for now.

I don’t do resolutions, so I ain’t making promises about writing. But when I come back, I’ll maybe tell ya about Oregon stuff. Oh! Oh! And I’ll leave you with a lovely piccy taken right here in Oregon, this very day.

Accidental Penis: A Counter Stain

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

She awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in bed. Gathering the soft fabric of her nightgown about her neck, she clutched tightly and frantically searched the room.

No. The room was devoid of life, aside from herself. And Darkness.

She tried this every night, to no avail. Every time she woke from these furtive but desperate attempts, only Darkness and her own haggard panting greeted her.

They were partners in an arranged marriage. One she didn’t want to be in, but Darkness was insistently insidious.

~

The visit to the weathered old woman was a pointless endeavor. Give up. That’s what the old woman had said. “You’ll find no light there, no redemption. This isn’t hope; it’s desperation. Stop now before it’s too late.”

If the old crone wouldn’t help her, she’d go it alone.

From that day forth, she spent every day in bed. Flat on her back, hands clasped over her heart, she sank into a trance state.

Through the void, she reached, fingers grasping at the viscous mass of nothing. But they found no purchase; what she sought simply wasn’t there.

For days she was like this, until finally. Finally, something happened.

~

She stood at the foot of the bed looking down upon her own sleeping form. The brief flutter of hope immediately crushed under the weight of what had actually happened.

She had peered too long into the darkness, mining its depths for some glimmer of light. Only now did she realize she had faced the wrong way.

Of course! There is no light in Darkness. Darkness is the very absence of light, cast aside by it. It was all consuming of those who plumbed its depths for answers to futile wishes.

And now? Now?

She was Darkness.

~

By the time the reclusive woman was found some months later, her corporeal form had withered into a corpse.

Only Darkness remained. Insistent. Insidious. Lifeless.

One of those standard update thingies.

So. Great progress in some ways. None at all in others. Let’s get to it, so I can get it off my chest. Kind of like the pain in the everything bra that hits the deck as soon as I get home every day. I can feel it there, driving me crazy, all fucking day. So maybe I can get some mental shit off my chest, and I’ll feel a bit of relief? Doubtful, but let’s try it anyway.

House Stuff

The house goes on the market tomorrow morning. Sign in the yard, MLS, Zillow, the whole nine. Well. She said Zillow usually takes three to five days to pick new listings up. But after that, it will be available for any google search. Sweet biscuits.

She said houses are selling fast in my neighborhood, but agreed with me that having only two bedrooms and one bathroom will make it harder than most to sell. That’s fine – I anticipated that from the moment I bought the place.

She offered me a full percent less on her commission than I anticipated, so I didn’t even negotiate that. I was gonna try to knock her down half a percent, but she did way better than that on her own.

She also named the exact list price I was going to suggest (I’ve been researching comps for weeks). We both know it probably won’t go for that, but it gives me room to negotiate without fearing dropping below my bottom line.

So tonight, I do the final touches: tucking stuff away in closets, mopping everything one more time, water the plants and put the hose away, clearing the back deck, tidying the storage room, etc. Then I’m gonna take a much needed superlong soak in the tub and hit the hay.

She’s meeting me at the house at 9:00 AM in the morning. She said we’ll do all the paperwork then, photograph and video everything, then go ahead and toss the sign up. Weeeeeeeee. Here we go!

Job Stuff

Fucking sucks. Still no feedback from slowass corporate about the jobs I applied to in hopes of staying with my current company.

Still nothing but dead-ends on the couple hundred apps I’ve done thus far in my search. (That isn’t an exaggeration. If anything, it’s an underaggeration. Yeah. That’s a word now. Suck it.) Now and then, I get serious nibbles or even bites. A couple times, I’ve all but been offered jobs (talking only about ones that would pay enough to live there)…only for them to fall through at the last minute.

There’s time yet, as the house is only now being listed. But…I’m still nervous as fuck. I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do if the house sells and I’m still stuck down here with the same shitty prospects. Do I gamble it all and drive my ass up there? Hoping employers will be far more amenable since I’m in situ? (And risk losing it ALL in the process?) Or do I sign a fucking six month lease on an apartment here and keep wiling my life away, waiting for change.

For now, I shall focus on the sale of the house, continue applying my ass off and bide my time.

Mental Health Stuff

I still wake up wishing I hadn’t. I struggle mightily with things I want and think I need, but feel they’re far from my grasp. Perhaps eternally so.

