what sandra thinks

buckets of paint.

I need buckets of paint. I want to change the color in my bedroom, my kitchen, my dining room, and maybe my bathroom. I did a lot of research, but I still don’t know exactly what colors I’d use. I have tons of paint chips—maybe too many because it’s making it difficult to come to any decisions.

(As you can see, I’m into neutrals. They promote relaxation. I need some of that.)

It doesn’t even matter if I choose colors, though. With my back pain, I won’t be able to do any of those rooms by myself, and my husband is always “too tired” or “too busy” to help. *eyeroll*

Maybe I’ll just start on my own. Then, if I can’t finish because I’m in pain, he’ll have no choice but to step in and help. Hmm. That’s actually a good plan. Maybe I’ll try that.

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Or… I’ll invite this sexy beast over to help me. Paint, I mean. Help me paint!

p.s. — I’m really sick of not being able to do things because of my back pain and my depression and my anxiety. 

©2022 what sandra thinks

puzzle pieces.

I think this is going to be a “cheat” post.

I have mentioned puzzle pieces a number of times on this blog, and those posts are far better than anything I could write today.

I hope you’ll follow the links to my previous brilliant writings.

before.

dream.

puzzle.

I like those. I wish I could still write like that. I think I’m broken now.

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Maybe he’s the missing piece of my puzzle. (God, so cheesy.)

p.s. — Right now, I feel like I’m in the puzzle box in a pile of pieces, connected to none. 

©2022 what sandra thinks

you bastard.

Only one thing comes to mind for this one. South Park.

They killed Kenny. Many times. Those bastards!

I would apologize for the graphic cartoon violence and other offensive content, but it’s funny so I’m not sorry.

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He will not be killed. He will be loved. (I’m so cheesy sometimes.)

p.s. — I wish I could say this post cheered me up from yesterday, but it didn’t. In fact, things are even worse today. I don’t think I’m going to make it. It’s bad. It’s too much.  

©2022 what sandra thinks

what a jerk.

Why do I associate the word “jerk” with a man, not a woman? Is it because I’m a woman? Well, I’m going to break that association right now.

A few weeks ago, I was in a parking lot about to back out of my parking space when a woman whipped out of her spot across from me and hit me. It was bumper to bumper. My car had no damage at all, but hers did. A small crack in her bumper. Small.

She freaked the fuck out. When I walked around to the site of the impact, she was there, immediately yelling at me.

You wrecked my car! 
Were you even looking? 
I honked and honked. Why didn’t you stop?

First of all, her car was far from “wrecked“. Second, I was looking because I was about to pull out. Third, I hadn’t moved yet so I was already stopped. And it was quiet in that parking lot. There is no way in hell she honked. But even if she did, I was already stopped. What more could I have done?

(This looks nothing like her.)

I barely spoke. I just let her have her rant. When we exchanged information, I noticed a few things. She lived in a very wealthy town. She was also older—71. And her name was Priscilla. I shouldn’t stereotype, but she acted like she was better than me.

I admit, though, I didn’t actually say or think “what a jerk.” It was more like “what a bitch!”

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He’s not a jerk. I know I have no way of confirming that, but I don’t care. I stand by my statement.

p.s. — This accident was just another example of how my life is a joke. I don’t know who’s laughing, but I feel like someone must be. Really. Something goes wrong, like, every other day. Or every day. Or several times a day.

©2022 what sandra thinks

treat.

I have a treat for you!

(But I will steal all the Reese’s first. Sorry.)

I’m just kidding. That’s my daughter’s haul from last Halloween.

I have a different treat for you.

(It’s the mother of all Valentine’s Day treats.)

I’m still kidding. I would never say that to any of you. I think it’s hilarious, though. And kind of fitting for me. To give my husband. (Hahaha but not totally kidding.)

Seriously, though, I do have a treat for you. And it is this:

I am not going to write about how sad or anxious or depressed I am. For a whole post!

[Here is where I started to write about how hard it is for me to not write about those things because they have overtaken my life. But then I realized that that was writing about those things so I ruined everything. Honestly, though, this is far more difficult than it should be. My life is empty so I don’t know what to write about.]

Sorry.

