Suicidal Snowflakes

Just because I have a short attention span doesn\’t mean I…

So here it is…

I’m 27 years old today.  Last year of my “mid twenties.”  I’ll have to call them late twenties next year.  Wow.  I’m almost out of my twenties.  Sounds so odd when you say twenties repeatedly… sounds weird, like something you want to escape, like your teens.  But what’s the alternative?  Your thirties? That’s still not a whole lot right there.  Not like my life’s…over or anything the minute I hit thirty.  But I’m having one of those times where I wonder where the time went, what I did with my life and why I wandered so aimlessly for so long.  Maybe I’ll get a doctorate next.  Maybe I’ll end up at another job like my current job, but just in another field.  Maybe I can actually get fiction published.  Of course, that would require getting off my ass and submitting sh-t, which I won’t do because I’m a fraidy cat.  I guess what I want for my twenty seventh birthday is some balls. I have a feeling all I’m going to get is a crappy gift card from my dad (if he remembers and gets me anything at all, that is–there’s a whole turgid story about how he’s spent my birthday the last few years–I thought I’d been blocking it rather well, but apparently not), and Doctor Who series 1 from my husband.  Mom may try getting me something lame, it’s not her fault, she just can’t shop for anyone, bless her little heart.  Sadly guts and medication for social anxiety disorder are not on the menu for the birthday this year.


November 19, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | 2 Comments

Deep Thoughts

I submit to you:

1) Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.  It can only change forms.  This is true for hype. And like the poor, the hype will always be with you.
2) Nature abhores a vacuum and seeks to fill it.  This is also true for hype.  A lack of hype will produce hype.

October 14, 2006 Posted by | Thoughts | Leave a comment


26 is too young to have former lives.

Sometimes I stare at the grey walls and the grey carpets and grey cubicles in my office, and I feel so very… insignificant and ordinary.  I forget that I’ve done cool stuff in my life.  Here’s a reminder to hopefully cheer me up (or depress me into committing suicide–either’s OK):

-Started doing professional theater (for which I was paid-much to the chagrin of one of my high school teachers who thought I should be doing it for free.  Yeah, like I’m going to be that altruistic and turn down money ‘oh no, I’m just doing this for the experience.’)

-Was accepted to a good and renowned conservatory.

-Was in a cathedral choir in two major cities.  

-Lived in Chicago from 17-20 all by my widdle wonesome and had big-city adventures. Again, all by my widdle wonesome.   

-Started college when I was 17

– Graduated college when I was 20

-Did an ass-load of shows in two different major cities, including an opera in Chicago.  Shit, I’ve done Peter Pan in TWO cities in the same year. And I got freakin’ paid for most of them. I didn’t suck nearly as badly as I thought I did, I guess.  I just stopped doing theater when my sister got sick, and just never refound the thrill, the time or the desire.  Writing is a solitary sport, which is great when you have crippling social anxiety disorder.  

-Dated an Australian medical student who once sent me flowers at work.  (Mostly this just falls into the cool and exotic category–I’m feeling depressed about not having traveled as much as I’d have liked to, living 2 blocks from the house I grew up in, and not having the prospect of time off for a vacation or $$ for traveling any time soon)

-Once met Ray Liota and Gillian Anderson (same day!)… wasn’t brave enough to talk to them, though a friend did pinch Anderson’s discarded water bottle and created a weird gay shrine to her in his living room.  Creepy, yet cool. 

-Got a full time job when I was 21 with a retirement fund and everything! (yes, my retirement fund has been collecting $$ since I was 21–both cool AND depressing)

-Went to NY with a good friend and saw like 6 shows in two and a half days.  Also went to Hershey with said friend and saw shows in Pgh with her too… not only was she NOT shy (I’m too shy to talk to ANYONE)… but she was friends with like half the cast of every show we went to see.  I went backstage and in the dressing rooms after a Broadway show once, and I just kind of stood there, letting her gab away.  I was just kind of dying inside the whole time.  That’s the same way I feel whenever I’m at comicon and my husband’s gushing like a fanboy, and I’m praying… don’t notice me, don’t mention me… oh shit, you mentioned me… Oh crap, now they expect me to do more than wave… NO idea why I’m dysfunctional like this.  I don’t like talking to people I don’t know in general, even to just ask for directions, but it’s even worse when it’s someone who’s work I know and admire. 

