Actually, every single person I know makes me a little bit sad.

One day, when I find the person who doesn’t ever make me sad, not even a little itty bitty bit sad, I am going to lasso them and haul them home with me and keep them forever in my closet or basement or somewhere else handy.

But that may make them sad.

Which would make me sad.

God damn it.

Here is an awesome new pair of boots that I have ordered.

They do not make me sad. So far.

For now, I am neutral about these boots. Fairly anticipatory, even, but prepared for disappointment.

I’ve almost been afraid to be alone, to sit down and think, to stop doing and digest for a minute. I don’t think I wanted to know what I’d discover. But my brain – despite copious amounts of denial and overprocessing and rationalizing and frenetic activity and drinking and running around and never shutting up and refusing to be alone and refusing to stop stimulating it – seems to be finally sorting things out without my help. And as I reach some sort of understanding, things are starting to mean things again. Music is speaking to me again. Emotions are slipping through again. And that is painful and shitty and sucktastic, and it’s also pretty fabulous.

There’s a line in a Laura Veirs song called “Cast a Hook in Me” (see – I told you I relate all my own experiences to music)

And at night a fractured star fell
And pierced right through the thick of me
I cried out in pain and joy, yes
I’m not dead, not numb, not withering

and I love it because yeah, sometimes pain is all you feel, but the pain means you can at least feel something. And if you can feel something, sometimes you’re going to feel joy. Sometimes you’re going to feel contentment and happiness. Maybe not right now – but eventually it’s got to be joy’s time to come around.

At times I wish that it wasn’t so hard for me to deal with everything. That it didn’t take me so long, and it wasn’t so painful and confusing while I do it. But then I think that I am feeling it harder than most people, that I take more away, that I learn more and then I use it to understand the world better and understand myself better. I wouldn’t trade any of my experiences because I do learn so much, and I don’t want to give up anything I’ve ever learned. Not really. And no, my way of being is far from perfect, but it’s far from the worst I’ve seen either. So anyway, here’s to the possible return of meaning in my life, let’s see if it sticks around.

My wife doesn’t miss me! | Salon Life

…the very definitions of presence and absence have changed; absence has become contingent; presence has become inescapable. No matter where we are, our virtual selves remain under surveillance.

Until recently, one could actually achieve absence. One could go somewhere and be gone. The traveler would send postcards. The postcards would have pictures of beaches or statues. They would be eagerly awaited and gratefully received. Absence was simple. It was an absolute condition, soon relieved by presence. Presence was also an absolute condition.

No more.

Now absence and presence are contingent and variable, matters of degree and form. A person may cease responding to e-mail and achieve a sort of absence although he or she remains in place. Or a person may go to India and yet be as present as always.

A version of us is always present. We are over-connected. We spy on each other from afar.

The quality of our absence is thus degraded. Absenceness is a precious resource we are fast running out of. Soon there will be nothing but presence. We will wish we could go away but will not be able to. The pain of constant presence will be too much for some to bear; it will be a torture like that of sleep deprivation. There will be a rash of virtual suicides, in which people disconnect themselves and appear to be dead. We will have virtual funerals for them. This will all come in time.

via My wife doesn’t miss me! | Salon Life.

In other news, I think I am going to have a party for my birthday. Surely I can’t hate a party at my own house, where I control the guest list, like I hate other parties – can I? Stay tuned.

Lemon drops:

# 1/2 shot Absolut® Citron vodka

# 1/2 shot sweet and sour mix

They make me feel pretty happy, and it’s possible that they help me act pretty badly. They also make me a bit wobbly on my feet, apparently, but no tumbles were taken. Anyway, despite temporarily lifting the ban on shots at the bar (it all had to do with a bet with Jessica on the name of that Lord of the Dance guy, which I totally knew but she didn’t believe me and then we bought each other shots so we each had two, so I guess no one won. Or we both did?) last night wasn’t an epic fail. I felt it when I totally started to go around the bend, and switched to water.

And I am finally coming to accept that I should and do and will make my own choices, independent of the opinions of those around me, as I am a grown woman. And I may be hurting myself, and I may be making wrong choices, but at least they’re based on how I honestly feel and what I honestly want, rather than an amalgamated, group-think decision on how I should live my life. I just have to stop talking to people about my shit and asking their opinions, because their opinions confuse me, and I am going to do what I damn well please anyway.

Why is so much of being an adult isolating yourself in these ways? I wish I was the kind of person who could be open and sharing and trusting and tell people things and hear their thoughts in response and then take those in and in a reasoned manner assess them and use them to help me form my own opinion.

