Evily says...

I should write something in my blog. Actually she laughed at me about not writing in my blog. So in that way I have, I felt compelled to write something.

It's weird, huh, the whole blog thing. I mean, who knew 10 years ago that so many people would broadcast their thoughts and inner workings on the thing called the Internet and, more importantly, that other people would want to READ those thoughts and inner workings? Maybe we're not all as self-absorbed as it would appear on the surface? Or maybe it's just the voyeurs who read blogs. And what a word. Blog. Like some dark, misty, soggy place that you go to write. To share your dark, misty, soggy thoughts.

And why do people write in them? Why not in a private journal at home? Are we all just a bunch of exhibitionists? Don't answer that. Or maybe we all think that what we have to say is important. Or maybe we just don't have anyone to listen.

It's Valentine's Day. I loathe Valentine's Day. However, I got the boy a cookie. A big, heart-shaped cookie with pink icing that says "Be Mine". Well, dammit, he better already be mine. I'm thinking that if he's not, a cookie from Whole Foods isn't going to save us. I think I only got him the cookie because I wanted the cookie. This way I can have a bite but not have to deal with the millions of calories in said cookie. Issues with food??? Nah, not me:P

It's Friday tomorrow. Of a (new) long weekend. I'm more excited about that than is reasonable, I think.

Okay, Evily.... I wrote. You happy now?

I'm not dead yet!

Oh yes, here I am, months and months after my last post.

I have nothing to say and I don't know why I'm here but I'm trying to avert some kind of breakdown so talking would seem to be the way to do that. Only I have nobody to talk to. Except myself. And that gets old. So I'll talk to some supposed person out there who might perchance read this. Oh, there's the dogs. But they don't understand. They just look at me like "give us food, let us out, throw sticks, rub our bellies...". Self-absorbed little brats, really.

Hey, if you want to try something fun, hyperventilate then crawl into a dark corner of someone's walk-in closet, go completely blank for a while and then resume life as normal. What did you do during those blank moments? Who will ever really know? Except maybe the people who were there at the time. I guess you just have to trust that if you were an idiot in your blankness, they won't tell anyone because they're (a) good friends or (b) keeping it to themselves in order to blackmail you at some later date. Pray there are no photos.

So, Monday is the day. Somewhere between 4 and 5 in the afternoon. I don't recall the exact time. I suppose I could look on the death certificate thingie, but that would be morbid and I don't really need to know. I can still feel her hand in mine, hear her breathing as her life slipped away, feel the way her hair felt when I brushed it back from her face. The feeling in my gut when I realized she'd just taken her last breath. The complete and utter cold that slammed me when I realized that never again would I be able to ... well, do anything at all with her. No shopping, no arguing with her over buying me stuff, no more cooking her dinner, no more poking gentle fun at her for her little habits and quirks. It's amazing how quickly the guilt sets in, how easily you can suddenly remember all the not-so-nice things you said. And how much you wish you'd told her you loved her more times. Made her really understand. I tell her now. I tell her I love her and miss her and I hope that somewhere she hears me.

People used to say "I wouldn't be able to stand it if I lost my mom". But you do. I mean, really, what choice do you have? You just carry on. But it's not the same. Everything out there is bright and too shiny and hard to look at. Hard to live with. After all this time, all four years, it's better. Mostly.

I need to go throw things out now.

*throws bucket of cold water on self*

Okay, okay, I'm awake! Do I want to be? Silly question.

There's too much to do at home for me to be here at work, where there's not much to do at all. I could file. Wheeee!!!

Weird stuff in my brain, as always. I wonder if that MSN name means me? "I still remember just the way you taste...". Interesting choice of lyrics from someone who doesn't like Staind.

You know what's ridiculous? How much I look forward to Friday so I can wear something comfortable and casual to work. That's ridiculous. The amount of time I spend thinking about food... what I should eat, what I shouldn't eat, why I just ate the thing I ate, how much I'll have to workout to burn off the thing I just ate, how it's the weekend and I get to have cake... crazy, man. How much my belly can bloat. Now that's insanity. How pregnant do I look today? Where'd my six-pack go? I swear it was there this morning when I got out of the shower.

