No… I haven’t found the antidote to the dreaded day of the week we call Monday. Sorry if I got your hopes up.
This is about Moody Monday. (And yes, I do realize I’m posting this on a Thursday…)
I’ve decided that after 15 installments, Moody Monday is over. Don’t celebrate just yet… I’m sure you’ll continue to be subjected to my moody rants and disturbing stream-of-consciousness mind dumps. Sorry. But I’ve come to realize that Moody Monday is making me feel terrible. I don’t think it’s making my mood worse per se, but I think it’s drawing too much attention to it. For you, I’m sure. But definitely for me.
One of my biggest demons is my overdeveloped ability to think about things. All things. Excessively. In circles. Analyzing and regretting. Punishing myself. My brain also has this annoying habit of snowballing. I think about one thing… then I overthink it… then a billion other things that worry me join the party.
I think what I really need is to get my mind off things… because I have trouble doing that. But this weekly mood check thing is doing the opposite.
some days I quietly remember that warm night in September when I found you by the ocean both overcome with emotion I knew I’d found the reason I had to keep believing because you smiled and words were spoken and I knew… never again would I be broken
• • • • •
[I always think my rhyming poetry is terrible… but I was so happy I was able to write something that I’m sharing it anyway. I hope it’s okay. And this is not based on a true story (bummer)… it’s based on characters from my ‘secret book’.]
First… to follow up from last week… Thanksgiving wasn’t as horrible as I feared it would be. It actually went pretty well. No one upset me, intentionally or otherwise. Nothing came up that made me feel like a loser. The whole situation felt like a bit of a miracle (a pathetic excuse for a miracle, really) because after the last gathering (my daughter’s birthday in early November), I seriously considered never going to another family thing again because I was so miserable after it. But I had to go, if only for the kids… and for my mom.
Next comes Christmas… which is always infinitely worse than Thanksgiving. Christmas really drives home my loser-ness. Like, it shoots the loser arrow right into my chest. It twists around in there. It nearly kills me. Oh hell, it feels so bad that I want it to kill me. Guess I should try to enjoy the next four weeks before that fresh hell is upon me. Just have to keep reminding myself… I’m doing it for the kids… and for mom. And for everyone else. Not for me. Nothing is for me. I don’t care enough to do things for me. Besides… it’s Christmas… shouldn’t someone in my life care enough to do something for me?
I’m trying not to be The Grinch. It’s not easy… The Grinch is my natural state. I don’t care what anyone says… Christmas is all about money (and kids) and unless you’re rich, it’s a stressful nightmare. I’m trying to draw more attention to the non-capitalist-ish things… like putting up the tree which we did yesterday… or driving around looking at ridiculously overdone Christmas lights. But I still have to get some gifts. And I hate it. It’s not just the excessive (mostly needless) spending… it’s the accumulation of more stuff. We don’t need anything. But the kids… you know… I want them to have gifts to open on Christmas morning. Me? I’m just looking forward to Mom’s annual pancake and bacon breakfast.
Final assessment: Hmm… Stressed. Trying not to hate Christmas so much. And although I didn’t go into detail in this post, lonely and neglected. (And ready to hold on to anyone and anything that would make me feel like someone truly wants me around.) Oh… and as I just told someone who was sweet enough to ask how I am, “I’m okay I guess.”
I could go in a couple of directions with this one. Maybe I won’t limit it to one…
I am still having some trouble with ink. You know… writing. I thought I was coming out of it but now I can’t clear my head. Maybe it’s the lack of peace. I’ve been moody (and sad) as hell when alone… but now that the husband and kids are home for a few days, I feel like I can’t think straight. I can’t fall into a groove… with writing. Or anything else. But… I bet that when they go back to school/work, I’ll be a mess again. Alone and lonely… bored and anxious.
What is wrong with me?
New topic.
Men with ink are sexy as hell. I have no idea why… but it’s incredibly attractive to me. I have a little. Very little. I always wanted more but I should have done it years ago. Now I feel that I should not spend the money on it… although I still want it. But really… when the hell do I spend money on myself? Almost never.
Back to men. Lately, my every thought goes back to men. Sorry. I just love them. Oh hell, I’m not sorry. I want one (or more).
Yeah, I know… I have a husband. Maybe I’m a horrible person. Actually, there’s really no doubt about that. I am a horrible person. But I need more attention and affection than I get from him. And more love. I don’t like to talk about it because I think it somehow reflects on me. Like there’s something wrong with me. Is there? I don’t know. He did grab my ass yesterday. It was kind of a shock… because lately… ugh.
Anyway… (wow, talking about that really does make me feel like there’s something wrong with me. I need to talk about something else).
