I just got home from an overnight and I should be sleeping.

Well then...

Goodnight.

life lessons.

Life is as interesting as you make it.

I just found a quarter in a pair of shorts I haven't worn in years.

Now it's tucked behind my license in my wallet for good luck.

Interesting it is!

Blanche Devereaux

I feel like I should be creating. I find myself writing little blurbs in my phone or on my computer; opening up text documents and letting a few words flow. But then I stop myself. I wonder why. I am reminded of similar goings on that took place on an episode of The Golden Girls not too long ago. I remember Blanche was having trouble writing something or other and something happened and then everyone laughed before raising their arms in triumph over the evils of osteoporosis. I can't decide if that means I need to find some personal evil to vanquish or if I am sorely in need of guidance from a gaggle of gray-haired women.

I think the problem is that I know exactly what it is I am up to at the moment and exactly what it is I am feeling. Previously when I wrote anything of substance that was my weird sort of fusion of prose and poetry (Prosetry?) I was ass-deep in contemplation. Contemplating life and love and this and that. But I'm all stopped up. I think my continuing hiatus from writing ANYTHING is behind all of this. I keep letting myself not write in my blog, then when I try to express myself via text I have to remember what my voice reads like. It's coming back to me in booms and bursts, but I would like to get to the mega-explosion at the end. For the most part I write the way I speak. That is why I am a no good poet by dictionary definition. I'd say it's more of a rhythmic and lyrical free flowing uncensored thought process that breaks and builds with every press and pause my fingertips take.

I may or may not be sabotaging myself. That's okay. I'm up for a little reconnaissance and espionage work.

I've actually come up to a few conclusions after writing those sentences as to why I do the things I do, why I am the person I am, and how I need to make these things change. So... in essence I really am sabotaging myself. It hits on the same notes as yesterday's post. Is it self preservation or outright selfishness? I'm fairly certain you can't have one without the other but I'm certain you can have too much of one or both. I think I am starving myself from the sort of attention I really want (read: don't need) in some useless attempt to quell said desire for said attention. But in acknowledging the fact that I don't need this attention it has become quite clear to me that I do need it. As I said at the start of this post I feel like I should be creating things. I feel like I should be creating things that garner the sort of attention I am lacking. What is that? i don't know. I want to be appreciated for being familiar and special in a human and obsequious way. I want to be able to write things that mean something to everyone, but not tons to anyone. I would like to be able to express myself without fear of exposing a nerve and letting my subconscious bleed out. It's hard. Hard to break free of. Hard to explain, really. Hard nonetheless.

And that is why I didn't write.
I didn't write to keep the peace.
But I've missed it and I need it.
I suppose this is when I decide that each keystroke will save my life.

blah blah blog.

I keep not writing in here and it's not because I'm not committed. I think about not writing in here all of the time. Unfortunately I do this thing where instead of releasing my emotions I let them bottle up until I lash out at someone (usually someone at work). So, life updates.

Work has been interesting. It's clear to me that upward movement is at a standstill so all I can do for the time being is continue to be amazing and fantastic. It's uncomfortable to know that your talents and abilities would gain you acclaim, respect, and more responsibility if you were elsewhere... because there is the constant "what if I" brewing in the back of my head. On the other hand, my talents and my work has been noted and I know my place is one of value for now. SO if something comes along it may not be mine right off the bat, but I know I will get what I deserve eventually. The question is... how long is too long before eventually rears it's glorious head? Should I wait another two years? I don't think so. Two years is a long time to be bouncing back and forth in the same position... or is it? I don't know. I think sometimes I see the world in "what I deserve" terms and not "what I can get" terms. Either outlook is damning if you follow it 100% so I'm trying at a blend. I want to rock the boat just enough for people to know I'm out at sea but not enough to cast myself overboard. I wish the game of life would play out like chess and not like Go Fish. Without going into too much detail I will describe the last few weeks at work. I have spent more time saying the words" fuck you" "fuck" "fuck off" and "fuck yourself" than I have in all of my years on this tumultuous sphere combined. While I know those aren't the most sophistocated of words if you sandwich them between words like "Nevertheless", "Thusly", and "Consequently" it makes it sound a lot more warm and comfortable. It makes me feel scholarly. The usual back and forth, he said she said have been amplified to ridiculous heights. It's like 6th grade but with grown-up genitals and legal ability to drink. SO for the time being it is what it is; uncomfortably comfortable and unusually awkward. Thankfully I thrive in awkward situations. According to everyone I am exceedingly approachable. That means I am privy to all sorts of petty drama. Knowing things sometimes makes it easier to ignore things. While I know this is all a recipe for disaster, it will keep me entertained until it's time to arm myself with words and start to get stabby.

Other than that things are okay I suppose. I have been thinking a lot about my friends and the relationships I have or haven't maintained. Most days I feel like a bad friend. I'm terrible at keeping in contact with people. I almost never go out when I'm invited until somewhat recently. I've turned into somewhat of a homebody. I don't know... here is what I'm thinking. I can't decide if I'm really being a bad friend or of I'm afraid to extend myself because I don't want to take on the responsibility of maintaining strong friendships. Spending my waking hours bouncing work scenarios back and forth in my head and spending so much time making words and feelings work while I'm at work has left me with little emotional time to want to spend on other people. Does that make me a self preservationist or a shitty friend? I don't know. And while it doesn't work so much for other people right now it's working for me so I'm going to run with it. I've been putting myself out there a bit more recently though, so I feel good about where things may be going. I don't know that I should apologize for not being there for anyone right now. I suppose it's selfish and self righteous, but if I can't keep my own thoughts afloat I'd be hard pressed to float the thoughts of others.

Not too long ago we decided that it was time to start watching The Golden Girls religiously. It makes my butt happy.

My Life on The D-List also started up again last week. Fantastic. If ever I were to be someone's gay I'd want to belong to Kathy Griffin. Her hosting of the Bravo A-List awards was fantastic. That evil homosexual that screamed in peoples' faces and ran away from idiots also gave me a good giggle. Exciting.

Brad's birthday party at the Annex was fun. A female Danny DeVito circa Batman Returns threw herself at me and my friends Kathy and Jessica; she came complete with smock-like moo-moo and obnoxious cackle. She delighted me with tales of her obnoxious friend who forced herself on others and talked entirely too much. I was tempted to ask her if her friend was named Obnoxious Girl in Moo-Moo Talking to Me Right Now... but I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Shortly after that another bunch of friends (my fantastic boyfriend included) and I found ourselves talking to one another when we were thrown the offer of friendship by yet another bar loner. Jihan was her name. Her father is Middle-Eastern so she wouldn't dream of dating a Jewish man. It took all of the restraint I could muster up not to call her Jihad and hurl her into one of the twin towers. (Too soon?). Point being... I am an idiot magnet. Thank god I've got a swarm of amazing people to keep me company when I brave the outside world. It's too bad Staten Island throws up on NYC every Friday and Saturday night; it would be a much more pleasant place to frequent and maybe I wouldn't have so many Cosmos spilled all over my shirt.

Done and done.