If I don’t
tell the truth
you’ll never know
how I feel
If I don’t
let you in
you’ll never know
how much it hurts
If I don’t
say the words
you’ll never know
how I think
If I don’t
cry to you
you’ll never know
I’m in pain
But…
If I don’t
hide myself
you will know
how weak I am
©2017 what sandra thinks
(art by Hajin Bae)
I have started nine posts today.
Clearly, yesterday wasn’t the start of me being able to write again.
I’ve done all the things people say to do… look at prompts… take a walk… read something… do something entirely unrelated to writing… and I guess I also tried taking a break (an involuntary one). But… nothing. Do I need to just disappear? I don’t want that. But if I keep posting all this crap, you might want that…
My head is full of worries and fears. It’s overwhelming. I can’t focus on anything else. That’s got to be why I can’t write. I wish I could do something to control it… the extreme worrying… but nothing works. I just seem to… cry.
And it’s not just writing. Nothing else is working either…
…My son is stressed out. He’s too young for this. It’s probably genetic… so, my fault.
…My daughter’s ‘friend‘ is batshit crazy. Nice one minute, bitchy and making up stories the next. She goes up and down faster than a… um… thing that goes up and down really fast.
…I don’t think my Etsy shop is ever going to open. Maybe the name crisis was my mind’s way of stopping me. But I finally did come up with a name. So I’ve jumped that hurdle. But now I’m having trouble getting pictures of my work that look good enough to use. I’ve taken over 200 pictures of about 15 cards. They all suck. I’ve tried all different kinds of lighting… different backgrounds… but nothing works.
If anyone knows how to take a decent indoor picture, I’m desperate. And I’m ready to give up…
I feel like I’ve got some sort of psychological target on my back. And nothing ever misses. Fucking bullseye every time.
I wonder what it’s like to have a good day. I wonder what it’s like to have something go right. Some. Fucking. Thing. But… no… don’t tell me what it’s like. It’ll just make me feel worse.
©2017 what sandra thinks
(This is not a picture of my husband and me…)
The day I got married, it rained.
People kept telling me rain on your wedding day is good luck. A sign of a long happy marriage to come. And other such drivel. I thought they were just saying that to make me feel better. But I wasn’t bothered by the rain. It made for some unique photos. Standing by an antique car with the driver holding a giant black umbrella over me? It looked cool. Besides, this is me. Complete with a dark cloud over my head at all times. How could it not rain?
But it was cool. And let’s not forget the pink-haired deejay. Adam. He was cool. I’ve got a great picture of him and me. And I usually hate pictures of me. But it was a good one. There were a few others from that day I liked… a few.
The day I got married, it rained.
When you know you’ve found ‘the one’, you just know. That’s what they say. (Whoever the fuck ‘they’ are.) But I tossed that into the pile with ‘fairy tales aren’t real’. Not that I ever thought they were, but there had to be bits of truth in them. They had to be based on something. I shouldn’t have completely buried those notions for later use in fiction.
Maybe it’s like a career. I never knew what I wanted so I just fell into something. Hm. I never knew what I wanted in a relationship so I just fell into something. That’s not entirely true, but I think there’s a commonality that I never saw before this very moment.
The day I got married, it rained.
Maybe it was foreshadowing. Maybe that earthquake that happened while I was in California on my honeymoon was foreshadowing. Maybe little things that happened along the way were signs I should have seen. Maybe I should have analyzed everything more. Ha! Like I don’t already overanalyze everything!
Blinders. They show up when they shouldn’t. And never when they should.
Maybe I’m just having an enormous mid-life crisis. Maybe I’m stuck because things that used to make me happy don’t make me happy anymore. Maybe it’s not him… maybe it’s me. (Although I have to say, there are certainly times when it is definitely him.)
The day I got married, it rained.
