letters | a/abs #atozchallenge

letters | a to z | what sandra thinks

Dear Abs,

Thank you for showing yourself to me on such fine specimens as Chris Hemsworth, Tom Ellis, Alex O’Loughlin, and every other great-abs man on my appropriately titled ‘beautiful’ Pinterest board. I can’t be more specific and list them all… I don’t even know all of their names.

What I can do, though, is show my appreciation. So, if, perhaps, you could kindly send one (or more) of those perfect specimens to my door to do with whatever I please, that’d be great.

Oh… and thank you for fueling my fantasies and even, at times, my writing. I’ll be dreaming of you… Especially that one dream where I’m innocently sitting there reading and great-abs guy walks in fresh from the shower in only a towel, water droplets running down his chest… 

All my love,

p.s. —  Arms. Sexy man arms. Dear Arms, I love you just as much as abs. Sometimes, even more. Don’t feel left out. xo

p.p.s. — To my readers (not to delicious abs): All of my letters won’t be like this one. Some probably will be silly, but some won’t. Just so you know…


©2020 what sandra thinks

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thanks for that.

I know the A-to-Z challenge hasn’t even started yet, but I already want to say thank you to everyone who commented on my last post with words of encouragement. I am a struggling writer. Not in the way that I’m struggling to get published or become a famous author. (I’m not making any effort there, but if someone knows a guy, I’m not opposed.)

It’s just that writing is one of my great loves, but I have been struggling to do much of it for a long time. I assume it has to do with my deeper issues, and because of those same issues, I really need the support to do this. And I need coffee to do this. Lots of coffee.

So thanks. To you… and to the coffee makers of the world.


p.s. — I just realized as I was about to write this post that tomorrow is April 1st. And here I am editing my A post like I have days to finalize it. La la la… like I have all this time!  


©2020 what sandra thinks

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good news, everyone. #atozchallenge

[Wow, that image is way too bright and happy for me.]

No, that post title up there ^ is not sarcasm. I know that’s hard to believe since 90% of what comes out of me is sarcasm. But this time, I mean it. And hopefully you’ll think it’s good news, too.

Here it is. Brace yourselves… this is super exciting. (Now, *that* was sarcasm.)

After much deliberation, I have come up with a theme… so I *will* be participating in the A-to-Z challenge.

[Aside: Is it weird when I do *this* to emphasize? It’s old school… from back when the internet was born and everything was fixed-width UNIX terminal typeface. Showing my age. Please forget I said any of this.]

Where was I? Oh yes…

I missed the deadline to officially have my theme listed for the challenge, but that really doesn’t matter. I also missed ‘theme reveal day‘ which was, like, two weeks ago, but that doesn’t matter either. I could reveal it now… or I could make you wait. But if I make you wait, it might only set you up for a huge disappointment because, truly, it’s not that exciting. [Wow, am I overthinking this or what?]

I’ll just tell you. My theme is… letters. Not, like, a-b-c-d… but, like, mail. You know, letters? Those things people used to write to each other? Yeah. Those.

I had to come up with something easy because if I put too much pressure on myself, I will break. Hopefully this will work. I had to test it… so I’ve already written a few posts. I think I can get through the whole alphabet.

April 1st is Wednesday so… stay tuned.


p.s. — Oh crap. I’ve got to write a ‘p.s.’ for every letter. Hmm… Yes, I must. I’d better get on that. 


©2020 what sandra thinks

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a pat on the back.

[If you have strong political beliefs that are the opposite of mine, you might want to run now.]

What the fuck?

No, really. What the fuck?

I don’t usually do this… It’s a risk. I don’t like to speak publicly on this topic. I don’t like to start ‘debates’ (read: fights), but I just can’t keep it in any longer or I’m going to snap. I want to scream. I need to scream. Even if I didn’t already have an anxiety disorder, this would be killing me. Maybe I have already snapped.

[FYI… if this gets ugly, I may remove the post… just so you know. But for now… here it is.]