I’ve had some mopey days. I’ve had some weepy days. I’ve had times I’ve had to hide in the bathroom at work, so I could cry it out and compose myself.

I still think I’m a pointless waste of space, an inconsequential non-blip on the universe’s radar. I still wonder what the fuck the point of it all is.

I fight hard not to dwell on that, because I don’t have the answers. I know I have it better than so many do, but it doesn’t really help to know that. It doesn’t ease the pain in my soul. God, I sound like such a whiny little bitch. Yet, it’s how I feel.

I’m fighting. I’m not giving up. I’m not giving in. I’m not. But. Motherfuck, some days it all feels so fucking impossible.

~

So. Good things ahead. New things ahead. Things I’m nervous about. And things I’m still struggling with.

Overall. Trending upward. The trick is to keep it that way.

 

I don’t wanna work…

I just wanna bang on the drums all day.

Okay, not really. But I really don’t wanna go to work tomorrow. That’s usually the case, especially on Sunday nights, but damnit. The feeling is especially strong tonight.

Could it be because I spent Friday marathoning Game of Thrones to get caught up, so that day and night flew by? Perhaps. (Speaking of GOT, the season finale was tonight. Hot damn was it a good one.)

Could it be because I spent Saturday (all day and most of the night) wallowing in bed, feeling sorry for my self, crying off and on? Perhaps.

Could it be because I spent most of the day today working on house stuff to get it ready for market? Plus laundry and dishes and assorted other chores? Perhaps.

Could it be because I’m feeling like a lazy bastard and am dreading Archie coming back? (She’s been off for a week for health reasons.) Perhaps.

I’d actually like to curl up in bed with a good book right now (Murakami, I’m looking at you), and read into the wee dawn hours. Yes, I said read. I think my brain is ready to read again. We shall see!

When the weekend passes by in a daze, the last thing I want to do is go to work. I feel like I haven’t had a weekend at all – do you know what I mean? I should have gone to the park (I’m sorry, you know who.). I should have gotten my bike out (uhm, again, sorry). I should have done a lot of shit. But I was in an epic wallowing funk and couldn’t snap out of it. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Semantics. I can identify some of the causes of my sadness, but I know the things I can identify aren’t enough to cause just how deep down I got. I suppose it’s just another depressive episode. S’alright. It’ll pass. They always do.

Anyway! Anyway! Guess what!

A week from tomorrow, I’m calling a realtor to finafuckingly list the house. It’s taken seven damn forevers, because I’m not the sole owner of the house. But now things are finally in place, and the place will be all tidied up and clear of almost every stitch of furniture. (Trust me, the place looks better with no furniture than staged up with what I had. Shit I’ve had since I was 17. So yeah.)

Yay! I’ll be one big step closer to moving on.

I’m also gonna spend any spare time I get at work this week on applying to new opportunities. Something may yet come through with my current employer, but I’ve put all my eggs in that basket for about a month and a half now. I need to start casting my net again, see if I can catch something other than more disappointment and headaches. Something has to give at some point.

Annnnd. That is all. I have a bit more tidying to do in the bedroom before I can actually relax enough to sleep in here. I hope y’all had a kickass weekend!

P.S. If you watch Game of Thrones, I’d love to hear your reactions from the finale, or hell the season at all. Thinking of doing a post, but I’m not sure I have enough to say for an entire post. We shall see! Without being spoilery yet, I will just say….I fucking knew it about Jon! Called it!

Losing Steam

I’ve been off all psychiatric drugs for a while now – at least six weeks. I can’t handle the side-effects or expense anymore – and, frankly, they hadn’t really changed anything. I continued riding (fairly) high and optimistic for a while. It’s easy to begin thinking there won’t be another downswing (I had even more of them on the drugs.). But there has been. There is. These last few days have been hell.

I recognize that a lot of it is circumstantial. (Caution, whining ahead.)

