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There will be more, I have no doubt, but there was suppose to be a break.  This wasn’t suppose to follow the last two in a row.

But this has to come out.

Because I haven’t been able to write, not a post, not a tweet, not anything bright and fluffy and fun.  The words and and ridiculous thoughts are in my brain, but they are stuck there; my unwilling fingers won’t make the connection to type them.

I think it’s because I haven’t fully been able to acknowledge the loss of my Willow, my baby girl.

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She was absolutely one of my best friends and two weeks ago today, she left us and the hole she left is enormous.

I don’t want to focus on the sadness.  I simply want need to take a moment and remember the furball of awesomeness that she was.

From when she was a kitten and used to lie on my pillow and shut my eyes for me, not ever letting glasses get in her way to her ‘I have no limbs’ poses.  Her love of boxes, her ability to make and get into her own costumes, for all the wonderful moments I will never forget.

                            storming the castle

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             PIZZA!!!!!!! (which means BOX!!!!!!)

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         willow in fancy dress. she designed it herself

 

For all the time we had with her and all she gave us in that time, I am eternally grateful.

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pit of despair – day three

September 30, 2013

Well, I’m out of bed.  Only cause my phone was going off repeatedly and it was really far away.  Future note to self: if I am going to make attempts to respond to the outside world via my chirping phone while depressing (yes, I am using the word ‘depressing’ as a verb – it really should be one, sometimes it’s the only way to describe it), anyhow, point is, remember to turn phone off or bring it to bed with me.

I’ve even managed to make a cup of coffee so I have some degree of functioning.  I guess that’s something.

I’ve gone and got broken again.

I’m not sure how many times one can get put back together.  After a while, don’t the pieces get too small and damaged; beyond repair.

I am on my own today.  It’s monday and everyone is back to their weekday life.

It’s amazing how old ways of dealing with pain surface.  Negative coping mechanisms you think you have overcome work their way into your mind.  Just one more thing to deal with and have to fight.

I remember how cutting into my skin used to distract.  How one pain could be traded for another.  How the trade was a relief; how it felt like control.  I don’t like how these recollections have surfaced as ultimately the pay off wasn’t good for me; wasn’t healthy; provided only a moment of relief; did nothing to help me get better long term.  So I remind myself I am here now instead.  By here I mean on this page.  I write my pain.  I am naked and exposed to the world, but it is the safer alternative.

I can’t have people on watch over me 24/7 (though all my feline fur ball friends seem to be strangely alert and keep checking on me) so I have to deal with the alone.  I’m completely sucky company right now anyhow.  I don’t want to talk.  I mostly stare into space, lost in my thoughts.  I cry occasionally and, just to mix it up, once in a while I hyperventilate.  Who wouldn’t want to spend time with that?  I don’t even really want company.  It just seems somehow easier as I don’t have to fear my own thoughts quite as much.

That’s all the words I have right now.  There are so many more, but they exhaust me.

I’m going to attempt to contemplate if being in the pit of despair is a better option than the bog of eternal stench.  Maybe it will distract me.  If it provides even a few moments of respite, I’ll take it.  I will take every teeny tiny little break from my thoughts that I can latch onto.

I really, most genuinely, hope that you are having a better day.  That you are having not only a better day, but a wonderful one.

Months since I have written and this, I already know, will be nothing but whiny gibberish, but I don’t care.

I feel like my world is spiralling.  Like all I have been working so hard for is not available to me.  It’s small and stupid and I am too embarrassed to even attempt to explain it as it’s that unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but that hasn’t stopped my (over?) reaction.

I miss the floor.  Sitting is energy I don’t have.  Tears have drained me, yet continue in regular intervals.

It’s all fallen apart.

I am not good enough.

I am not wanted.

I feel this is only partially deserved.

Nonetheless, my aspirations and all I wanted to learn, all the challenges I wanted to face, all I hoped for (but somehow knew I wasn’t getting) – all gone.  No way to change it.  And I don’t know how to deal.

I don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t stop thinking about it.  It’s a never-ending downward descent.

I am so lost and it hurts.

