People. Hermit crabs. I want to be a hermit crab.


So wow. It’s um.. June. Apparently I’ve slacked off on the blog, but I’ve been keeping busy in my physical journals, so it’s all good. Honestly, I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for the last few months, and I can’t seem to break through. Most of my journaling has become diary-esque entries, just to empty my brain.

I haven’t really wanted to write anything political on here. Well, because it’s too easy. Has anyone seen the state of our government or current administration? Red or Blue, it’s basically a shit show, and nothing I say is going to change anything at the moment anyway. I’ve stuck to picking fights on facebook posts to amuse my political side.

Other than that, everything is pretty good. Jon’s daughter is here for the summer, she’s a few years younger than Noodle, but they get along well enough. No blood has been shed anyway, and they both have someone to play with if they want. Definitely a cool little squirt though, can see a lot of her Dad in her. Although there is some issues with her mother, Jon’s been trying to get a hold of her about some things he wants to discuss regarding their child, and she hasn’t been answering for almost a month now. I’m willing to bet that this is going to go the same way my past relationships have re: lazy baby mamas. Joy. Whatever though, thanks to the last two major relationships, I have enough experiences with boyfriend’s exes to tide me over for a lifetime and a half.

Jon is home for the summer too, switching jobs currently, looking at working at a local PD. So while he tests/trains for that, he gets to hang with the kids (which is also a bonus because we avoid childcare then). Plus, I think it’d be nice for him to get to spend the summer with his squirt, who knows what shift he’ll be working next.

However, with the kids being home all summer, I’m definitely not minding going into work nearly as much as I normally do.

I jest.

Kind of.

Beyond that, the garden is in and thriving. We’ve got 3 different pepper plants (one of which is bearing fruit), 4 different tomato plants (including, cherry, roma and an heirloom). 2 different kinds of lettuce, carrots, green onions, green beans, cucumbers.. and my blueberry bushes are actually producing this year! I’m thrilled.

My health is actually okay. I still have some bad days with the headaches, crohns and IST, but it’s much more manageable now. When I have a flare up or episode, it’s more of an annoyance instead of a do-not-pass-go-do-not-collect-$200-go-straight-to-bed.

Noodle is doing great too! 10 years old now, she just had a birthday a couple weeks ago and a family party at the house. Spoiled kid got even more spoiled. She’s been having fun this year riding her bicycle and little dirtbike, now she’s got roller blades to learn. She’s definitely growing up so fast, and I’m more than proud of the lady she’s growing into.

Well other than all of that nonsense, it’s business as usual here. Thought I’d pop in and write a little. Hope everyone is having a great summer.




Then it was Morning.


Pour me more coffee please, it’s morning again.  How did the time pass?  When did it go?  I was just writing, scribbling away.  Now it’s morning again.

I do a lot of my best writing at night.  I’m not 100% sure why.  I’m actually a bigger *fan* of writing in the early morning hours.  The wee morning hours, where no one is up yet, the coffee pot is the only one making noise.  I have a hard time getting what I want to say out when it’s not nighttime.

Maybe it’s because I’m well rested and the filters thrown on my brain, dictating what is acceptable thought are harder to rip off now.  I know when I write at night, both on my blog and in my physical journal, the words just hit the paper and that’s that.  I don’t alter anything, just let them flow.  The only thing I will cross out and fix is spelling (yes, even in a fit of scribbling, spelling errors make me batty).  In the morning?  I rethink entire paragraphs.  Copy, paste, delete, and oh I’ll delete that too!  I am much more critical when the sun is up.

Write drunk, edit sober.  Maybe for me, it’s writing tired and not editing at all.

I was on a roll last night.  I wrote page after page after page and then some how fell asleep.  I woke up this morning, with words streaming through my head, got my coffee and sat down.  I wrote almost nothing before I thought “Nah, I better delete that”.

Maybe I just developed a habit over the years.  When I first started seriously writing in my journals (most likely you could say that in my early teen years… before that I wrote mostly about how my crush was dick and my teacher didn’t know what she was talking about LOLz) I did most of my writing during the late hours, post dinner.  Not because I wanted too, but because that was the only time I had left.  I dropped out of high school, pretty early and once I found myself a job, that was the only free time I had.  After the incident of me getting thrown out/moving out of my parents house, I would stop at a coffee house on the way home to my rented room and write.  It was a halfway point, and I had pseudo privacy so it worked perfectly.  Fast forward a few years, I had college work to do at night after work each day, so the LATE hours were for writing.  Once I had my daughter, it was after she went to bed and I could hide in my room away from my then-husband.

Maybe my brain is just used to it.

So here I am.  Writing about wanting to write, when last night I poured out my soul onto pages in my handmade journal.


It’s irritating.  Pass the coffee.

You’re Temporary


[This is a disorganized entry.  This is a lot of bullshit that has been banging around inside of my brain for the past two days.  This is nonsense that make sense to me and exists here on this blog purely because I can type faster than I can write by hand.  I tried to make sense of the thought process, but only confused myself more and elaborated on thoughts I was already trying to calm.  So I gave up and just let it be.  Enjoy the random.]