Watching too much news right now is a bad idea. I recognize that and I try not to do it. But I do want updates. I want to know what’s going on. To some extent anyway.

I can’t count on late night television to update me right now (as I usually do for my news) because they are out of production (as they should be). Stephen Colbert is with us, though. He can’t help himself so he’s been doing monologues from his home. (I assume it’s his real home, but I could be wrong… doesn’t matter.) He informs while still keeping it light. It’s a gift. And don’t underestimate how comforting it is to see your beloved late night host delivering his monologue from a bubble bath while wearing a suit.

But that, of course, is not from where my rage stems.

I think you know what the problem is. Or rather who the problem is. I don’t even want to type his name. He’s such a fucking waste of space.

When I turn on the television to watch the local news, I keep catching [parts of] the daily White House briefings. What I have learned is that all that dickhead cares about is patting himself on the back. Every comment, every piece of information, every answer to every question out of his mouth is twisted into self-flattery. He takes every single fucking thing as an opportunity to spin it and tell everyone how perfectly he’s handling everything and how much better he is than anyone else ever.

He spends at least ninety percent of every briefing complimenting himself. The other ten percent is a mix of somewhat useful information and other people speaking. But it doesn’t stop with him. Even robotic white-bread VP speaks this way. Barely giving information… just spending the whole time talking about how great everything is going.

Is it, though? I’ll give you a hint. No.

Governor Baker (MA) has been trying to get masks for healthcare workers. Every time he tries to place an order, he is outbid by the feds. He spoke directly to President Dickhead and got nowhere. That fucker thought it was funny. He was all smiles… almost laughing… as he told Gov. Baker that he should keep trying but it could keep happening. Seriously. I’m not making this shit up.

Open your fucking eyes, asshat. People are sick (you don’t care ’cause you’re not). People are dying (you don’t care ’cause you’re not). People can’t go to work (you don’t care ’cause you have to). Schools are closed (you don’t care ’cause you’re an idiot). Businesses are closed (you don’t care ’cause you still get paid). You don’t give a fuck because it doesn’t directly impact you. You tested negative (shame), and no one’s fighting you for toilet paper.

Open your fucking eyes. Things are not going well. They’re dismal at best. And you have not done a great job… or even a good one. In fact, you didn’t do shit until you were forced to. Hell, I’m sure you’re still not doing shit. Everyone around you is scrambling, and you’re taking credit for their efforts… repeatedly telling the us what a fantastic job you’re doing. You don’t get to say that. Not after you stalled on taking action. Not after you went on record saying this wasn’t a big deal… or that it would go away once spring arrived. Viruses are not affected by weather. But you’re a fucking idiot in any weather.

And it doesn’t stop there. He’s using this crisis as a political tool. He uses press conferences and briefings as campaign rallies. Not literally, of course, but that’s not too far off. Praising himself and his people (whoever his people are this week… they drop like flies and are replaced like old socks… and he’ll turn on them in an instant). Toting the ridiculous notion that his administration is the best we’ve ever seen… that they’ve done more than any other administration ever. Fuck off. All this dipshit has done is help the richest people… and undo all the good things the previous administration accomplished.

I am worried. Not just about the current crisis, but about the bigger picture. This is an election year. I don’t think I can handle four more years of this hell. Bernie, Biden, ANYONE… please. Please save us.


p.s. — Is this where I should apologize to anyone who supports the moron-in-chief? That’s not happening.


©2020 what sandra thinks

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the first year.

This year will be (might be?) the first year since I started blogging that I’m not going to do the A to Z challenge.


I come up with some genius, simple idea in the next few days. I’m not feeling hopeful. In fact, with current events being as they are, I’m feeling pretty dismal.

But let’s review…

In 2016, I wrote 26 poems. Damn, those were the days. The ones where I could write. I guess I’m dead inside now.


In 2017, I was insane and I did two themes… music and bitchfest. I probably should have saved one of those for this year. But, really, who knew I’d be incapable of writing just three short years later? Well, really two long years later as this slump has been going on for a fucking long-ass time.