-Met a guy on the internet, on Sept. 11, 2001, whom I later married (and despite being clueless, he is cute and adorable and loveable and the greatest guy in the world). 

-I’m a classically trained soprano.  So myeahh. of course, I have no time with my unfortunate work schedule and school to actually do any shows or join any good local choirs, so it’s kind of like the solitary sport of writing, but with singing for me right now… especially since I stopped taking voice lessons since my voice teacher passed away.  I hope to remedy that later this month.

-I’ve written two novels from beginning to end (thank you, nanowrimo!).  I’m sure neither are very good, and neither have been published, but I FINISHED. I wrote “The End” and meant it! Most people spend their lives thinking about writing a novel or wanting to, and I actually did it.  I should pat myself on the shoulder.  

-Was accepted to a good graduate school (this is where it starts to get dry and boring, even to me) 

-Considered a Mac “specialist” at my job.  Entitles me to no special privileges, but it’s sweet that they hand that stuff to me.  

-Have managed to survive all of undergrad, six years at my current job and half of undergrad with unchecked severe depression and undiagnosed ADD.  Life’s better with the ADD in check and the depression was doing better until a few weeks ago.  Probably time for a meds check, I guess.  But seriously, I could have been a wastoid… someone with potential who never got her shit together.  My life didn’t turn out how I hoped, but I managed to schlep through fairly OK.  I have a real job, and I didn’t have a shotgun wedding.  So many of my friends didn’t go to college because of getting pregnant, or because of not wanting to, and now they’re working in fast food and/or getting divorced.  I might not be doing actual fulfilling things with the writing or the singing, but at least I have the HOPE of that stuff going somewhere some day.  Hard to do that with two kids and a minimum wage job.  Hurray for me for keeping my shit together long enough to get a degree!

-Have been published.  Once.  It’s not much, but it’s something, I think.  It must count for something.  

-Had 6,000 hits on a story I wrote which was online in the course of 3 weeks.  Not bad for a spaz lacking the self esteem to submit stuff to publishers.

-People whom I don’t know, and often whose blogs I don’t read in a reciprocal fashion tune in regularly to my blog.  I speak into the void and people listen! Apparently in space, they CAN hear you scream.  

-I’m still a huge spazoid, but I’m far less socially inept than I was in high school.  I can even “blend in,” even though I don’t think I’ll ever be socially…adequate.  I’m quite a snazzy dresser, I’ve been told I accessorize well, and I am quite adept at the art of disguising myself as an adult.

-Despite how lame my life was in high school and college, I have actual friends now who arn’t even backstabbing bitches.  It’s exciting.  Of course, my solution to the whole “evil backstabbing bitch” thing was to just have all male friends.  Except for my one friend who’s a lawyer and actually likes to read my stuff.  I guess, in general, I’m amazed that I’m likeable to anyone, much less people who aren’t the lowest common denominator (read: unwashed masses). 

-I have better grammar and writing skills than most of the lawyers  she deals with.

-I can hang drywall, drop ceilings and cabinets and build a deck.

-I can paint and do crafts without a “pattern” and could be considered, in some circles, at least an adequate artist

-I’m a much better speller now than I was in high school.

-I survived 2 years of living at the YMCA.  I’m sure it’d be fodder for writing stories if I hadn’t managed to so effectively block that entire period of my life.  

-I have highlighted my own hair and have lived to tell the tale.

… *sigh*

…Stuff that all sounds great at cocktail parties, but, really…just isn’t all that impressive to me.  Everything just feels so bla and dead and hopeless.  I guess that’s one reason why I need to go back to the dr’s and do something about the meds, or something.  I need the Stepford wife pill.  Something to turn me into the type of automaton they’re looking for at work (though I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an Auton either).  

I feel like all my best years are behind me, the years when I could have taken any one of those paths and ended up in a cooler place, and now I’m stuck on a path that will keep me a ‘suit.’ The whole ‘suit’ thing to me just conjures this sterile unchanging, unthinking, unmoving landscape in my eyes.  Like I’m destined to walk in a void for all time… sensory deprivation until I die.  