My sister sent me a card. (In the mail, yes, with a postage stamp and everything.) It said: “I have officially run out of swear words. Now what?”

When I opened it, I found that she wrote: “This card made me think of you.” It’s so nice to know that swear words make her think of me.

It’s funny, but really. What the fuck?

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He is so fucking hot. If I gave him that heart candy, I’d mean it literally and it would be a request. 

p.s. — Yes, I did start swearing even more after I received that card. Oh, and I shared it with my daughter and she said it would have made her think of me, too. I’ve got a great reputation among my family members.

©2022 what sandra thinks

lesson learned.

If I keep repeating my mistakes, does that mean I haven’t actually learned any lessons?

Maybe the lessons I’ve learned are ones that don’t matter because that time in my life has passed. Like the one where I wasn’t truly in love when I got married—the one where I believed people who told me fairy tales and soulmates weren’t real. I learned that lesson. But it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be in that situation again.

(I love when Lucy uses The Smiths’ lyrics to communicate.)

I thought I learned my lesson involving my moods and bringing other people down. The lesson being: hide my feelings so no one will know I’m not okay, therefore, not bringing anyone down. As it turns out, I’m not a good faker, and everyone could see right through me so there was no point. I think I learned the wrong lesson.

On a lighter note, there was this one time in college when I was not in my right mind (mild substance use of the botanical variety). A friend and I got a pizza and ate the whole thing, just the two of us. Then we sent someone out to get us a dozen donuts, and we ate all of those, too. I will never be doing that again. Lesson learned. And that lesson is: next time, skip the pizza.

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I need to spread my love out amongst all my men. I think some of them were feeling neglected. Lesson learned.

p.s. — Also, never, under any circumstances, even if you are in college like I was, do ten tequila shots in one night. To this day, I can’t go near the stuff. Just the smell makes me queasy. Definintely learned my lesson on that one.

©2022 what sandra thinks

you won’t believe it.

Honestly, I can’t think of anything you won’t believe. I tell you everything. Too much, probably. If you’ve been here for a while, you know me better than anyone in my offline life.

So I offer you this:

Things you *will* believe.

1. I have been crying for 1-2 hours a day for almost a month now, with the exception of weekends. On the weekends, I only cry as long as it takes me to shower because I don’t want anyone to hear me.
2. I don’t have anything of my own in my life so I focus too much on other people (read: my kids).
3. I am desperate for someone to talk to on a daily basis. Kind of like daily therapy, but with a friend. That’s probably wrong because maybe a professional could help me, but I’m being realistic here. Therapy has never helped me. It’s a waste of money and time for me. At least with a friend, I would know they care about me more than just what is required of a professional (and, really, they’re not required to care at all). At least a friend would care about me until he/she got sick of listening to me and bailed (and I wouldn’t blame him/her for doing so). [Note: I have one person I communicate with most days, but I’m needy and desperate and I wish we had more time to talk.]
4. I feel guilty for so many things. Not the least of which is that other people have terrible things happening in their lives so I should shut the fuck up about my “little” problems. (If only my problems felt anything close to little…)
5. I can’t think of a single major decision I’ve made in my life that I don’t regret.
6. Often, I think I would be better off alone. I don’t mean feeling alone (I already feel alone), I mean literally, physically alone.
7. Everything in my life is bad, completely or in part. Nothing is good. And a lot of it, I don’t have the power to change. And the parts that I might have the power to change aren’t changing because I’m too weak to make that happen.
8. I need someone to tell me “it’s gonna be okay” regularly. And maybe at some point, I’ll believe it. Right now, I don’t.

(But I am most definitely failing.)

I just thought of something for “you won’t believe it”.

I’ve only had one cup of coffee today.

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Perhaps you also won’t believe that I changed my guy. Yeah, there was meaning behind the first guy—Mr. Sexy Beach Guy—but I felt I was being unfair to all the other fine specimens in my “Men” folder. This one’s even wearing a shirt! It’s wet, but still.

p.s. — I’m not happy with my posts lately. They all morph into the same thing—my sadness, my anxiety, my fucked up life. I wish I had something else to write about, but as I’ve mentioned, I’ve become my depression. There’s nothing else to me anymore. My apologies.

©2022 what sandra thinks