I'm a tired puppy. Woof.

Are you sitting down?

Oh yes, it's another exciting day here in Shelleyville. Fun is at an all-time high.

What the hell is it about Thursdays? Where is everyone on Thursdays? Nobody around to e-mail with, nobody around to chat online with. On Thursday. Does something magical and special happen on Thursday that I'm not in on? Did I not get guest list?

The weekend looks dismal. Except Sunday. Sunday looks splendid. Lots of me and Sophie time.

My life is brilliant. Thanks, James Blunt. I'm glad yours is. Mine sure as hell ain't. Mine's a cubic zirconia on the brilliance scale. Looks kinda shiny on the surface, but don't peer into its depths. Here there be monsters. At least I get to drool over Capt. Jack tomorrow night;)

I need peanut butter. That would help. Lots and lots of peanut butter.

Nothing satisfies.

Mondays

Why do there seem to be so many more of them than there are, say, Fridays? Or Saturdays?

How long do you suppose it takes when you stop talking to people for them to give up and go away so you can be left alone to wallow in your misery? Days, weeks, months? I suppose I could hasten the process by telling them all to eff off. That seems rude. Seems rude. HA! It is rude.

If it wasn't for my girl, I'd be so gone there wouldn't even be an imprint of me. She's all that keeps me sane and here and able to wake up every day.

I'm having trouble forming coherent, articulate thought, so I just won't.

Something has to change...

New Tool album on Tuesday.

Today was.... a day. As usual, I ate too much crap, didn't work out (well, that's not usual), got overwhelmed by just about everything and sank into a dark icky hole. And here I am. Someone needs to throw me a blankie, because it's a bit chilly in here. Dirt walls will do that. I should decorate. Maybe I could do a nice primitive theme to go with the dirt and the dank and the dark. How alliterative. A lamp would be nice. At least then I could read.

I'm having a conversation on MSN about menopausal nightwear. How surreal. Still, at least it made me smile. How inconvenient when you're trying hard to be surly.

I'm supposed to be running a marathon in Nashville this weekend. Looks a lot like I'm not, doesn't it? Dani went, ran sick and finished the half. Yay for Dani. She's not a loser like me. Oh look, I'm being surly again.

I thought writing this stuff down was supposed to be cathartic? Well, its NOT making me feel any better. Just more.... bitter.

*sigh*

I suppose I should go and attempt to be sociable.

Over and out *salutes sharply*

Oy

That's all really. Just oy. Sometimes things are so overwhelmingly oy-ish, it's not even funny.

People constantly amaze me to the point of the googley eyed fish stare. You know that one? Where you're having a normal (okay, normal is subjective) conversation and suddenly BAM - they take a strange turn in the road and you're in Oyville. And you wonder how the hell they found that little hidden side road, because you certainly didn't see it on the path of the conversation you thought you were taking. There was no "Hidden Entrance" sign to let you know that some odd, completely unrelated thought was going to come barreling out into the road and t-bone you. Suddenly there you are, airbag inflated, thinking "huh?".

And another thing. Why is it that the people who keep suggesting I need to be on some kind of meds... are all on some kind of meds? "There's no shame in it" they say. Well, of COURSE they're gonna say that. They're doing it. They're not likely to say "dude, don't take the meds, it's shameful". Besides, whoever said that man was supposed to be EVEN all the time? I don't like being even. Being even is not what I'm about. I'm about the raucous rollercoaster of mood swings and hell, if you don't like that and you want me to be more EVEN, maybe you should try the kiddie rides. The ones that go round and round in circles and stay on the ground. I have a height restriction. "Must be THIS tall to go on this ride". See? The little clown says it, it must be so.

So, yeah, what I'm really saying? Oy.