• I’ve come off an intense anxiety-fest over what could be wrong with my body. (Never thought in the history of ever that I’d be happy to have ulcers.) Coming off shit like that strangely and oftentimes leads to low moods for me.
• I found a dead sparrow in my bedroom when I got home. It’s a complete fucking mystery. It can’t have flown in as I was leaving this morning…because I enclose the cats in the bedroom and kitchen areas before ever opening the front door. It’s not a mystery as to how it died…but how it ended up in the bedroom? Beats the hell outta me. I cried for a good half hour after finding it this evening. I also thought weird shit that I don’t even believe in – like what kind of fucked up omen is this?
• My mortgage payment spiked up to $300 over what it’s always been. Because of recent historic floods, FEMA remapped my neighborhood. Fuckers. So my mortgage company kindly bought a policy for me, without consulting me. I’m not in a big fancypants house – it’s quite a bit smaller than average (that’s what she said). So I don’t understand why it’s costing so much. Needless to say, that shit wasn’t in my budget…and I’m kinda fucked if I don’t get out from under this thing soon.
• The job situation has stalled out. I haven’t heard anything on the ones I applied to with my company, so I’m tossing resumes at new shit again. Got a tentative job offer today…for Colorado Springs. Dude. That’s nowhere near where I’m looking to go. I don’t want to reconsider my PNW. May have to at some point, unless I want to settle for any ole thing and continue living paycheck to paycheck. (Not something I can afford to do anymore – nor should I have to.)
• These fucking headaches are the pits, and my usual go-to OTC stuff is not an option anymore. Small price to pay for not having cancer, doncha think? Can’t make a doc appointment yet, as their office is closed for vacation.
• Other personal shit that is taking more of a toll on me than I realized, I think.

What else can I whine about? I don’t know. That’s more than enough for now. Suffice it to say I’ve been a tearful, moody mess for the last couple days. A lot of it is circumstantial – which sucks, really, because resolutions are kinda far off. Either way, an actual human hug would be nice. Then again, so would winning the lottery, but we can’t have everything.

Anyway, sorry. I don’t even actually want to talk about any of this shit. At all. Just needed to vent, I suppose. Not giving up. Just having a shit time of it right now.

What are you so afraid of?

Have you ever considered what bears and grocery stores have in common? I have. It’s fear. Bears and grocery stores have fear in common.

Some people are afraid of bears. I’m not. I have a healthy respect for them, and I know proper procedures to prevent bear encounters and protocol should I ever encounter one anyway (though I’m sure all of that knowledge would elude me at such a time). But I do not fear them. Not exactly. I mean, I was wary enough to avoid cooking when I stayed in Shoshone National Forest, or in GNP or Yellowstone, places like that. I was afraid to cook, but that was mostly because I was afraid of myself – of not being cautious enough or missing spots during cleaning. I was afraid I’d fuck it up. I didn’t actually go to sleep in fear. I happily climbed into my tent and into my sleeping bag, falling asleep nearly instantly after long days of hiking.

I’m not afraid of bears.

Some people are afraid of grocery stores. I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’ve figured out how I know. I am afraid of grocery stores. But I believe it’s less about being in public (which is a whole separate issue for me) and more about whom I may encounter there. I don’t live in a huge metropolitan area, which makes the chances rather high for running into people whom I’d rather not run into. Even so, it’s happened a disproportionate amount of times. Sometimes I’ve been so shaken up that I’ve left the store without making my purchases. I believe there was only once that I had a buggy full of groceries, and I left in a panic. But I’ve seen people I’d rather not with high frequency. My anxiety and fear ratcheted up to the point where I’d drive to the grocery (after allowing myself to run out of pretty much everything), then sit in the car in the parking lot for several minutes to an hour before finally driving away without ever getting out of the car.

I’m afraid of grocery stores.

This fear has caused me to spend more money than I can really afford (considering other shit I desperately need to take care of) and damage my health with fast food. There’s no risk I’ll run into anyone when I just go through a drive-thru and go home. But it’s not a healthy way to live, not for mind or body.

I went to the grocery store today. It sounds so simple, it’s nothing more than an inconvenience. Rightfully so. It’s pretty irrational to be petrified of grocery shopping. But I am. I have been. I went today, and I didn’t make a quick run, either. I started in produce and made my way around the store, selecting my purchases. I’ll need to go again tomorrow, as I didn’t take a list today (it was more about pushing through my fear and getting started with the basics). I got nearly everything I need. But I need a few more things. Perhaps I’ll make crawfish étouffée tomorrow.