It felt like a touch of romance. Ducking into the car laughing. Rain running down the windows like a sparkling diamond curtain. Maybe it was a bad thing because I got caught up in the romance of it and neglected to see the lack of romance that came from him. Oh, I knew he wasn’t Mr. Romance but I married him anyway. Something that was so important to me. Why did I compromise? Blinders, indeed.
Maybe he compromised, too. Let’s face reality… I’ve always been messed up. But he loved me anyway. And he’s never been romantic. But I loved him anyway. We’re even. Maybe.
But, damn, some days…
The day I got married, it rained.
But today, it’s sunny and 80°F in the middle of October in New England.
That’s fucked up.
©2017 what sandra thinks
Warning… this is going to be a bunch of random boring junk.
Everybody was home today. No work. No school. It was good for me, I think, because being alone hasn’t been great for me lately. But because I’m still concerned about the kids and annoyed with the husband, today wasn’t fabulous. Also, yesterday, I hurt my back (doing nothing, really… it just happens sometimes… ever since I had kids…) so I’ve been in pain. I feel broken.
I’m tired, too. My ‘regular’ bedtime seems to be about 2am. And I’ve been waking up between 7 and 7:30am. It’s not enough sleep. This afternoon, I took a nap. I hardly ever do that but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I really do need to start going to bed earlier but I can’t seem to do it. My body wants it but my head fights it. I have no explanation for that.
I haven’t been dreaming lately. Not while I’m asleep, anyway. Am I ever going to dream again? Am I that empty inside? Maybe I’m dead inside. It kind of feels that way.
I still can’t write. This terrible post (and all the other recent terrible posts) don’t count. I have nothing inside me. It’s not just fiction or poetry that seems to be missing. It’s everything. I have nothing to say. And I do not want to hear people saying that they have a backlog of post ideas. So much to say that they just can’t even keep up… ugh. I feel like they’re taunting me. Are they just rubbing it in? Fuck them. I know… I’m a bitch. I’m sure they’re not rubbing it in on purpose… but it sure feels that way. And I want to vomit when people say shit like that. I know it’s not meant to piss me off… but it still does.
I want to know when the hell I’m going to be able to write again. When am I going to have anything inside me? When am I going to lose this horrible, torturous emptiness? It makes me cry. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.
Tomorrow is my anniversary. I don’t care. It will be like any other day… or it will be worse. It’s not that I expect anything and fear disappointment if my husband does nothing. No. It’s that I don’t want anything. I want it to be just like any other day. I honestly just don’t care at all.
[Here is where I wrote more about that but it was depressing as fuck so I deleted it. Let’s just say I know I’m never going to have the life I always wanted… and it’s my own fault… and…]
I’m glad I have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning. That’ll make it a special day.
Final assessment: bored, tired, unsatisfied, disgusted with myself, lonely
©2017 what sandra thinks
Yesterday on the way home from buying glue so my daughter could make homemade slime, I heard a song that I haven’t heard in a while. I’ve always loved it… and I knew it would be my next song of the day. And then I saw the theme for this week’s ‘Song Lyric Sunday‘… traveling.
It actually works. Kind of.
This is a song about a failed relationship… and about running away… escaping… and starting over where no one knows you. It’s a thought that appeals to me… a lot. Only I wouldn’t go to Boston… that wouldn’t work for me (obviously… if you know that about me). I’d go somewhere else. Like Hawaii. Or Paris. But I’d also want to be about 25. That would be a good start-over age. But time travel is not a thing… so… that’s a problem.
Boston / Augustana
In the light of the sun, is there anyone?