It’s bothering me that I haven’t posted much lately. Damn, I really thought I was coming out of this horrible block. But I already feel stuck again. I felt better for, like, a day and a half. And of course it was during the holiday when I couldn’t write… which sucks.
I hate this post. Maybe someday I will be back… for real. Maybe not.
And one last thing… which was actually the first thing I thought of when I read the theme for this week. How could I possibly end this post without adding this song…? It’s called ‘Ink‘ by Coldplay. It’s a masterpiece. (And I’m pretty sure I’ve posted it before…)
… but most of all, I miss being able to write things I’m proud of.
It’s no secret that I’m stuck with writing lately… I’ve posted about it so damn many times that I’m sure you’re sick to death of reading about it.
So…
I went looking for inspiration. And while this may sound incredibly self centered, I looked at myself. I looked at my previous work… writing I did in the past. Words that actually came out of me and made me feel something. Words I think made readers feel something, too.
And I realized something. I need sex. Lots of sex. Yes, I mean that literally. But I’m also talking about writing.
(Get ready… I hope you’re sitting down… I’m about to say something good about myself!)
I have a way with words when it comes to sex. I make it delicious… but I never lose the romance. I don’t think I can. And I love it that way. There are words that I can’t bring myself to write. (What may or may not pass through my lips behind closed doors is another story.) But what I write leaves just enough to the imagination.
Since my writing struggle presses on, I pulled something out of the blog-vault. It felt almost new to me even though I wrote it. I didn’t remember it existed until I happened across it tonight. It’s just a little poem but I thought I’d share it… again.
I’m sure some of you have read it before… I originally posted it in August 2016.
I missed you.
I have missed you
I fought time to find time
for you
I escaped, no, I ran away
from everything else
in my world
I locked the door
I moved slowly… quietly
oh, if discovered
that would be awkward
yet enticing
maybe I want
to be discovered…
lying back
on smooth sheets
and soft pillows
I closed my eyes
and I found you
warm fingers
glided over my skin
around curves and caves
I panted… sighed… moaned… dirty words
and rocking hips.
I begged for you… harder… faster… deeper…
until the waves crashed… while the waves crashed… one… two… three… four… I lost count
and I lost breath
keep the door locked oh… I missed you
Family gatherings stress me out. I know I’m not alone in that. But it’s not what you might be thinking. I don’t have creepy or sleazy relatives. I don’t have a terrible relationship with anyone I’m going to see. There’s no fighting or anything like that.
It’s a small group… too small, really. My dad’s been gone for 5 years. My last living grandparent… my beloved maternal grandmother has been gone for 4. And it’s been only 5 months since my cousin’s brain tumor took him from us. Considering that last one, I’m not even sure if my aunt and uncle are coming to Thanksgiving dinner. I suspect the holiday is going to be especially hard on them.
What will happen for certain is that I will bring my kids and husband to Mom’s… and she will be there along with my one-year-older single sister and my four-years-younger sister and her husband and son. [We will not be… and never are… joined by my third/eldest sister because she doesn’t speak to me or my little sister. I’m sure I’ll never fully understand why. As the years pass, it makes me more sad at times and more I-don’t-give-a-fuck at other times.]
The gathering will be fun… mostly. My nephew can be a bit crazy. My husband annoys me sometimes (though that’s not exclusive to family gatherings). And although I am sure she doesn’t mean to, my younger sister sometimes says things that really upset me. I can’t call her out on it or tell my mom or my other sister because I’ve done that before and the response is always the same. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. You’re taking it the wrong way.‘ So, you know, my fault. I don’t feel like I get a lot of understanding or sympathy. I just get a lot of reasons why it’s me, not her. It’s always me.
I don’t think any of them fully understand how hard things are for me. Like, all things. I have a real medical condition. Just because it’s not a physical issue doesn’t make it any less real. But they don’t really get it. I know it’s hard for people who don’t suffer from these sorts of things to know how it feels… how difficult… how impossible things feel to me. I always end up feeling like a freak. A lonely freak.
But the worst part is after the gathering is over. I can never stop thinking about the conversations that happened… things that were said. Nothing mean… nothing malicious… just normal conversation. But there are always things that drive home the fact that they all have great lives and mine is a total disaster. They are happy and I am not. I feel like a huge failure… and a total loser. And I get lost in all the terrible decisions that got me where I am now… and how I can’t go back and change them.
I wish I was a kid again. Then I’d enjoy the holidays instead of dreading them. And maybe… just maybe… I wouldn’t make so many stupid choices.
Final assessment: Anxious… filled with dread… and an impending sense of doom.
what sandra thinks 