I had a big day for me, really. I got up early (on a Saturday – what the fuck is the world coming to (I like to sleep until 3 PM or Sunday)), got dressed (that’s important to do before going out in public, or so I’ve been told), grabbed a bottle of water and hit the park. My foot still hasn’t healed (what the fuck, man), but I walked a trail anyway. Along a lake. It was so fucking humid, but it was lovely. It was lovely. The birds and the flowers and the water and the occasional breeze. Left there and went to a café (sort of), got a fruity iced tea thingy and a croissant. Then I went straight to the grocery store. I only sat in the car for about fifteen minutes (trust me, that’s good for me). When I got home, I didn’t stop. There has been zero bed or moping or bed moping today. Mowed the yard, fixed the new gravel that’s on the driveway, babied some suffering plants, and now I’m doing laundry. I need a shower so badly, but I wanna make sure most of the sweating is behind me before I do!

I kept a promise today. Promises are sacred to me. You don’t fuck with a promise unless you didn’t have a choice (and you pretty much always have a choice, so you better have a fucking good reason). I promised to work on myself today, push past the fear and do it. And I did. And I felt (feel) fantastic and optimistic afterward. I know optimism is a feeling like any other – it comes and goes with the days and moods. But for now, I’m enjoying it. And when it begins to fade again, I’ll have to push past the fear again. Today was one day. This is one weekend. I need to make it two. And keep going.

Because if I don’t – I’ll get to Oregon or Washington and nothing will have changed. I will go to work as I do here. I will drive straight home as I do here. And I will cry and mope and wish for adventure. And I will hold myself back. If I can’t push through it here, what makes me think I will there? I don’t want to move to the PNW just to continue the lifestyle I have now. What’s the fucking point of that? If I’m to live, I need to start living.

What else am I afraid of?

I’m not afraid of spiders – not majorly so. I have a massive fear of venomous ones. But little jumping spiders? They’re fucking adorable. The wolf spider I found in my garden made me scream like a little girl and literally run away. That was pretty funny. But I didn’t kill it. I let it be…and used gloves when I got back to it.

I was afraid of pubs. I pushed through it, and I’m okay there now. Not exactly comfortable, but okay.

I’m afraid of my nosebleeds. What do they mean? Dunno. But that’s the kind of thing I’m afraid of.

I’m afraid of my neighbors. Not in any dangerous sense, but in the sense that they’re there. Watching me. Judging me. Talking about me. Hell, I should just say I’m afraid of people and have done.

I’m afraid of attachment. I crave it, and yet I fear it. Because allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable exposes your soft underbelly. And some people like to stab those, repeatedly.

I’m afraid of the government, and all of its agents, because of the power we’ve given over to it.

I’m afraid of the threat of tornadoes. Always was, irrationally so. But now that one has hit my house, the fear is greater.

I’m afraid of heights, but not to a crippling extent. Not enough to hinder me from walking cliff trails in the mountains.

I’m afraid I’ll die alone. Nothing I can really do about it aside from keeping myself open to possibilities and otherwise keep on keepin’ on.

I’m afraid of missing out. Of never discovering meaning or purpose. Perhaps there isn’t one. And if there isn’t, then I’m afraid I’ll never be content with that answer. Again. Just gotta keep on keepin’ on, and keep myself open to new ideas and possibilities.

I’m afraid of suffering. I’m afraid of cancer and heart disease. Too much of it in my family, and it scares me. I need to live more healthfully and mindfully.

I’m afraid of my bad memory and what it may mean for my old age, should I make it there. Yet another thing I need to work on improving.

I’m afraid of touching crickets. When I’d go fishing, I could never bait my own hook. I could never get a fish off of a hook, either. I couldn’t touch the cricket. I’d try and try and try, then squeal and back away. Yes. I’m such a girl in some ways. In more ways than I let on here sometimes, I think. And you know what I mean. Soft. Emotional. Sensitive. Gentle. Nervous. Bashful. Afraid to touch bugs, but don’t want to see them dead. Those aren’t purely feminine traits, but fucks sake why am I trying to explain this. Anyway. Yeah. I’m more of a “girl” than I let on.

Hm. I think that’s enough for now. I’m actually in a calm, gentle, smiley mood. So don’t let all this fear talk fool you. I’m looking inward and taking inventory as I am wont to do. Today I don’t find it depressing. Today it’s like cleaning out the cobwebs and taking stock.

Now to see what tomorrow holds.

The Cube Test

Have y’all ever heard of The Cube Test? It’s going around the Internet again right now – all over Facebook, Buzzfeed, you name it. I’d never heard of it before (no big shock for me to not have heard of something). Some are calling it a Japanese psychology game. Others claim it has origins in ancient Greek or even Sufi psychology. I don’t really know, and I haven’t researched it. But I thought it was nifty. I love this kind of shit.