Oh it has begun
Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed
This world you must’ve crossed
You said
You don’t know me, you don’t even care, oh yeah
She said
You don’t know me, and you don’t wear my chains… oh yeah
Essential yet appealed
Carry all your thoughts
Across an open field
When flowers gaze at you
They’re not the only ones
Who cry when they see you
She said
You don’t know me, you don’t even care, oh yeah
She said
You don’t know me, and you don’t wear my chains… oh yeah
She said I think I’ll go to Boston
I think I’ll start a new life
I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name
I’ll get out of California, I’m tired of the weather
I think I’ll get a lover and fly him out to Spain
Oh yeah and I think I’ll go to Boston
I think that I’m just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind
I think I need a sunrise, I’m tired of the sunset
I hear it’s nice in the summer, some snow would be nice
Oh yeah
You don’t know me, you don’t even care, oh yeah
She said
You don’t know me, and you don’t wear my chains… oh yeah
Boston
Where no one knows my name yeah
Where no one knows my name
Where no one knows my name
Boston
No one knows my name
—
Written by Josiah Rosen, Justin South, Jared Palomer & Dan Layus
Stream of Consciousness Saturday.
No editing is allowed… (painful for me… I usually proofread a post 20 times…)
This week, the prompt is ‘save/safe‘…
I know I can be overprotective. Maybe it’s not even just that I can be. Maybe I just am. I worry way too much. (And I know I’ll always worry about my kids no matter how old they are.) But I don’t know if I make the right decisions. Am I justified? Overprotective? Mean? Or am I just keeping them safe?
Yesterday, my daughter (who is 9) was invited to go to an amusement park sort of place for some Halloween fest thing with a friend and her parents. This would be at night. You know, after dark, of course, because of the Halloween thing. And it’s about 45 minutes away.
My husband said no. And I don’t feel good about her going either. Hell, neither of us would feel good about my son going either and he’s 12. But are we being overprotective? Are we being unreasonable?
I feel bad because I’m sure other parents would just let their kid go. I don’t want my kid(s) to be known (or picked on) for not being able to do stuff because their parents are overprotective. Apparently, this is something my son has already been teased about. I’m also concerned that my daughter’s friend will just ask someone else and they’ll go and have lots of fun and my daughter will feel left out… because of her overprotective parents. And then kids will talk… and no one will ever invite her to do anything again because they’ll remember this… they’ll remember how her parents said no.
I want my kids to be ‘normal‘… I want them to be able to do what other kids do. I already feel bad about things we haven’t been able to do… I already feel like my kids miss out. So I want to say yes to things like this. But it concerns me. I worry about her safety. I met the dad once. I’ve talked to the mom a few times but as I suck at making friends, I don’t know her well. But if I only let my kids hang out with kids whose parents I know well, they’d have no friends at all.
• • • • •
My son is a straight A student. He always has been. He rarely even gets an A-. However, this year (and school only started 5 weeks ago), he has gotten a couple of really bad grades in what used to be his best subject. I’ve asked him what’s going on… Did he know the material? (He says yes.) Was he distracted? (He says no.) Is something else entirely bothering him? (He says no.)
So what then? I don’t know. He’s already told me that he’s going to be devastated if he doesn’t make High Honors (it would be the first time ever not making it). But I don’t think he can save his grade. Not enough to get the A. His most recent grade, from a quiz he said was “the easiest thing ever” was significantly better but still a good bit lower than is normal for him… especially considering that he thought it was so easy.
I don’t think there’s something else going on that he’s not telling us because this is the only class where his grade is significantly lower than usual. But I’m sad for him because he’s sad. I want to fix it for him, but obviously, I can’t. I have a theory about this… why it’s happening. Last year, he had one teacher he kind of hated. He did slightly worse in that class than all the others (still an A, though). This year, the class of the bad grades is also the one with the teacher he kind of hates. Obviously, there’s a connection. But it’s much worse now.
• • • • •
It feels like failure… on my part. I don’t know how protective or not protective to be… maybe I’m just always overprotective. And I don’t know how to help my son. I just want them to be happy. And safe. But I feel pretty useless. And it all makes me sad.
©2017 what sandra thinks
It’s sad. I know it is. But I find myself wasting time.
It’s not that I don’t have anything to do. It’s quite the opposite. I have tons to do.
I could list those things (I, in fact, have a list… it sits there on the fridge). So I don’t need suggestions. That’s not the point. This is about wasting time. Lately, intentionally.
