And Then I Screamed

So, you may be wondering where all that promised content went that I talked about in my last entry.

I still have all of it...I'm actually staring down at least 4 draft entries as I type. But I can't do much with them for the time being. I don't have the other halves of the drafts in my phone, and typing out multiple paragraphs with just my index finger is a real nuisance. Why not just use my laptop, you say?

Because it's sleeping. It's sleeping soundly in a wordless, pictureless void. Drfiting, without color, without music, in the black hexidecimal rivers of electronic limbo.

Plainly speaking, the damn thing isn't working.

It happened right around Xmas. My innocent Acer, sitting on my kitchen table, waiting patiently for the holiday craziness to be over so we could both get back to business. And then, one night, a nefarious pointy eared villian took it upon herself to make a statement...
...and peed all over the laptop. With like, an incredible amount of fluid. Seriously.

I'm trying to resurrect it though. The first day, I let it drain and dry, then I dismantled it days later and swabbed everything down with alcohol. For whatever reason, I couldn't pry the keyboard out initially, so I only got to clean the motherboard on one side at first. I tried to start it, but it wouldn't budge. Days after that, I got it completely taken apart, and, OH JOY, I see corrosion. So now I'm waiting to get some stronger stuff to try to get that all off. Weirdly, 99% alcohol/denatured alcohol are sometimes hard to find. Ech...

I'd have it professionally looked at if I had the money. Because honestly, I'm not even 100% sure that all this will work or if I can help it without replacing things. The minor stuff isn't too bad, about $60 or so. But if the CPU or motherboard need to be replaced...I'm screwed.

So, that's how things are at the moment. It's questionable when I'll be able to post again. I may have to wait all the way until June, worst case scenario. Hopefully, I'll have something worth the wait.

Until then.

Confessions of a 30 Year Old

Lets cut right to the chase, shall we?

I love Calabrese.

No facking duh, right? Well, it's true. I love them. A lot.
Like, a lot a lot. To the point where I feel I have to write a Blog entry about it to sort out if I'm turning into one of those super creepy stalker types. F'reals. I can't tell. And even if I could, I kind of don't know if I'd want to admit it. I think that's step one, right? Denial?

So, where do I start?

I guess with the Blog entry I've been working on since October of last year. Yes, 6 months ago. It was my second time seeing them, but my first time actually talking to them. I freaked out. The whole night. It was ridiculous.

But I had planned ahead of time to make myself grow a pair, so I brought a box of treats. Yes, I brought candies and dumb chibi drawings to a concert. As offerings. No, I am not 14.

I talked to Bobby before and after the show. I was on some sort of insane auto pilot, because most of what I said didn't register until a day or two later. Thankfully, his eyes were a little red, so I'm guessing he was too tired to remember most of my drivel. Or maybe he had some janky beer. I don't know. I'm certainly not going to judge.

Why is it taking so long, you ask? Because it was them. It was an experience. And something as such should be crafted with care. Plus I'm still trying to mentally comb through everything. And hide the fact that I had a nosebleed over Jimmy's hip sways and inadvertently called Bobby adorable to his face. Please insert the appropriate rage comic and pre-pubescent squeal here.

Or, how about the year/Blog post before? The one where I was absolutely paralyzed, and nearly fell over at the idea of being in the same room as them. I barely could say two sentences to their dad after the show. It was mind-warpingly pathetic.

Then there was this year. More out-of-body babble. More dorky drawings. More chocolate. I'm sure they get piles of this stuff every time they go somewhere. Yet, somehow I feel like I should be doing it, regardless if it even matters. Oh, did I mention I accidentally hit on Davey this time? As in, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more? Yeah, that happened. Didn't hit me until 2 or 3 days later, either. Apparently, when I'm not in full charge of my facilities, I'm a total slut for these guys. Sounds harsh, but it's probably completely true. And I'm sure they totally love it, considering what I actually look like. /sarcasm

Speaking of, have I mentioned the dreams? How they have solely become the kings of my midnight reveries? If you've been reading this Blog, you probably already know. Most of the time, we're usually friends. Sometimes best friends. And sometimes...more than friends. Yes, I've "seen" them naked. And they're pretty good kissers, if I'm being totally honest.

