I think I’ve been hiding out. I’m definately bitchy and moody. I’m bleeding and emotional. My English is all but forgotten. I had so many things to say. I can’t really get up the enthusiam or courage or motivation to put any of them into words. I’ve started drawing again. It’s good for my inner-child. I play with markers and pastels and paints and pencils. I throw away the bad pictures and save the good ones. I wish my Daddy had a fridge of his own so he could put them up and be proud of them – of me. I haven’t heard anything new about my great-aunt in a few days. I’m afraid to ask. Of course, we’ll hear when she’s gone but until then… Ramblings of a mad-women. Not her, me. I’m babbling. I know that. I’m just sad and kinda at odds with my own, personal solar system. My universe is okay but this solar system is just not quote right. Maybe there’s a stay comet passing thru or something. Maybe it’s the change in the weather. Maybe it was being a baby shower this morning. Maybe it was seeing friends from my last job and having to lie about my current occupation so I didn’t feel like a total loser. Maybe it was taking a really low paying gig just so my Mother would get off my back for a few days. Maybe it’s that Daddy has a cold so I can’t see him this weekend. Maybe it’s that I put myself on a diet and all I can think about is ice-cream and french fries. Maybe it’s the almost-negitive account balance in my check book. Maybe it’s that Flagg will be going home soon and will want his cat back and I’ve become really fond of the little bugger. Maybe it’s just hormones. Does it really matter what IT is anyway? Nah, not really. Sleep. Sleep is the cure-all. Can’t worry or feel bad or be annoyed or angry or whatever when your’e sleeping. Well, I guess you can in dreams but with the right meds, you don’t even dream when you sleep. Lucky me – I have such wonder-pills. Of course, I don’t get shit done when I sleep all the time. And now that I’m on the TES BoD, I have lots that I said I’d do. I also have about 5 camp-related posts half-done and a ton of return e-mails in my drafts folder. This is why I say I’m bad at being a good friend – no follow-thru. I say I’ll write or call or whatever and then I don’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I don’t know what to say or where to start and the fear of being rejected is too large to risk so I just don’t bother. Plus I get the added benefit of being able to beat myself up about being a bad person later. I apparently love doing that to myself because I do it a lot. Blech. I think I need a happy pill and a nap. I’m sure shit will be much better after both. Thanks in advance for your hugs and support but really, I’m fine. This is probably just hormones and will pass in a few hours. Consider this a moment of weakness caught in an otherise rational being. Hell, I might not even hit publish. Nah, I will publish this just so I can see it again next month and remind myself that this too shall pass. < / end ramble >
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