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A version of me has been here before. Not this version. |
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This is my......bazillionth blog. Maybe it will last... Wish in one hand...  
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"Blogging Circle of Friends "  Day 3730 January 25, 2025 Snow can change the way light, shadows, and contrast appear. For example, snow can create a beautiful contrast between golden ornamental grasses and a blue sky. Your thoughts on snow... I love the snow. Currently, in my area of the world we are emerging from a blanket of snow. We even got snowed in the house for two days. Love the kind of snowed in where you open a door and are confronted with eight inches of packed snow at your feet. Glorious. To me snow represents everything my mind is not but strives to be. An all-encompassing quiet, stillness, brightness, softness, slowing…and yet able to build. Plus – the visual aesthetic of snowflakes in the air is so pleasing to me. Last week Kid B turned 11. Eighteen days before that Kid A turned 17. In six days, I will turn 46. This time of year is often a season of change at my house. Or at least it has been for the past 11 years. All three of us are at life stages where we can become a new thing and hopefully this year we can do it. Hopefully it is finally time. I think many people would be spending this time of year floating in that state of emotion that is both sad and warm, thinking fondly of when their children were young and realizing how long ago that really was. I have some of that. But I have more of a different thing. A quiet introspection that is less pleasant. How much of my life I now file as a waste of time, of energy, of love. How little may be left to construct what I have wanted all along and how different that would be forced to look. How dissatisfied I am with what I turned out to be, what I ended up dong with my life. I am also under no illusions that I have been a great mother. I used to hate when my mom would say “I did my best” and I still kind of hate it but, but I reserve a small percentage for surface understanding. I get why one would say that, I get that feeling of knowing you didn’t do the best but that you tried. I can say that as well. I feel like most people who say that they did their best know that is not true. I know it. Did I try? Yes. Did I try hard? Yes. Were there countless times I chose something selfish or lazy or lied to avoid something? Yes. Were there countless times that I knew right then in the moment that I wasn’t doing my best? Absolutely. Rewriting my parenting history is insulting to my children, even though they don’t understand that yet. No idea what words I will use when it is time, but they won’t be “I did my best” So then if I can’t help but get all whiny about no one blowing up balloons for my pity party, then let’s see if some worldly spirituality might turn it the fuck around. 46 can instead mean for me…. It represents the dream of the believer in the Koran. The Jewish people were constructing the sanctuary for 46 years in the Bible. And numerically the value equals Adam. Combining the meanings of 4 and 6 would make a person who can create a secure family base. In guardian angel world they’d be telling me to keep focusing on my life and soul’s purpose. ….so, most of that is about new beginnings…identifying them, building them, having them, maintaining them. And that fits right in with what I want to happen this year. (If I am being brutally honest – that is not what I expected to type. I was totally ready for something that did not align with my current state of mind. I am pleasantly surprised and…. surprisingly motivated.) But alas…I am still going to end this on the worst note possible – I have again run out of corn dogs. Not for the first time since I last spoke of corn dogs. |
| Time for some accountability talk. And part of that would definitely be recognizing that I have to break out of the thinking rut I have laid down and gotten comfortable in. So, instead of just acknowledging shit I am going to frame it as what I wish I were. Slip some positive affirmation The Secret type manifestation up in there. It is only 9 am and it has been a fucking day already. Some mornings the first thing out of my mouth is something super duper cunty to Husband A. And while this will sound bad - that is not what I am saying needs to change. I fully believe that he is not in a position to “deserve” not to hear shit. Plus I definitely have some….oh you won’t go, let’s see what I can do about that…..built in there. And I still think that is true - if someone won’t leave then I don’t know why I should continue making it comfortable for them to stay. However….. there is a much pettier, lazy, selfish part that I want to be changed. I want to stop smoking so I can avoid the garage and therefore not interact with the man. There never has to be that moment of environmental reset that seems to reset to shitty. There won’t be any unearned repercussions on Kid A and Kid B, and he (we) won’t have turned the remains of my day into an apocalypse story. Duuuuuude. I totally did NOT frame that in the positive way I said I would. I even forgot in the span of a double space and time check that I was going to do that and only know upon a reread. Ugh, and now I don’t want to. But I guess that’s the problem isn’t it. I want to be a non-smoker who wakes up and both unemotionally recognizes and limits my exposure to things that negatively alter my entire day. That really didn’t go the way I planned. Note - to everyone truly bothered by the title of my contest entry…..sleep easy, I did what you wanted.  . This time. Blog Harbor Prompt# 2 The World Economic Forum has found the average adult will outlive their savings by approximately a decade. What are your best tips for spending and saving? Not exactly the spirit in which the prompt was issued but all that jibber jabber everywhere about making blog posts your own…. If I died right now halfway through this word I would have outlived my savings. So I don’t have tips. And if I did - they, clearly, would not be tips you would want to follow. Cash burns a hole in my pocket and honestly - my bank card gets pretty fucking hot in there. But it isn’t….foolish shit. Extra money never makes it all the way down the list to me to be extra and even if it did - I go crazy and get like…the more expensive, larger pack of razor blades. Big dreams and all that. Kid A and Kid B clearly get needs met first. I would need to have tons of money to meet a large list of longtime unmet needs before I would have any to save. |
| I got corn dogs. There is no corn dog nor hot dog emoticon. |
| Blog Harbor (still investigating, still confused) Prompt #31 If you could have an evening with four living people, who would it be and what would your ideal evening consist of? It takes a lot for a real person to …inspire me…or to inspire the desire to soak that person up. And that is because I don’t pay that much attention to people. I don’t know - I have to really like someone to notice, digest, and interpret their personal cues. And that can include famous real-life people or those meant to be inspiring. Otherwise, I have moved on from you when this situation is over. So this question started easy and then got hard. Gordon Ramsey, Travis Fimmel as Ragnar Lothbrook, Jet Tila, and Sophie Monk. How would that evening unfold? Who the fuck cares? Those are some good people. As long as Jet is feeding me at a rate of….every second. As long as Travis is looking fucking wackadoo and dirty and bloody and like he might murder us all at any second AND willing to sit and discuss the barbarian’s take on religion - then he can do whatever else he pleases, from here to Valhalla, he may do as he pleases. Gordon would stand in the kitchen and absolutely annihilate me while I tried to fill a cake order. Seriously destroy me. Mocking me, yelling at me, calling me names….and I swear to all the gods that in this case - and only in this case - I would want him to taste the cake and give it like two stars. I want him at full cliche. And Sophie - come on. COME ON. Sophie will stand around looking amazing and hosting the evening. Every so often making us gather at the fire pit while she drops a bomb on the evening. No prompt…just me… I have eaten twelve corn dogs in four days. I am saying this only because as I sit here and try to write something all I can think about is how I don’t have any left. I thought typing it here would alleviate it for a bit. Nope. I’ve still been sitting here thinking about corn dogs and not typing anything. |
| "Welcome To My Reality Forum" January 2025 Prompt #67 Out of the ashes rose a hero. Write what I want about that. Usually with these blog challenge prompts, I read it and instantly get something in my head that I simply cannot move past no matter how much of the day the back of my mind devotes to the topic. This is one of those for sure. And this is what I instantly and quickly had play out in my mind… A city in ruins, not like recently ruined, but more like an ancient city reinhabited by some weird cross between an old school tramp riding the rails and some horribly cliche portrayal of old Romani women. You know - maybe dirty, maybe layered in much much clothing, perhaps even enough trinkets made into jewelry to clang and jingle with any movements. Maybe they aren’t trinkets, possibly they are teeth or the leg bones of babies. Only communicating within the city walls through symbols they carve or chalk on the eroded surfaces. They both live and try to remain hidden in the caves and nooks created by the crumbling monuments of old. Saving the navigable upper floors of the buildings for defensive warfare tactics unseen outside of this city. In the center is an out-of-place smoldering mountain of ash that suddenly explodes outward due to the inability of the very earth to contain the rage propelling the hero up. Bursting out, the ashes of the enemies to which he has just laid waste fly through the air coating the decaying edifices with a warning of what had happened there that day. No prompt..just me…. Listen – today I experienced the subtitle that made a shitty day better. Shitty in a few hundred small ways that would make other people roll their eyes at me. But hundreds of turds build a shit mountain. *hot