Keep in mind, I'm not the type to normally fawn over something new every year like some do. When I latch on to something, I do it with all my teeth and I don't let go. Not for a long time. Perhaps even until said thing is nearing it's terminal limits. Even then. And the last time I can remember I was like this was in high school. So it makes me wonder. Is this...normal? Is it even remotely healthy? Or should I just find a nice, white padded room to sleep in for a while?

To be fair, there is a reason for a chunk of it. A reason which, I haven't told anyone about, and I don't really plan on doing so. Well...not entirely. I do have hopes that I can tell them one day. Probably never face to face, if the current trend continues. I've halfway written a letter to them in my head, and I don't think that's going to see the light of day either. It's a bit too long and personal to just throw out on social media, and I'd like to think it might be awkward as hell if I gave them a summarized note next time they come around. So who knows. I'll probably just die with it instead.

Still, though. The power they seem to wield on me is pretty strong. I used to chalk it up to any number of things before. Anything to downplay it. Even coming up with the dumbest reasons, like secret spellwork underneath certain tracks that lured the initiated in. And, even if that were true, I'm sure they would know the law of magic, and some sort of consequence would of been had by now...right? Unless they were dealing with certain entities, and -- anyway.

Am I going crazy? Is it OK to be this... in love? I'm married, with a 9 year old for Christ's sake. It's sort of even magnified if you look at the fact that I'm not into music as much as I used to be. Not by choice, but more by time spent on finding things. So I'm definitely not one of those chicks dressed in black with the heavy makeup at the bar. I wear color. And...Pokemon tees.

I need help, I think.

If you need me, I'll be banging my head against the wall.
Probably with my headphones in.

Until then.

Death Awaits

"I'm old." she says, matter-of-factly, cigarette hanging limply between her lips, "I just can't do stuff anymore."

"But mom...Aunt Pat is 11 years older than you, and she can do most anything just fine."

"Yeah, but...she doesn't have medical problems like me." she says, pushing the foot rest up on the recliner, reaching for her pint glass of wine. "Oh...have you seen the new episodes of True Blood?"

"I don't watch that. Or any of the other stuff you watch. Remember?" she says, tired, "Besides, don't change the subject."

"What? I was just asking."she says, with a shrug.

"And you know what I was just asking too."

"Tch. Chris..." she says flicking her wrist in the air, "It's not that easy. I can't just start something like that. My knees hurt. So do my hips."

"Yet, you still wear flip-flops everywhere. Which, I'm sure do wonders for your joints and posture."

"They're comfortable. I'm all about comfort these days." she says, almost offended.

"But a good pair of sneakers could do you so much better than those!"

"My feet need to breathe. Plus, I'd have to wear socks with regular shoes. And I don't really want to do all that."

She looked at the floor in front of her, littered in cat fur and papers, stacked high with junk, and sighed. Her mother does what she wants. Always has, always will.

It wasn't long ago that she remembered how things were once. When she was younger, mom was able to keep up with the family, and actually cared how she looked at times. She didn't drink too often, and didn't smoke as much as she does now. She would even try to make it to events that were considered important, even if it interfered with her up-all-night sleeping schedule. She really wasn't perfect, but at least it seemed like there was an effort.

Today, though, couldn't even come close to that. Not even in a mock sense of the word. She simply didn't care anymore. And found any excuse or reason to back her up.

Where did the person she had known go? Where did the mom who used to like things run off to?

Was she ever really there in the first place?

She sat, still, cupping the bottled water in her hands. She took a sharp breath in, with heavy remnants of tobacco still lingering in the air. As much as she tried to remembered the good, the bad was never very far behind.

