what sandra thinks

p.s.— I’m not nearly as nerdy about superheroes as the boys in my house, but I’ve been thinking about re-watching all the Marvel movies… in order… from the start. In order of story, not necessarily in order of release. I think there are 21. Wish me luck. 

©2019 what sandra thinks

p.s.— Should W have been ‘what sandra thinks’? I just thought of that now. Oh well. I remember when I came up with my blog name. I wanted to write my thoughts, even if they offended people. I could hide behind my anonymity. I could bitch about my husband, I could tell people who like country music to fuck off. I could say anything I wanted to say. But, to this day, I wonder if anyone really cares what sandra thinks.

©2019 what sandra thinks

p.s.— Who decided that vanilla and chocolate were the quintessential soft serve flavors? Coffee would be far superior. 

©2019 what sandra thinks

That’s about right.

Maybe I should wait for W to write about writing, but I’m not waiting. This really isn’t about writing anyway. It’s about frustration… and, of course, as the title indicates, disgust and horror.

I went through a period of great writing. That’s not meant to sound conceited. I just happen to think it’s true.

If you go back to my blog posts from late 2016/early 2017, you’ll find a lot of poetry. [There’s a menu option for ‘poetry’ on my blog… go there, if desired.] Maybe my poetry sucks to a ‘real‘ poet, but I love the poems I wrote during that time. Without going back and reading my entire blog, I can’t pinpoint when I crashed and burned. But there came a time when I couldn’t find the words anymore. I couldn’t write a poem to save my life. Well, if a shitty poem would save my life, then I withdraw my previous statement.

Ugh.

I love my fiction, too. All of it. [There’s a menu option for ‘fiction’ on my blog, too… go there, if desired.] Is it great, publish-worthy writing? I doubt it. But I love it. Again, not to sound conceited, but I do go back and read my fiction often. In fact, I read and edit all the time (yes, I edit for fun with no real purpose other than my own enjoyment). I have all of my fiction on rotation. Right now, I’m obsessed with my secret book. But soon enough, I will go back to Roses Are Blue or Secret Admirer or any of the others. I’ll get lost inside, and I’ll never want to come out.

I got off topic a little bit there. My point was, originally, before I veered off somewhere… I haven’t been able to write any new fiction for over a year. A year and a half, I think it is now. And my poetry hasn’t been good for at least that long, probably longer. I’ve tried. I’ve made some notes and transcribed some dreams… but that’s it.

What happened to me? I’m frustrated with myself. Even disgusted with myself. And totally horrified.

I guess I lost my muse. But I’m not sure I believe that because back then, I didn’t realize I had one. But thinking back now, maybe I did. Fuck, I don’t know. What I do know is that I miss being proud of my writing.

Disgust and horror, indeed.

Ugh.

p.s.— I woke up a few days ago with a story in my head. I grabbed my always-by-the-bed journal and wrote everything I could remember as quickly as I possible. Whether or not I can turn it into a story remains to be seen… but don’t hold your breath.

©2019 what sandra thinks

Trader Joe’s is my favorite place to shop. I love the whole vibe there. The look, the mood, the employees. [I also love Target which, coincidentally, also starts with T. Weird.]

One day, at Trader Joe’s, an employee saw me debating over which cookies to buy. I had it narrowed down to two. This guy came over and asked me if I needed help. I told him I’d never had either of them and couldn’t decide (shocker since I question everything). He said, ‘Why don’t you try them?‘ and proceeded to rip open both boxes right there in front of me so I could have a taste. Who does that? This guy.

p.s.— Then there was the guy at checkout who gave me my change and said, ‘May the force be with you.’ 

©2019 what sandra thinks

Do I really have a soulmate? And if I do, how the fuck am I supposed to find him?

Am I someone who doesn’t have a soulmate? Or will never find him even if he is out there?

Could he be on the other side of the world? Or is part of what makes him my soulmate his general location? Because, let’s face it, if my soulmate lives in Japan, I’m never going to find him.

Have I already met him but didn’t know it was him? Did I miss him? Please say no. Is part of what makes him my soulmate me knowing if I met him?

I’m not sure who I’m looking for
I’ll know it when I see you
[…]
I could have met you in a sandbox
I could have passed you on the sidewalk
Could I have missed my chance
And watched you walk away
[…]
I’m tired of being alone
So hurry up and get here
[John Mayer helping me out again ‘Love Song for No One’]

I want the magic. I want something special to happen inside me when I’m around him… especially when he touches me. It’s a sense of excitement and calm at the same time.

And… sorry if I repeat myself from the R post, but, I’m doing it anyway. So I guess I’m not really sorry.

I want the dream. A love where he thinks of me and makes sure I know it. He makes me feel special all the time. He remembers the little things so his gestures are truly meant for me. He takes care of himself (abs! seriously, though…) because he wants to be the best he can be for me. He adores me, flaws and all. He even loves my dirty mouth.

And that’s the love I want to give to him in return.

So, Mr. Soulmate, are you a dream or are you out there? Where are you? Get the fuck over here.

p.s.—And if he doesn’t exist, I guess I will live in my dreamworld forever. Isn’t there a room for that? The one with padded walls? Yeah. That’s the one.

©2019 what sandra thinks

Do people think romance means flowers and chocolates and diamonds and ‘He went to Jared‘ and ‘Every kiss begins with Kay‘? [Those commercials are gross, by the way.] I think that version of romance is as phony and meaningless as Valentine’s Day.

When I dream of having romance in my life (which is daily), I don’t imagine those things. I dream of a love where he (whoever he may be… sigh) thinks of me and makes sure I know it. He makes me feel special all the time. He remembers the little things so his gestures are truly meant for me—not the generic standards (flowers, diamonds, etc.). He takes care of himself (abs! seriously, though) as I take care of myself because he wants to be the best he can be for me (and for himself). He adores me, flaws and all. Maybe even because of my flaws.

That is how I am when I am in love.

I’ve always had people in my life telling me that my dream of finding ‘that guy‘ (see above) is just that—a dream. He doesn’t exist in ‘real life‘. Maybe that’s true. I know it’s why I gave up on finding him and am stuck in my current relationship—because I believed them when they said it was pure fantasy.

The most romantic person I know—me—has no romance in her life.

Do I really have a soulmate? And if I do, how the fuck am I supposed to find him?

Soulmate. That starts with S.

p.s.— This wasn’t meant to lead right into my S post, but I guess it worked out that way… 

©2019 what sandra thinks

I question everything. Every single decision I make. And it’s not just big decisions… it’s every little thing.

Shopping is the worst. I spend forever questioning whether or not to buy things. I have stared at a shirt (or maybe a pint of ice cream or a lipstick) for fifteen minutes trying to come to a decision. And even when I do decide, I question that decision… and usually change my mind ten times before I finally do something. And even then, I regret my decision. But if I return said item, I question that, too. Was that the wrong decision? Should I have kept it? And finally… should I have left the damn house at all?

Oh, speaking of leaving the house, that’s another thing I question. I think, hey, I’ll go somewhere but I question whether I should because I might spend money I don’t have or I might take too long or whatever other craziness enters my mind. But I should get out of the house. But I should do things at home. But…

I’m tired of questioning everything. I wish I could be confident in my decisions. Damn, at least the little ones.

p.s.— I don’t know if I should post this. 

p.s. 2— I realize I am a few days behind. I’m working on it…

©2019 what sandra thinks