#atozchallenge 2017 | music | what sandra thinks

#atozchallenge 2017 | bitchfest | what sandra thinks

In 2018, I wrote a piece of fiction called ‘Dear Diary‘. I loved this one. Again, back in the days when I could write. *Sigh*

In 2019, I was already in the writing slump I’m still stuck in today. So… I wrote whatever. ‘I was just thinking…’

I was just thinking | whatsandrathinks

And here we are in 2020. The year hasn’t been great so far.

My kids’ schools are currently closed until at least April 7th. Rumor has it school could even end up closed for the rest of the school year. Bars and restaurants have to shut down. Well, restaurants can do take out/delivery only. Gatherings of more than 25 people (in any setting, public or private) are banned. Though not required, residents are encouraged to stay home as much as possible.

People are freaking the fuck out… buying up all sorts of things. I’m sure it’s been on the news, so you know. I just want my Jif reduced fat creamy peanut butter, for fuck’s sake. Leave me one damn jar, a-holes!

Want a kid update? No? I didn’t think so. Here goes.

My son has some work for school through Google Classroom for a few of his classes. My daughter has some, too, but not much. I hope their teachers step it up and continue to ‘teach‘ as best they can even while schools are closed. Plus, having schoolwork to do while home will be good for the kids. And for me.

My daughter fell twice in gym class a week ago and injured her knee. I had to take her to get it checked out and x-rayed. Yes, I was in a healthcare facility as recently as last week. Awesome. X-ray was clear but she has crutches. She’s doing better now. At least she won’t be having gym class for a while so she won’t re-injure it. I just looked on the bright side! Woo!

My son currently has a 98 average in his Honors Biology class and a 99 in Honors Geometry. Yay science! Yay math! In other news, my son is now 15 years old and is 1.5 inches taller than I am. And I’m not short! But I feel short now.


I don’t know about the A to Z challenge. I want to do it… I’m just not sure I can. I certainly don’t have a theme… or even any ideas. But doing it would take my mind off other things. I think it would be good for me. But I’ve got nothing.

M – You’ve helped me before… got any genius ideas for me?? You’re the best!

In closing, I hope you are all safe and healthy. And if I can find a way, I’ll be here for all of April. Then you can stop missing me and I’ll brighten all of your days. At least for a month.


p.s. — Wash your hands and don’t touch your face. I’m serious.


©2020 what sandra thinks

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Guilt. I hear it’s a useless emotion. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. Constantly.

No matter how good I feel… no matter how bad… how hopeless… how sad… how confused. No matter what I feel… the guilt is always there.

When I feel good, or even just okay, I feel guilty because I’m not supposed to feel good or, god forbid, happy. I know that sounds incredibly stupid, but hear me out. In my mind, feeling good makes me look like a liar. I have this crazy thought that if I feel good, people will think that when I said I felt terrible, I was lying. It’s so black-and-white in my head. Like I’m not allowed to have good times and bad. Having one disallows the other. And my negative emotions are so ingrained in me that they have become who I am… so feeling good seems like a betrayal to myself… and to everyone else. I know… I sound insane.

When I feel bad, sad, hopeless, [fill in other similar emotions here], I feel guilty because I’ve sought and received and continue to receive help in so many ways, yet I still feel crappy. I feel guilty because I never think I’m doing enough to ‘fix‘ myself. Maybe I’m not, but I’ve also been told that all I can do is all I can do. If I’m not doing more, it’s because I’m not currently capable. Beating myself up is pointless (but I am so good at it). In short… I feel guilty that I’m not better. [But if I did feel better, I’d feel guilty about that. See above.]

[Aside: Is this where I should mention the ‘mom guilt’? I have tons of that. I’m not a good enough mom. I feel guilty because my kids shouldn’t see me feeling so terrible. It’s not healthy for them to be around that. I know it affects them. So much guilt. But someone told me that if I’m worried I’m not a good mom, that means I’m a good mom. I would like to believe that… but I struggle with it.]