I feel very pessimistic.  Pessimistic and Calvinistic.  And I mean… pessimistic even for a Calvinist. Which is upsetting.  I feel like… why bother doing ANYTHING.  We all just end up dead and rotting, whether we’re a king or a pauper or an ax murderer or nice person.  Sure, there’s all that afterlife stuff, which I do believe in, and I may play the part of a heathen, but I do still worry about behaving myself and treating others (even my waste of human flesh father) in a Christian manner…but for some reason I can’t see that right now.  I look at how tired I am every Sunday, and I can’t fathom dragging myself to church where I may or may not have my brain stabbed out by subtext or my head exploded by the music or what actually goes on there. 

I should be able to suck it up and deal, but it’s just too emotionally wearing–because I DO care.  It’s supposed to be a refuge, not ‘lets see how much emotional torment I can tolerate for the next 65 minutes’ when it starts in the church parking lot, the actual decor is visually assaulting, then you listen to/watch people and it’s just… you need duct tape.

You need duct tape to wrap around your head to keep all the pieces where you can find them after your head explodes.  And I don’t even have the energy to do more than know intellectually that I should feel guilty for not going to church on Sundays. I just can’t bring myself to deal with people.  What’s worse than actually having to deal with people in the real world is dealing with them at church.  It makes it a thousand times more stabby in the brain-y.

I am also just SO exhausted, trying to fit in all the things I’m “supposed” to be fitting in.  EVERYTHING happens at a weird or inconvenient or down right impossible time.  I’d have to take a vacation day to go to confession. But I can’t even take vacation days for actual vacation (haven’t had a “real” break from work in almost a year) because I need to use them for school due to some circumstances outside of my control.  Tired of driving hither and thither. Tired of getting up early, tired of waking up early and being unable to sleep when I can sleep in… Tired of not doing the stuff I’m supposed to be doing for my health as perfectly as I’d like, or the doctor would like.  But I’m just not made out of money, and I just don’t have unlimited time.

Crawling into my hobbies and hiding there is about the only thing that’s keeping me alive right now.  My favorite place in the world is sandwiched between the blankets of my bed with the comfy mattress topper… warm and safe.  Only time I feel really at ease any more. Wish I could deal with “reality,” but at the same time… do I really wanna?  Reality is so… stark and cold and awake and unfortunate.  

Basically this is the sad manifesto of someone who’s overworked, burnt-out and sleep deprived.  I guess it’s ‘progress’ that I can at least intellectualize the feeling and not just slit my wrists  outright. 

Oh yeah, and I’m really tired of being in the middle of my parents’ problems and divorce.  Mom’s crazy and she makes me nuts, but my dad… lets put it this way… God’s purpose on this earth may possibly only be the following:

Warning to others

CO2 generator (plants like co2, otherwise he’d be a total waste of oxygen)

Eventual fertilizer.

I hate talking to him.  My mom’s deranged, and she’s painful to talk to sometimes.  Dad’s painful to talk to ALL the time.  Total self-absorbed narcissist with possible psychopathic tendencies. I’m not asking him to put his kids first, but just  being on an even keel with him and his own needs would be nice. Emotionally and materially.

My husband wants me to write something “more personal” this year and a little less scifi-horrory.  Like (blek) literature-y I guess.  I think I may kill myself if I have to actually think about some of the stuff I’ve worked so hard to burry under denial, better memories and tangled Christmas lights.

Oh yeah, and my cat never came home.

Ok, so the list thing didn’t work out so good.  I hope there’s some kind of purgative benefit to writing all this crap down at least.  


September 29, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | Leave a comment

This one time… at smart-kid-camp…

Sorry, dude.  Living on math is like livin’ on love–neither’ll feed ya.  And if video games are involved, neither will keep you warm at night.

Thanks for totally making me feel like an under-achiever, dude.  I didn’t start grad school the first time till I was 20.  Then I freaked out in the first week of November when i was sitting around, listening to the retarded things that graduate english majors think about and consider important. I seriously, SERIOUSLY had a breakdown over it.  And that was it, man.  My 3-credit graduate career, down the sh-tter. it took me four years to get enough self-esteem to even apply to another program.  Of course, I’d have probably slit my wrists with the broken remains of the bathroom mirror I’d just bashed my head against if I’d have not been accepted, but hey.