I keep posting about how empty I feel… and the other part of that is… how bored I am. Nothing sounds appealing to me. Everything sounds incredibly boring. I am only less bored when I’m with the kids (and occasionally my husband but… eh). But even when others are home, I’m still bored. I think it’s in my head… not necessarily about what’s around me.
I do need time away from the kids. But lately, from the time I return home from dropping them off at school until it’s time to pick them up, I’m waiting for time to pass… but I’m not really doing anything worthwhile. I’m wasting time… on purpose. I don’t know why I can’t get myself to do something relevant and valuable with that time.
Maybe the graphic design stuff I’ve been doing for my shops is worthwhile. But it’s probably not. I don’t know how to get customers. There are so fucking many shops out there selling stuff similar enough to mine that the chances someone will find me and buy from me are so slim it’s (almost) pointless.
So I stare at a screen (phone, laptop, television… pick one… or more) and try to find ways to waste the hours until pick-up time. I know it’s awful… most people would give anything for a few hours to themselves every day. And I used to love it. I always had something to do… something I wanted to do… something I was thrilled I had time for. And hell, I still always have something to do. But… I guess I used to be more motivated.
I have an explanation… two, actually. When I’m alone, I think about all that’s wrong in my life. And there’s a lot. I can’t stop and it slowly, painfully kills me. I know… blah blah you can change anything… blah blah you can do anything you want… blah blah fuck off (no offense). Those ‘change‘ clichés are lies. Total fucking BS. What I want to change… what I want to do… I’m not really sure what those things are. But anything I can think of requires things I don’t have… money, ambition, my youth. So no matter how hard I try, I can’t change anything because it requires changing something in the past which, obviously, is impossible. It’s too late for anything I do to matter. I know… blah blah no it’s not… blah blah fuck off (no offense). Even if it isn’t too late, which it is, I feel that it is so it is. For me. Yeah yeah… I know.
The other explanation is just… me. I don’t enjoy being alone unless I’m truly immersed in something… because if I’m not, I’m just sitting there with only me… with no distraction from me… and I hate me.
But… (I know, I’m going in circles, at which I seem to excel)… I am not truly immersed in anything lately. So I’m stuck with me.
Writing is missing. Yeah, I’m writing this. But I have no fiction projects going right now. Not really. I think that’s leaving a gaping hole in me. Of course, I often feel like my fiction writing is also pointless. Poetry… every once in a while, I’ve got something but not much. There’s an empty space where writing used to be. I hate it.
And I already mentioned the design… where I occasionally lose myself… but I’m starting to feel less inspired… and I’m starting to feel like it’s pointless anyway… see above.
In short (too late), I’m just wasting time… and it’s sad… but it keeps happening. Oh hell, this whole post has been a way for me to waste time. (Mine and yours… apologies…) And I’m relieved that it’s Friday… and that it’s a long weekend (here in the US… Columbus Day is Monday) because I won’t be alone again until Tuesday. When I have a dentist appointment. Oh, and it’s my wedding anniversary… eh. (No, I will not use ‘meh’ because I hate that…. and because when I make the ‘I don’t care’ sound, it’s ‘eh’. So there.)
Time to pick up the kids.
©2017 what sandra thinks
when the moon
didn’t glow
and the stars
didn’t shine
I looked for a light
and I found it
or so I thought
it was you
finally there
to brighten the night
and light up
the moon and the stars
and my world
or so I thought
I was blind
desperate for love
lonely and scared
and you arrived
at the right time
in the right place
or so I thought
the truth is
I was in love
with the idea of you
with something
I wanted you to be
I fooled myself
or so I thought…
©2017 what sandra thinks
Liam Sullivan's Ideas and Reflections
Wordpress simulcast of the official A to Z Challenge blog
“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou
Photos, art, and a little bit of LIT.
A Look on the Brighter Side of Life
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what sandra thinks 