Instead I am a sorry, confused, distracted kind of person, who takes in the opinions of others, gives them all equal weight with my own, throws them in the Cuisinart that is my mental process, and then gets a hot mess of disordered irrationality out the other end. It’s no wonder I so often find the things that I am forcing myself to do are in direct conflict with how I feel and what I want. And that’s my own fault too I guess.

Anyway, fuckit, I guess that’s what alcohol is for. Letting us give ourselves permission to do what we want, giving us something to blame after when it doesn’t work out.

And oh lord, how this is not going to work out.

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It’s the most horrific combination of narcissism and martyrhood. The better I know you, the worse it is for me. The more the things you want are in conflict with the things my other people want, the worse it is for me. The more the things you want are in conflict with what’s good for me, the worse it is for me. The more unscrupulous and/or oblivious type of person you are, the worse it is for me.

This is my brain on people

It’s just not safe for me to interact with people, seriously. Any day now I am going to accidentally spontaneously invert my brain, trying to make so many simultaneous things work out for so many people. It’s gonna be messy.

I think I am going to go sit in the bathroom and stare at the wall for awhile.

PS: Whatever it is you need or want from me—especially if it’s for me to STFU and chill out already—I just don’t think I am going to be able to deliver.

To be fair, I was pissed as all hell going into Friday, so it’s not surprising that I didn’t enjoy myself, but still I might have if everyone I ran into wasn’t such a total douchebag. I was edgy and irritable, I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was insulted in about 397 ways, and had to deal with some major fucktwats.

Seriously, when you’re talking to someone and they keep telling you that maybe you should shut up before you hurt their feelings, and then they are forced to say, “OK stop. Just stop talking now.” but you keep talking… then don’t be acting surprised when they have a negative reaction to the rest of what you’re saying, and possibly try to run you over with their car later in the evening.

And don’t get that shocked look on your face like “Why is this girl trying to run me over with her car?” Because you should intuit that shit way before I am forced to mow you down.What am I, made of some kind of non-feelings-having substance? Is it seriously OK to say anything to me, and expect me not to care? I am so tired of being polite, I am so tired of being nice, I am so tired of peacekeeping and making allowances for things people say to me – I am so, so tired of it. There is only so much a girl can take, OK? I know I am smiling on the outside, but on the inside I am six inches from stabbing you.

Honest to fucking god, is it possible that my choking rage is not visible when I talk to people? Really?

Here are a few things that I wanted to say to various people last night, in no particular order, please fill in quite randomly:

• “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?”
• “OK, rude motherfucker, do that shit. Nobody likes your ass anyway, I was only being polite.”
• “No you stupid fake-tan cunt, there’s no fucking room here.”
• “If you rub up against me one more time and then laugh and say “sorry!” I am going to fucking snatch that horrific fright-wig off your head and choke you to death with it.”
• “No we don’t know each other you stupid cocksucker. Fuck the fuck off.”
• “Holy shit, could your story be more boring?”
• “Motherfuck, that’s some pathetic fucking shit. How do you expect me to respond to that?”
• “Please stop hitting on my friends and creeping them out, you retarded motherfuck. Did you hear her say she has a boyfriend? She didn’t mean you.”
• “Is it possible that you’re body-language illiterate?”
• “No one is impressed with your constant conversational one-ups.”
• “The more you talk about how not-gay you are, the harder I suppose you take it up the ass.”
• “No, no, it’s flattering for you to insult me that way. It’s opposite world up in here.”
• “Umm, so you weren’t listening the first time? I am not telling you that shit again. Please stop wasting all my time.”
• “Why do you have to ruin my evening just to assuage your own bottomless need for an adoring audience?”
• “Please stop kissing on me. No, seriously.”
• “If you tell me that same theory of yours just once more, I am going to break this glass on the edge of the bar, and slash my own jugular with it. You will never get the stains out.”
• “Ha ha ha! That’s really not hilarious at all. Why don’t you go away for awhile? I can’t because I am crippled, but you really, really should.”
• “Did you hear me tell you to stop talking? OK, was that ambiguous in some way? OK then why are you still talking?”
• “MAKE UP YOUR FEEBLE MIND ALREADY.”
• “Tell me again a few things I should do differently with my life. OK now a few more. I totally live for your fucking lifestyle tips, Oprah. Especially considering your own life is so pathetic amazing.”
• “If you neck-tackle her one more time, I am going to belt you in your stupid grinning yap-hole.”
• “No, I am not going to tell you that story ‘really quickly.’ If you want to hear what I have to say then calm down and listen, and if you don’t want to hear it then go stand and yammer at the wall or something. Jesus.”
• “No, I don’t really want to pee with you in here, dipshit. You could seriously wait outside.”
• “Oh no, it’s fine. I am really most like a giant animatronic doll. You can say/do anything to me that you’d like. Just let me know which of my five pre-programmed happy-ass responses you’d like. Great, would you like a BJ with that?”
• “Again, no problem, just say whatever. I feel nothing! I had my ego surgically extracted. Insult away, I am impervious!”
• “Stop grinning at me, before I do you a violence.”