Just Plain Messy.
When I feel confused and indecisive, I feel guilty because it makes me weak. I never feel like I can take charge because I never really know what the fuck I’m doing. If I think, even for five seconds, that I do know what I’m doing—that I do know which choice to choose—in the next second, I’ve changed my mind and I’m right back where I started. I constantly second-guess myself. Confused. Indecisive. Really, just lost.

The easy answer… and the one I hear all the fucking time… is: Let go of the guilt.

And to that I say… Thanks, genius. Obviously I’ve tried that. Every minute of every day for as long as I can remember. It hasn’t worked.

People are so quick to give simple answers like that [not just related to guilt, but a host of other emotions], but those people can never explain how. And I find that the people giving those simple (but useless) answers are usually, if not always, people who don’t have the same struggle (at least not to an unhealthy degree)… so they don’t truly understand. For them, it just is. For me, it just isn’t. How does one change between the two? I don’t think anyone really knows.

So… here I sit, feeling guilty as hell. Guilty that I didn’t accomplish anything today because I had time but I didn’t use it well. Guilty for even having that time because I’m feeling guilty for being unemployed. Guilty because I had toast with my eggs this morning while I’m trying to eat fewer carbs.

It’s endless.

If I have to feel something that has no bounds [guilt… but also other emotions that torment me], I wish it could be something positive.


p.s. — Of course I feel guilty for posting this because I wish I was posting something else… something better. It’s unfortunate that I can’t just come to grips with the fact that writing about emotions is simply where I am right now.


©2020 what sandra thinks

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I don’t quite understand why anyone would want to be friends with me. If I wasn’t me, I don’t know that I’d want to be friends with me. I lean strongly toward no.

[Aside: I just realized that this may come across like I’m digging for compliments or something like that. Not my intention or goal. I just honestly wonder about this and have for a long time. I guess because I have such a low opinion of myself.]

I am not what one would call a ‘happy‘ person. I’m negative and overly self-deprecating. I  still think I can be fun and funny and obviously charming (as has been previously established), but it was drilled into my head my whole life that if I’m not happy, no one will want to be around me. If I’m not happy, I’ll end up alone.

And let’s not forget this gem that makes me want to drive off a cliff, Thelma-and-Louise style: If I don’t love myself, no one else will ever love me. Hmm. I guess no one loves me, then.

By some strange voodoo, I did end up married. But as you may recall from my previous ramblings, that was most likely a mistake. Not that marriage itself is a mistake, but that my choices were mistakes. I don’t know that I was ever truly in love. [Not with my husband, I mean. I do believe I was truly in love with my ex who I was with for four years before everything fell apart. I blame myself. Of course.]

What happened with my now-husband is that I was so worried I’d never find anyone who could love me (you know, because I don’t love myself) that when I found someone who did (as far as I know), I just went with it. I know. Really stupid way to enter into a marriage. In my defense [though there is no defending this], at the time, I had convinced myself I was in love. I didn’t realize I was fooling myself until much later.

And there’s also the fairy tale thing… Just like I was told my whole life that not being happy meant I’d be alone, I was also told that there’s no such thing as a fairy tale. That may be true, but being told that over and over again made me give up on finding anything close. It made me settle for the first guy who wanted to marry me. I figured, fairy tales aren’t real so I should cut my losses and take whatever I can get.

This whole marriage diatribe is totally off my original topic: my lack of friendability. [Yes, I invent words now.]

I have always wondered… if I pretended to be a ‘normal‘ happy person, would I have lots of friends? If I forced myself to be outgoing (even though I really don’t have it in me), would I have lots of friends? If I acted confident, would I have lots of friends?

But those ifs… they are not who I really am. They’re not the real me. So wouldn’t that make all those potential ‘friends‘ not really ‘friends‘ anyway? Real friends would know the real me. And love me anyway.