And I can’t escape it, can’t get away from it to deal; not without giving up what I love and that doesn’t feel like an option either.  Outside my family and kit kats, it’s all I have.  It all intertwines and cutting a small part damages everything.

I need help, but there is no help that can be given.

Once upon a time there was a girl, and she lived in a house in toronto with her husband and her cats, her hoops and her dead dolls in coffins.

She had a computer.  She had a keyboard for this computer, and she had hands.

She used the fingers of these hands to type and create a blog because she liked to write; not about anything in particular,  not about anything that she thought others would care about, and not because she thought she was particularly good at writing, but because she liked the feel of a pen gliding across paper or her fingers pressing gently down on keys.  She liked to watch the paper, or the screen, fill with words and since her babbling capabilities could go on ad infinitum, she could look at  what was previously blank and feel she had actually accomplished something.

Mostly, the girl wrote about random musings from her life and her mind. She wrote about spaceships and strange little snowmen appearing from nowhere; about mermaids and cat vomit and time spent with her belly dancer friends.  And she wrote about her dreams.  Not the big dreams about life, the little dreams that take place while you sleep that are mostly about shoes.

Occasionally, the posts became a little more serious for the girl and she struggled with this as she really only wanted the world to see the quirky crazy, the if-someone-had-a-really-big-butterfly-net-she-might-be-in-trouble-crazy.  She could accept this part of herself and even choose to revel in it, but the dark, cavernous, pit of despair kind of crazy was another aspect completely.  One she not only wanted to be able to hide from the world, but also from herself.  For the girl had a problem with the wiring in her brain and despite her best efforts, she could not control this.

In fact, her wallowing, oh-woe-is-me capabilities were second only to her babbling ones and when these combined with messed up synapses, it became a very potent, self-destructive cocktail.  No pretty drink umbrellas to be found.

So why does all of this matter?  What is the purpose of this story here?

Well, the clever reader would notice that it has been well over a month since the girl last wrote.

You see, while there is no specific happily ever after ending to this story, the girl did come to realize that there was a benefit to sharing more than just the stories of her attempts to sabotage her husband; that sharing the dark moments openly and honestly as part of who she is has had some cathartic benefits for herself and occasionally has also helped others.  Yet despite this knowledge she once again forgot this.  She stopped writing and the longer she let it go, the harder it has been for her to come back. She also noticed that this would be her fiftieth post and let that intimidate her.

Having not written for so long she felt that her come back at the fifty mark should be witty and brilliant, but as nothing in her life or her mind was providing such fodder, she waited.  Of course the longer she waited, the more amazing the post would have to be and a vicious circle formed.

However, the girl fought back.  She pushed against her self sabotaging behaviour, accepted non-brilliance and finally wrote something down.  So while her journey and struggles are far from over, she did have a small moment of triumph.

Of course, there is the possibility that all this above is just a big steaming pile of poo and that it is simply her dislike of the number five that she has been avoiding.

The girl thoroughly detests the number.  She finds it ugly written out (five) and even more hideous in numeric form (5).  And the sound of anything containing the number, well, it’s kind of like taking the above mentioned pile of poo and putting it in your mouth.  Disgusting.

She’s been known to lie about her age, but only when there is a 5 at the end.

Sooooo…

There’s a slight possibility that the time spent over the last month trying to (unsuccessfully) banish the number from existence may have left little room for writing. And that, while the brain wiring issues may be true, it’s also possible that in the end, it was the paste eating kind of crazy that got in the way.

I guess only the girl knows for sure.

 

 

 

my best news ever

March 11, 2013

I’ll keep this short as the person about whom I am writing is a rather private person and while I don’t want to upset her, I have a rather small readership and, quite frankly, I really feel like celebrating.  Besides, with all the bad news that seems to be enveloping everyone I know lately, a little bit of good happening for someone might be nice for a change.

So here is the quick and simple version.

For the past year and a half-ish, my mom has been through her own little health hell.  Today she got a clean bill of health!!!!

It’s like the weight of  Mjölnir has been lifted!

If good news was needed to help lift me from my own malaise, I couldn’t ask for anything better or anyone better to be inspired by.