She was never allowed to have friends over. The house was too dirty, mom would say. But mom wouldn't try to clean it, either. And there were countless times when things needed mom's attention at school, and she was told to 'just forge it'. A bath was given, maybe, once a month. Her bed was the floor, without a room. Doctors would give advice on her medical problems, but mom didn't listen. Mom 'knew better'.

And, oh, the drugs....

"The past, is past." she said to herself, shaking the current train of thought from the forefront of her mind. She couldn't change what had happened. Much as she would like to try. Much as she would like to forget.

She looked to her right, and saw her mom fixated and glass-eyed at the TV.

"Mom, won't you even try?" she pleaded.

"I told you." she said, eyes never leaving the glowing box, "I'm old. So, what are ya gonna do?"

She sighed, feeling that familiar heaviness sink in again. She was helpless to the whims and stubbornness of the woman who had bore her. Nothing she would say or do could affect mom or change her mind. And somewhere, along the lines of life, mom had given up. Given up on hope, given up on happiness and given up on ever trying to better herself.

Mom was simply, waiting to die.

From outside, she could hear the faint chirping of birds in faraway nests. Late at night, wrapped in the cold, she thinks of nothing else.



Until then.

Thank You for Your Concern

If you know much about me, you know that I tend to keep certain things out of what I post freely online. Not for any real reason, but, more for my own privacy. That, and I tend to think that most of what gets left on the cutting room floor either falls into the "That's Un-incredible!" and/or "Who Cares?" categories. But feel free to stop me on this one.

So, I'm breaking my own self-imposed rule.

I have a daughter. She's 8, soon to be 9 years old, who loves video games and My Little Pony. She's into girly things, like princesses and makeup, and puts rainbows on everything that can take marker or crayon. And boy, does she love to eat.

Oh, and, she has autism.

I know what you're thinking. "Oh, how horrible!" or, "My cousin's nephew has that!" or something else along those lines, right? Or maybe just some general sympathy towards my bad luck?

Please don't. It's because of things of the like that I keep it mostly to myself. I'm not embarrassed, nor am I in any sort of denial. But when she starts having one of those days where she gets very physical and a little out of hand, I feel obligated to tell the other parents at the playground this. She's not pushing those kids around to be a bully. She's not yelling because she's a problem child. She didn't mean to throw the ball in your child's face. She's not ignoring your child because she's rude. She has communication problems. She has social interaction problems. And every day, she gets a little better. Even if today doesn't show it.

Then, come either one of two things.

The first, is how they can relate. Or how they read something on it 2 years ago, and completely understand. This relative has it. Their neighbors' kid has it. X Y Z celebrity's kid has it. They use Mongolian rain water and peanuts for therapy. Have you tried it yet? I heard of this program that doesn't exist anymore that might help...would you like me to email it to you?

I understand what they're trying to do, but, really, it's completely unnecessary. Pretty much unwanted, if I can be perfectly honest. I know what she is, and I know what she has. I've been to the pools of resources and caves of information so many times that I feel I could write books on it. So the anecdotal tales of folks I've never met or the snippet of of information that isn't even relevant anymore just feels like treading water. I know they don't know this, so I try my best not to seem ungrateful or snooty in any way when it happens. Even if I'm secretly rolling my eyes at them.

There's a downgraded version of this I get from time to time too.

Do her brothers and sisters have it? Oh...she's an only child? How sad! It's so hard, isn't it? You can hardly tell she has it, though!

Again, I understand what they mean. They're trying to sympathize with something that most don't know a great deal about. Only, in this version, it always leaves me a little depressed. It's like getting a verbal effort ribbon from parents with 'regular' kids. She's all I've known in terms of raising a child, so, who can say how hard it is? Who can say how sad it's supposed to be? This is what normal is in our family. And I don't ever really think about it like that until things like these come up.

The second, is downright stupid.