But then we circle back to me not loving myself so no one else can love me. And as devoid of self-confidence as I am, I know that there are people who love me. [Weirdos. And I say that with great affection.] So obviously that whole no-love-without-loving-yourself thing is total crap.

Unless… that only refers to romantic, fairytale love. That I do not have. And according to the rules, I never will. Unless I miraculously start to love myself. Yeah, right.


p.s. — Contrary to what I said above, I don’t really want ‘lots of friends’. I want one best friend. And maybe one or two others. [Offline, I mean. I have a ‘best friend’ online… and quite a few other friends online. It’s in-person that I have a hole in my life. A big gaping one.]


©2020 what sandra thinks

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fucked up fresh start.

When I started blogging, I wanted my online persona to be me, but different. It was my chance to start fresh. My chance to not be known as Sandra, the depressed chick. No one would have any preconceived notions about me. I was a stranger. Maybe I could finally separate myself from that identity (the ‘depressed chick’ one). Maybe I could stop that constant feeling of others pitying me or looking down on me because I’m not conventionally ‘happy‘.

I wanted to write about… whatever. I wanted to vent about some stuff (and people), to make people laugh, to talk about my writing, to share some of it… you get the idea. It started out well enough. When I look back at my first few posts, I actually seem… okay. [I won’t say ‘normal’ because who the hell knows what ‘normal’ is?]

I never wanted to let on just how much of a disaster I truly am.

But soon enough, I slipped into my pathetic, needy, anxiety-ridden, insecure self. Soon enough, I was sharing way too much about my feelings. Soon enough, I couldn’t hide my reality. And soon enough, I felt like that’s all my blog was—exactly what I didn’t want it to be.

Now I feel apprehensive about sharing so much so often about my personal struggles. Once I’ve shared those things—those feelings—those thoughts, I feel that it changes people’s opinions of me. Like, in a bad way.

Maybe this led to my disappearance (or my infrequent appearances). But it wasn’t a conscious decision. I never planned to disappear. It just seemed like I became my depression/anxiety. It overwhelmed me… consumed me. It took over my whole life. I thought, ‘this is all I am.‘ And I hated that. I hated me.

Disappearing didn’t take those thoughts or feelings away, though. They are still with me. Sure, I am a mom, daughter, sister, wife… but deep down, I feel like all I am is fucked up. That defines me. Only that. I still hate it. I still hate me.

What do I do? Do I try to go back to the start? Do I stop posting about my emotions and shit? Honestly, I don’t know if I can. Apparently, it’s who I am. It seems it’s all I am. [Horrible thought: I don’t have much else to share.] Besides, you already know how fucked up I am. Not talking about it isn’t going to stop you knowing it. The cat is out of the bag. And, man, he bolted. He just ran and ran. I can’t put him back in. Besides, he was suffering. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to be let out. [This concludes my cat metaphor.]

I think what happened here is that this blog turned into some kind of ‘therapy‘ for me. Mostly the spill-my-guts kind. [And for the record, at this point in my life, I hate even the word ‘therapy’. I’ve been through it… talk therapy, CBT, whatever. Tried. No help. Done.] Maybe that’s what I needed this blog to be even though it was never what I wanted it to be. I felt like that was all wrong. Again, maybe that’s why I unintentionally disappeared.

I just don’t like who I am when my [god-awful] emotions consume me. I get overwhelmed and overcome to the point where I cannot think, talk, or write about anything else. And though I hate to admit it, I’ve been especially overwhelmed and overcome for a very long time. A couple of years, at least. I’ve had trouble focusing on anything else. It’s a horrible way to live. I don’t recommend it.

Yet… in my head, I’m already thinking about posting about how I’ve been doing during these many months I’ve been absent. But I think and rethink and overthink and second guess myself and… here we are.

Being me is a real pain in the ass.


p.s. — By the way, the irony of this whole post is not lost on me. On and on I go about my anxieties about posting about my anxieties while posting about my anxieties.


©2020 what sandra thinks

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