boy mumbling That’s it. That’s all it was. But I adore it. Hot boys, mumbling. I wouldn’t mind living in the land where that is the only language spoken. OH MY GODS. It would look exactly like the city in the above prompt. No joke - exactly. Crumbling ruins. Dirty hot boys, somehow both dusty and sweaty, in tattered clothing engaging in berserker-style warfare. Mumbling incoherently because these specimens speak with a different part of their body. Okay so combine that shit. A dirty crumbling city of ruins. At first, it seems abandoned but in the stillness, one might catch a flicker of movement right on the edges of their vision. Hot boys, tanned to the shade of the sand and covered in the dust of ruins, dart in and out of the nooks and caves created by the crumbling monuments of old. An old Romani woman, head down and covered in scarves, limps through the half-arch left at the entrance of the city. She finds herself wholly unprepared for the blood-soaked berserker situation she has stumbled upon. Caught in the crossfire she ducks and spins, the sounds of the teeth strung around her neck twinkling among her calls to her gods. Suddenly a hero appears. Stepping in front of the old woman he stops tempering his rage and it explodes out of him like fiery fingers, grabbing and dragging anything near him to its death. As the rumbling stops and the old woman can begin to see through the smoke of hot boys’ unrealized dreams, she gasps at the enormous pile of ash left in front of her. Tears streak down her dirt-caked face at the realization that such a hero has also been lost. With no sound at all, she found herself witness to the inability of the very earth to contain the residues of rage propelling the hero up. As he burst forth from the ashes of the enemies to which he laid waste, they fill the air, coating the decaying edifices with a warning of what had happened there that day and burying the old woman. |
| Look ma...two days in a row.... I know you don’t submit these to Welcome to My Reality til the end but like I said….fuck the world avoidance and all that… "Welcome To My Reality Forum" January 2025 Prompt #43 Who is the person you would like to travel with the most and why? Come on now… Everybody knows there ain’t no party like a timelord party because a timelord party is not bound by temporal parameters and thus don’t stop. Not even a second’s thought - Doctor Who OF COURSE. With just a few …not demands…more like requests… We must get in trouble with the Daleks. We must. Please. I have a real-life recording of a Dalek saying my name. I love to make people listen to it because it is just too nerdy. And I love when people don’t even know what the fuck it is. Won’t be sharing it here though because no one here knows my name.  Just know that I approached a Dalek in a silent moment like church and asked for this like it was my personal come to Jesus experience. I pissed off a room full of hardcore Gallifreans for this and the recording is about one second long. One second of kick-ass that is. I do NOT do NOT do NOT want to travel with that female doctor. She’s like my Voldemort. She who shall not be named. This is the sort of stance you start with ‘Sorry but,’ except I am not sorry. Unfortunately, like rappers, the doctor in any regeneration is not a female and still good. It simply isn’t possible and oversaturated keyboard-warrior feminism does not mean we fix what hasn’t been broken for 60 years. Sixty fucking years and suddenly we need to put a pussy in the position of power to stay relevant to a portion of the fan population? No, we don’t need to do that. Perhaps if the maleness of a character offends you then the show is not for you. Not perhaps. Having said all that and also taking a moment to recognize and appreciate the utter classic nature of the OG Doctor Who….. I’d want to shoot through galaxies yet constantly end up in some earth version of London, with the tenth doctor. Because in our downtime I would WEAR DAVID TENNANT OUT. Leave him searching the universe for anything that might measure up to the heroin hit of a memory I’d leave that man with. I can’t end this without adding that in my wildest dreams he would point to his pants and make a joke about things being bigger on the inside. Forget my come to Jesus moment, bring on my cum to David moment. Blog Harbor (why won't it let me link to this?! Investigation to begin) Prompt #50 What type of story (specific narrative, not just a general genre) do you never get tired of reading or hearing about? I read all kinds of shit, all kinds of genres. I do not like non-fiction really but that isn’t the question… the one thing that I will never get tired of, that I have had as a guilty pleasure so long that I have surpassed the implied shame to read such nonsense in public. ENEMIES TO LOVERS HISTORICAL SMUT. Even more specifically…. Scottish highlands smut where a laird or a laird’s son must get with or save another clan’s daughter. Or laird’s daughter and opposing clan’s laird…..you get the picture. Hitch up your kilt and let’s roll in the heather. It’s like a B-grade movie…after a while, the quality doesn’t even register. I really no longer even mind throbbing members (as if I have ever protested a throbbing member)or delicate flowers and pulsing nubs. (Actually - not true. If someone uses nub then I turn into Peter Griffin and simply must laugh.) These books serve two purposes for me…I can escape real life for any amount of time I desire. These books, no matter the length, can be consumed at a rate of two a day. If I want to escape for a string of twenty smutty chick-lit books then I can and it is just about a week of my life's downtime that my kids have to bitch and moan about the missing maid. (Oh oh oh..the Scottish laird who must locate the missing maid but she turns out to be the beloved daughter of the chieftain he is warring with.) Also - if I put away four or five of them in quick succession (and gods forbid you give me a smutty series) then I am infinitely inspired to write. I don’t write smut - obviously. I’ve tried and I am not good at it. Not. At. All. But I will write pages and pages and pages directly afterward….my pen gets rock hard. No prompt, just me... Yesterday was the day most people gave up on their resolutions. Halfway through establishing a habit and most people gave up 24 hours ago. I hate resolution time. I hate the pretense that on this specific day, one will implement changes that they have spent 364 days thinking about putting into action. Asshole - start changing the day you realize how... not in the morning, not on Monday, not next January 1st. I do however like the thought of a word for the year. Previously I have tried a word per month but the truth is….that is too much evolution effort and the follow-through suffers. This year, due to the current conditions of my day-to-day existence, my word is self-accountability. Like nitty-gritty honest fucking self-accountability. I have a good grasp on self-awareness. I readily admit and accept and revel in my faults in quite a few cases. That’s not what I need to improve on. I need to stop being the asshole in the previous paragraph. Highlighting and dissecting my issues isn’t enough. The absolute truth of me is that I procrastinate the effort required to make any impactful change - mostly because it would fuck with some comfort aspect of my life or something that I just don’t want to give up. Not like…bed sores from my recliner comfort… but fuck with my emotional comfort type shit. It would fuck with my control of it all. I’m the create chaos to control chaos type and fuck do I flourish when I am controlling chaos. Becoming a better person would cancel the need for chaos. What fun is that shit? Peaceful maybe, but do I even know how to do peaceful? Methinks probably not. On the fucking plus side of 2025 so far I am about to go post my update in the weekly goals forum and it might very well be the first time EVER that I will have completed what I stated in that forum on a Monday. Call it a win and wrap that shit up with a bow. Let’s start 2026.  |
| When I was on WDC in my last life I was rude, hateful, and epically impatient. If that sort of shit doesn’t float your boat then…surprise!...you aren’t gonna like me this time around. The best I can place it would be something like….Kid A was maybe a third grader. I can definitely remember a few blog posts about her and the thumpers at the school, and second grade is when all of that began. Which would make it a super fun-filled eight years ago. Maybe. I don’t know. Time flies when you’re having fun and time has been fucking creeping. There is still a Kid A and also still a Kid B. This is where people in my life would expect a joke about the urge to put them in a box like puppies and leave it on the corner, but I’m no fool, their constant bitching at each other would mean no one would take the box. Nah, the truth is that they are gross best friends. The face my sister makes me make just doesn’t understand how they could possibly enjoy each other so very much. It is like being on a heartwarming version of The Twilight Zone….weirdly surreal. There is still a Husband A. I can’t seem to shake him, despite making it clear I constantly want to dick-kick him. This whole…place shit on a timeline of the despondency of your life exercise is making me feel old and miserable and motivated to turn up the cuntiness that pervades my daily life. My misery collects company and fucking hates timelines. (Absolutely the antithesis of the happy version of me who fucking hates company and loves a good timeline.) Are there good things that have happened that I could put here? Yeah probably. Are there more shitty things? Yeah definitely. If I don’t do the blogging challenges on here then all I will do is get on every day (hahahahahaha every day) and write a variation of fuck the world, progressively becoming more succinct until I get on and simply type fuck the world. But not today. I took a little break, as I am wont to do, to see if I had anything else to say and all that happened was my car died at the high school. Now that I cooked my rage in freezing temperatures, I find that I don't. I don’t have anything else to say. That’s all the fun introduction there’s gonna be. The rest of that shit will steadily leak out - trust me. |
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