She's retarded...so what? She still shouldn't be so rough! My kid is 'special' too, y'know! This area is for children! Keep her out!

To clarify, no, she's not retarded. But thanks for understanding. And I'm sure your drooling idiot is the unique little snowflake you think he is. She is tall, so she looks older. I'm 5'11" myself, so it's obviously hereditary. Mentally, though, she's still 5. So, she still likes to play with baby-ish stuff from time to time. I mostly try to discourage it, but, sometimes when she can't process things, the baby stuff acts like a safe zone. So, sorry your kid didn't get to play with the foam blocks instantly. I hear theres a nice pile of paint chips in the corner, though.

I wont lie. There is, sometimes, a lot to deal with. I have meetings with her teachers seemingly every month, and with it comes an avalanche of paper. She's a picky eater, so we wind up cycling through the same dinners all the time. And getting Medicaid and SSI was a small battle in and of itself. But these aren't everyday things. So, while it might be tough at times, it's never tough all the time.

So, really, thank you for your concern. But, I think I've got it covered.

Porcelain

The five of us sat around, and looked up at the menu above. Shelves were littered with a rainbow of sweets, with frozen drinks on the counter behind, and golden, buttery popcorn to the left of the register. The man in uniform smiled at us all, nodded and took our order.

Moments later, we were picking through our bags of treats. You tossed a chocolate in your mouth as I bit the head off of a gummy worm. You caught me staring. You just smiled.

We headed over to the ticket counter. Foolishly, I spent whatever money I had on food. You nudged me to the side, playfully. "I got it." I heard you say, before you smirked over your shoulder. My mouth opened to protest, but I stayed unwillingly mute. I blinked, with a prickle of heat curving over my face. "...Thanks."

It wasn't going to start for a while. The doors weren't even open. I rested my hand on the small brass pole next to me. Yours was already there. "Oh..." was all I managed to get out, as I slowly pulled away. We locked eyes. I could feel myself being dragged towards you, helpless. Words drowned in the beating of my heart.

We perched ourselves by the oversized windows as the other three sprawled out on sofas. I planted my elbows on my thighs, staring out into the afternoon grey of nothing. You did the same. Then you spoke. I watched your lips move, but I couldn't hear what was being said.

I was staring again. Your eyes were so blue. Your mouth seemed like it was teasing a laugh. I felt myself drifting again, falling into a void where I knew I would never leave. I looked down, and inched closer, resting my head on your shoulder.

"You don't have to..." you said, never completing the thought.

I turned my head. I was being swallowed whole. I didn't care anymore. I wanted to be lost, forever, alone, with you. I leaned in, tempting a kiss.

"What are you doing?" you asked, innocently.

"I just...really wanted to do that."

Silence floated lightly in the air. I could feel my chest pound out a heavy rhythm, as you grinned, wide and true. You wrapped your arm around me, and I could feel my body flood with warmth.

"You should of told me, then..."

I felt you freely kiss the side of my face.

I melted into you.

And I was gone.

Internet Flowers

So, the last thing I had on here was a bit of a downer, and, I can't really have that, right?

Well, it was bothering me. So, I found some stuff that might, uh...make with the happy feelings. Or something.

Damnit, just take them.















Yeah. Warm, fuzzy, wtf-ery, right? Right.

I have done my job.

Until then.

Oh Noes...

Just a tiny little post I'm making here.

If you've noticed, I've taken the last entry away. I haven't deleted it entirely, but, I'm guessing I might in the future.

Why? Well...because. I uh, decided that I should really start editing myself more. Starting with the fangasiming. I know this whole thing is set up so I can do as I more or less please, but, in the event someone...especially someone I cared about read this, I don't think it would be looked upon too kindly.

I'll probably be taking down things I consider too personal too. For the reasons above, and, because it probably shouldn't be out here anyway.

So, yeah. Nothing earth-shattering. Just taking better care of my internet self.

Until then.