Restructure

So here I stare at my screen once again trying to make sense why I decided to start a blog in the first place. I read over my first post and think to myself yeah well that was a dandy idea but I don’t really think I have anything to say. For some reason, that desire to tell my story simply vanished; disappeared along with every scar of self proclaimed voice that I haven’t really found. I don’t even think I’ve started looking for it.
But that’s the thing. I deny myself the chance to write down the ideas and feelings that buzz back and forth through my mind and drill the back of it at such a pace that I’m surprised I don’t have a crater at the back of my head. I deny them because writing them down makes them real; my specialty if throwing my feelings away when they become too much. Wash down the memories by pretending they don’t exist. I lie to myself when I say, “Today is the day that I’ll narrate the joys or the tumbles of my week,” simply because I convince myself mid post that my words aren’t worth it or that if I complain too much I’ll turn into my mother.
The thing is, today actually is that day. Today I restructure this thing to something that looks more like something that will look more like journal than anything else, my poetry will still be here, it’ll just be moved to a different tab. I apologize to those who might find this recount of my days as boring, and to my family because they’ll pretty much be fucked over because of this. I also apologize to everyone I mention. You’ll all a part of my life, and I know people will get hurt along the way, but this is my story: dysfunctional family included. The fact that so many of the people I know, know about this site probably won’t help either.
Oh well.
Here goes
Get ready for useless stories every Sunday at around 5

1984

My goal of writing a post every Monday has become a complete failure. What can I say, me and deadlines just don’t mix when it comes to inspiration. I don’t know what is happening to me lately that I can’t get inspired. Maybe it’s because I feel under complete control and words can’t seem to flow through my inner core up to my hands to express the feeling of utter helplessness and fear of simply thinking. That, or I’m simply coming down with a heavy does of seniortis and I have no interest other than Netflix, and that’s not a very good source of inspiration. 

But seriously, I feel straight out of the book 1984 where even having thoughts that are remotely out of line are punished. I can’t have a conversation with someone without being careful with how I word things because I might be taped. Psychological trauma has forced me to think things and say things I wouldn’t say otherwise, to act differently. As I write this post I’m terrified that it might come back to haunt me, but I have to figure out if someone she has found my one true escape. I do realize all this sounds outlandish, straight out of a bad suspense movie, but I can’t help but feel my heart and opinions being mangled by the one person who swore would protect them. Screw healthy formation, if you want someone to follow your set opinion as to how they should act, make them fear their own existence. 

It’s become such a pull on me that I’m afraid to fall in love, because I know no one will ever be good enough, no one will ever bring back the sense of safety that she’s taken away. 

It’s no joke that as I type these words my heart races in utter anxiety that after this post I’ll be annexed from my first amendment right. 

Happy Hoelloween

Aside

So it’s hallows eve and I’m still not sure if I have a costume or not. It annoys me that I actually have to make a costume because all the ones I find are sexy versions of animated kids characters. I mean seriously, who’s weird fetish imagined a sexy Elmo?

What amazes me even more is that women have turned halloween into all time hoe fest. Honestly, if you’re a closeted wanna be prostitute go right ahead and do it all year round and don’t put up this act of false innocence or self respect that you obviously do not posses. There is absolutely no need to walk around in a corset IN PUBLIC and act like it’s perfectly fine because you’re supposed to be Snow White. I had no idea Snow White wore fishnets in the movie, I guess they might have been hidden under her skirt that actually covered her ass… 

If you wanna wear a corset and fishnets, be my guest, but please do it behind closed doors and stop ruining my favorite childhood movies. Seriously, childhood movies are pretty much the only happy thoughts I have anymore and I don’t need them to go into the dark side. If your man has a weird thing for a naughty Buzz Lighter, well I suggest two things, question his sexuality and also, please that strange craving in your four walls; I don’t want one of ma favorite Pixar characters to be soiled forever in my memory because he was made into a trashy piece of latex.

Isn’t halloween about goofing off? About getting drunk of a sugar rush? About exploring that lost childhood we thought was lost forever? Or is that just me? Because the usual thing I see when I look around on October 31st are breasts pushed up to women’s noses and men tying to push down their boners. That’s far from innocent in my perspective. And yes, this coming from a woman who defends casual laying about and has a mind that finds double meanings in everything. What can I say, halloween is the time of year that reminds me I’m not as far gone as I think.