For my darling mommy, if you read this, please forgive me for sharing, but I am just so happy, so proud of you, and I love you so much!

For those who have been there for me or my family along the way, I/we are most truly grateful!

I woke up this morning and almost immediately wanted to go back to bed.  Even though I wasn’t tired, I probably should have followed my instincts and just let this day pass me by.

I felt blah from the moment I opened my eyes.  I could feel a depression creeping in, but none-the-less, I crawled out of bed and tried to move forward and imagine a better day for myself.  Unfortunately, some days the universe just conspires against you.

So far it has been a complete waste of a day and I don’t see it improving.  I have no energy, no inspiration, no desire to do anything at all, and yet I am simultaneously bored to tears.

Before I started writing this post I was combing the knots out of my hair with my fingers and counting all the split ends.

I’ve attempted to take a few actions to lift myself out of this mood, but nothing has worked and now I am out of ideas.  That’s alright though as I no longer have any urge to try.  I am sinking into it and am simply left waiting for this day to come to an end; hoping that I slap out of it with the start of new day.  Afterall there’s nothing like beginning the day with a nice red hand print across your cheek.

I am really in no mood for another depressive episode (and no, I am never in the mood for this, but I’m already down so if you could just let this one go, I would really appreciate it).

I just had a moment of excitement as I realized I haven’t given one of my best pick me ups a try, but came crashing down a nano second later as I realized I don’t have the ingredients for a chocolate martini.

Oh well, back to counting split ends.  I guess if I try to look on the bright side, I do have a lot of hair so it should keep my occupied for a while.

I’m in obsessive single-minded mode.  I’m in ranting mode.  And I’m in self-ish mode.

I’m obsessed with tedious organizational tasks and feel like I can’t do anything else until I am completely done with these few things, but as my mind is constantly bouncing between tasks, I can’t focus long enough on any one to actually finish anything.

Even now, although I made the conscious choice to take time out to write (because I haven’t written in forever and that guilty feeling was causing more disruption in my brain which interferes even more with my ability to focus ), I struggle to actually do so as it is taking time away from what I am supposed to be doing, but I’m the only one in charge of what I am supposed to be doing, so there is absolutely no reason I shouldn’t be able to make the choice to write without creating a self-induced panic about lost time, when nothing on my current to-do list is so important that it can’t wait another day and therefore I should be able to take the time to construct proper sentences that don’t run on forever, and yet, even though this is all of my own doing, and I can see it happening and write about it, I feel powerless against it.

On the plus side, while I do suffer from a certain amount of day-to-day obsessive behaviours, these spurts only occur once in a while and I do tend to get a fair amount done… it just comes with a whole lot more crazy.  I think that may be why Peter keeps going out to his office so much right now.

I have also worn myself out enough that I don’t have enough energy left to rant about itunes anymore.  Probably best as I have been yelling at my computer for many, many days now.

I think this may also be why Peter has gone into hiding.

For the record, I love itunes overall, I HATE their latest incarnation.  It sucks.  The whole thing kinda sucks, but if they would just give me the ability to scroll through my lists without the scrolling function jumping around all spastic-y colon like, I could (maybe) learn to live with the rest.

Ok, so maybe I still had room for a wee little rant, but believe me, this was the cliff notes version.

Part of the reason I have spent so much time on itunes (apart from restoring a crap load of lost music) is cause I got a new toy!!!  Finally upgraded to an ipod touch and it is all awesome and technologically advanced and what not.

I’m always behind on technology, I mean I am only now finally getting to play with apps! I’ve been very envious of this ability, but now I have it too!!! It’s like gaining a super power. Plus, I actually have room for most of my music and don’t have to keep shuffling songs on and off all the time, and if has wi-fi and email and it’s shiny and pretty and it’s all so very exciting and new.  Kinda like the Love Boat.

Actually, new ipod (she’s called doomkitty) is a lot like The Love Boat.  Exciting and new, life’s sweetest reward (until the next sparkly thing comes along), promises something for anyone, a course for adventure, basically take away all that love crap and it has it covered.

Signing off for now,

your cruise director.

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