You’re temporary.  You’re insignificant to the universe.  In the scope of things, you’re not worth much more than the dog shit I stepped in this morning.  You are nothing.  Worth only energy, that’s it.  Your life is not permanent.  Neither is mine.  I am temporary.

There are many catch-phrases floating around regarding how short life really is.  All have the effect of “Don’t take life too seriously, it’s not like you’ll get out alive.”  Then, if you remove religion from the equation, you realize how short your life really is, how short it could be.  It’s quite an interesting thought and it puts a lot of “problems” that we all face into the correct perception.

Nothing we have, nothing we feel, nothing we accomplish is permanent.  It’s all temporary, purely because life is temporary.  To the outside world, to the universe, nothing matters.  It just exists, and then it doesn’t (or rather conscious thought doesn’t).  So going along with that train of thought, individual actions, or events do not matter.  That wretched heartbreak when someone you love(d) hurt you, all the way to finding out you have won the lottery, do not matter.

At least not to the greater scheme of everything.  I can tell you, from basic life experience, in the moment, it most definitely does matter.  That love you felt?  It matters.  Seeing your children happy?  It matters.  Living a good life?  It sure as shit matters.  Education.  It matters.  Your dog, your designer jeans, your ex-husband, your illness, your job, everything matters in the moment.

Purely because you are temporary, purely because life is short, (again, no religion please), it matters.  Everything you do SHOULD matter.  One single action you make, while temporary to the universe, is a very permanent thing in your life.  Even if it doesn’t have echoing repercussions, even if there’s no major cause and effect, it is still an event that happened with in your short lifespan.  Plus, more times than not, that action, either directly or indirectly, changed someone else’s life.  Even a miniscule amount, which to me?  Matters.

What I think is important in the endgame, is happiness.  Honestly, that’s what matters to me.  I want to be happy.  I want my child to be happy.  I want the people I love to experience happiness as much as possible.  At the end of the game, when it’s all nearly over, looking back on a life that has as much happiness in it as possible, seems much more preferable than misery.  We must experience all aspects of life, in order to feel everything, to know the true base feelings are, because again, at the end?  That might be all we have.

Something stuck in my head last night, a friend of mine was talking about the hell his last previous relationships put him though.  Which of course, anyone who has been broken hearted knows how desperate, how desolate one can feel.  It seems like the hurt will always happen, and who am I to say, maybe it always will.  Maybe each and every relationship will end of turmoil and tears.  I don’t know the future, just like no one else does.  I’ve been through some horrible, nasty relationships.  Ranging from addiction to physical abuse.  Hell, I’ve been through some very “normal” relationships, where at the end I was sure that my heart was literally bleeding on the floor, and if it wasn’t?  I wanted to make it so.  After all of it so far?  After all the stupid shit I’ve dealt with?  Was it worth it?  Is it worth trying again?  Is it worth giving it a shot, if I’m just going to be hurt again?


It’s worth it.  My last relationship (after the divorce) ended in a not so happy way.  The man I had loved (or thought I loved, whatever) had moved away and I couldn’t go with.  It put me in a funk, and by funk, I mean a violent dive into self destruction.  It lasted a long time, and it hurt more than any physical pain I’ve been in.  Love can do that to a person.  It’s possible, you know.  But coming out after the hell I seemed to thrive in… looking back?  It was most definitely worth it, those moments of pure happiness that I gained throughout the relationship were worth it.  It may not have lasted, but what does?  Life itself is temporary, so why should it last?  But the fact that I WAS happy, and now have happy memories makes it worth the while, worth the risk.

Those moments are what makes life worth it.  What makes getting up in the morning (or afternoon) worth anything.  Those fleeting moments of love and happiness make it worth trying again, even to risk having your heart torn out yet another time.

Let me ask you.  Why not take the risk?  What do you have to lose?  Any pain you feel will be temporary.

How can you know what love is if you haven’t been in an immense amount of psychological pain?  How can you know what pure joy feels like, if you haven’t been completely destroyed, if you haven’t had to pick yourself up off the ground and promised yourself to do it again?  How can you know what your feeling is real, if you haven’t felt the opposite.  How can you enjoy a cup of coffee outside, surrounded by the very thing you love, nature, without learning how much you’ve taken it for granted in the past?  How can you feel the beat if you’ve never lost yourself in it?

Life is temporary.  You are temporary.  I am temporary.  If nothing else, embrace it.  Some days the idea that I might only exist for a little while, that my conscious thought might not be here forever, scares the ever living shit out of me.  Some days I embrace it.  Some times I wrap the thought that nothing is forever around me like a warm blanket.  Regardless on my take of it, which very much so changes every single got-damned day, embracing the fact that everything is temporary has improved life dramatically.  It’s made me take risks to avoid what ifs, but it’s also made me re-think some of the choices I’ve made, some of the choices I’m going to have to make.  Even though life is temporary, it is very permanent to me.  I only have one.  And despite the inert fucked-up-ness I’ve dragged myself through… I’m going to rock it.