You’re presented with a series of questions that are meant to make you create a mental picture. You have to keep each of your answers in mind as you go along, because you’ll need those answers in the end. They’re supposed to reveal things about your psyche, about the kind of person you are. I found some of it accurate, and some of it wildly inaccurate. Regardless, I found it interesting.

Since I can’t find the video I watched (and the others are lame as hell), I’m gonna type the questions out. Try not to jump ahead if you’re playing along.

~

The Prompts

Imagine you are in a desert.

 

You come upon a cube.

 

How big is the cube?

 

What color is the cube?

 

How far is it away from you?

 

Somewhere nearby, imagine a ladder.

 

Where is the ladder located in relation to the cube?

 

What material is the ladder made of?

 

Picture a horse near the cube and the ladder.

 

What is the horse doing?

 

Is the horse wearing anything (such as reins or a saddle)?

 

Look around. Do you see any flowers?

 

If so, how many?

 

Where are the flowers in relation to the cube?

 

Now imagine there is a storm.

 

How do you feel about the storm?

 

How close is it to the cube, ladder, horse and flowers?

 

~

 

The Meaning (and my answers/reflections)

The size of the cube is a reflection of your ego. – I pictured the cube measuring in height roughly from my feet to mid-calf. Accurate enough, I suppose. I have some ego, of course, depending on what we’re talking about. But for the most part, I struggle with my sense of worth.

The color of the cube reflects how open you are. The lighter the color, the more open you are. – I pictured a clear, glass cube. Which is interesting. I’m pretty damn open here and somewhat in person, but I can also be extremely guarded. It usually depends on my surroundings.

The distance between the ladder and the cube shows how close you are with your friends. If the ladder is leaning against the cube, it shows that you and your friends trust and support each other. – My ladder was standing straight up in the air, several feet off to the right. Yeah. Probably because I don’t have any friends (in person, I mean). And I keep myself very. Very. Distant. Even being open, I am highly attachment averse.

The strength of the ladder’s material is meant to show the level of trust you have. – I pictured a ladder made of raw, untreated wood. I am a thousand percent trusting in a one-on-one relationship. Strangers? Coworkers? Acquaintances? You’re probably getting ready to throw acid on my face and shout my deepest, darkest secrets from the highest tower and the most popular social media platform.

The horse is meant to show how controlling or inhibited you are. If your horse is tied up, has reins or a saddle, it means you are controlling in your relationships. And the wilder the horse, the more uninhibited you are as a person. – I pictured a slick black horse, huge and powerful. He was standing there, stamping one of his front legs, snuffling impatiently, and completely unencumbered: no reins, no saddle, nothing. I am not very controlling in relationships…not very controlling at all, really. And as for inhibitions? It depends. I’m highly inhibited in some ways, but not at all in others. I will laugh my ass off, loud and unguarded. But if you want to talk to me about sex or bodily functions, I’m going to blush and stammer and look away. Unless of course if we’re in a relationship, then look out. You’re going to die of sex overdose.

The flowers reflect the kids you want in your life. The more flowers, the more kids you want. – Uhm. No. Wildly inaccurate. I fucking love flowers, dudes. I pictured hundreds of flowers. Ha! Yeah. Hundreds of wildflowers of all different colors. So at least the kids I no longer want are multicultural.

The closer the flowers are to the cube, the heavier kids are on your mind. – I pictured the flowers in a huge ring, encircling the scene in the middle of the desert. Oh. And the horse was eating some of the flowers now. Seriously. I’m pretty much past the kids thing. There was a time when I was overwhelmed with desire for kids. I’ve tucked that away in a deep, dark corner. I’m child-free and always will be.

The storm represents your fears and emotions. Far away and mild means you are calm in nature. Close and threatening means you are stressed and fearful, now and in life. – I pictured a storm far off in the distance. I could see the entire storm from start to finish, stretching across a portion of sky. I could see the lightening and the rain shadow, but I was in awe and completely unafraid. On my good days, this is exactly how I am. I’m completely chill and desirous of adventure and new experiences. On my bad days, I feel like I am the storm. But for the most part, at my heart, I’m zen as fuck.

~

Did any of y’all do it? Do you wanna share whether or not you found the answers interesting or accurate?