Anyway, just fuck a bunch of everyone. I have had a giant personality disconnect happening for the last week, and unless I reconcile myself to saying some rude-ass shit to people I may have to take a break from everyone.

Oh, and if I saw/talked to you last night, this naturally doesn’t apply to you. You I love. You’re awesome. It’s the others, precious.

SOTD = The Weepies “Wish I Could Forget” (listen at last.fm)

Do you disapprove?
Alright you’ve made your point
You don’t have to choose right now
I don’t have the time to step into that joint
No one wants to see my face there anyhow

Monday come like Tuesday
You were something else I will admit
I remember what you told me
I only wish I could forget
I only wish I could forget

Standing in the sun
Smoking quiet cigarettes
Just before I let you down
Funny how a heart shatters all at once
Seems like it should make a sound

Monday come like Tuesday
You were something else I will admit
I remember what you told me
I only wish I could forget
I only wish I could forget

Too much to ask
Just one kiss
You’ll never know
What I’m gonna miss
Yes I’m getting old
Wandering this way
Wondering what’s wrong and right
Try to move along but the traffic holds you still
Or did I lose the will to fight?

Monday come like Tuesday
You were something else I will admit
I remember what you told me
I only wish I could forget
I only wish I could forget

My head is resting firmly back on/near my shoulders. I can't say the same for this poor unfortunate Nordstrom model from another planet. (via Photoshop Disasters)

So that means today I am grateful for:

• Good friends who will listen to you rehash the same event three times in one day, and still pick up the phone when you call the fourth time.
• People who don’t always agree with my negative observations of myself and others, and tell me so.
• Being told twice by two different people that sometimes women have the right to play the douche card for no reason, and that it’s not the end of the world when I get jackassy.
• People who are laid-back, roll with the punches and can take things without falling down/apart. I have  a lot to learn by observing, since I don’t feel like I can absorb things with the equanimity I desire.
• Drugs that let me sleep through the night
• That February, that bitch ass month, can suck it and die in LESS THAN A WEEK. Fuck your cocksucking ways, you horrible, horrible death-month of disaster.
• Hot water
• Warm blankets
• Dog kennels

That’s all!

I had a shitty night last night – completely of my own design – and plan to have an even shittier day today, resenting Mardi Gras parades and the drunken, teeming throngs of fuckwits they represent, resenting MyTodd™ going to that stupid party I don’t want to go to and making it so I have nothing to do tonight, resenting myself for not wanting to go, resenting this stupid-ass holiday for existing in the first place and basically feeling like the wrong sort of person in the wrong sort of world.

Because I can take my own happy ass out and do whatever the fuck I want without a security blanket – I know I can. But I don’t know if I will, even though it would make me happy to do it. And I hate my whole everything for that even being my god-damned dilemma. I am too old and too smart for this bullshitty way of being. So I resent me and the world and life too. And I know that sucks and is a shitty attitude and I should be a different, shiny happy kind of person. But at the same time I am sick to fucking death of people asking me why I am not a different, happy-shiny kind of person.

I am JUST NOT.

BECAUSE, that’s why.

Sometimes people throw away happiness with both hands because that’s really all they can think to do with it. Maybe happiness is heavy, I don’t fucking know.

Edit: After talking to a friend of mine, apparently things are not as much my fault as I thought they were, and other people are also much to blame. This soothes my savage insomnia beast a little. I don’t know if it’s harder to assume everything’s my fault, or harder to realize some things can’t be my fault because they’re out of my control.

Damien Rice – Woman Like a Man (listen at blip.fm)

You wanna get boned,
You wanna get stoned,
You wanna get a room like no one else.
You wanna be rich,
You wanna be kitsch,
You wanna be the bastard of yourself.
You wanna get burned,
You wanna get turned,
You wanna get fucked inside out.
You wanna be ruled,
You wanna be fooled,
You wanna be a woman like a man,
Like a woman like a man.