Seriously, I still wanna be a writer when I grows up, but i can’t freakin’ stand the stuck-up twads in the English department.  Buncha freakin’ literature snobs.  FINALLY finished my writing certificate last year… AFTER I’d been in grad school for two terms, I might add… All because I WANTED to take this one class (not really required) but couldn’t find a teacher who wasn’t completely unbearable.  I don’t see anything un-literary about zombies.  They’re people too, dammit.  But I wasn’t beiing a total Kafkaesque jerkwad about it, so oh… that’s a “genre story,” which is too base and low-class for us stuck-up coffee-drinking baret-wearing yuppie freaks.  I had another nervous breakdown a couple years ago when i realized I’d never conform to what they thougt was a worthy writing enterprise.  You know, sometimes, you just wanna write stuff that is fun to read and makes other people happy.  If something deeper happens, great.  If not, I’m not going to force it and pretend i’m F. Scott Fitzgerald, because oh my god, if I was, I’d probably impale myself on my own writing implement.  ARUGG.  Literature snob flashbacks.  Sorry.

Anyways, took me another year to realize it was OK that I’d never fit in with them.  It doesn’t mean I’m stupid (or at least I hope not) it just means I’m on a different path and they’ve taught me all that they can teach me.  I know HOW to think, which is the real job of a teacher.  I have a library card and I happen to be literate.  I think I can let the books teach me WHAT to think.

Can you tell I’ve had like 8 shots of whiskey?? I’m waxing on about my traumatic English department past, which I’d thought long since burried safely in my subconscious.  Guess not.  Oh well, I’m bitter that my dad’s an ass tonight too.  I guess it’s all connected.

July 23, 2006 Posted by | Thoughts | 5 Comments

Very large chains, or a very little man?

…I’m feeling philosophical today…

July 20, 2006 Posted by | Thoughts | Leave a comment

Retraction: Fr John Vojtek isn’t the harbinger of doom.

My apologies to "DragonFly" (I HATE it when people leave anonymous replies).  I was just trying to be funny about a really un-funny situation.  I like Fr. John, my husband misses his homilies already (Fr. John's homilies… oh, the comedic humor to be mined from that–Fr. John, we'll miss you, buddy).

Why do people take me seriously?? Don't you know better?  

June 22, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | 1 Comment

Fr John Vojtek, harbinger of DOOM!

Fr. John was the pastor at All Saints during the 2004 flood that destroyed many of the houses around the parish not to mention the insane amount of damage it did all around the county. The school attatched to the parish was forced to close and the church itself required six months of rennovation to be repaired and mass was said for all that time in the activities buildig.

By that point, Fr. John had been at All Saints for eleven or tweleve years. He got everything squared away with the insurance companies and everything from the festival was rebuilt for the summer. Around Christmas we heard that he was moving to another parish after Penticost. So, we were all sniffly and stuff, but he'd been at All Saints longer than most priests in this diocese get to stick around a parish.

So, penticost was the 10th, Fr. John was at the new parish by Tuesday, I think. And Thursday morning the church burnt to the ground. And I don't mean a fire like All Saints had flood damage, y'know, tear out some walls and plaster, redo all the carpets and pews and wiring and stuff. I mean not a brick standing on top of another brick.

He should totally get an award or something. Most Likely To Attract a Natural Disaster.

**ps, for the sake of clarification–I [HEART] Fr. John.  Totally miss him.** 

June 21, 2006 Posted by | Religion, Thoughts | 4 Comments

Ghost Whisperer and protected posts

Ok, didn't see that ending coming.  I thought the shot where Andrea walks back into the shop and Melinda is standing across from her was a little weird, and I guess that should have been a little telling. Same with the FBI guy refusing to talk to her. D00d. 

As for password protected posts… email or AIM me, and if you arnt who the post is about, I'll give you the password 🙂  

May 29, 2006 Posted by | Thoughts, TV/Movies/Books | 1 Comment

Protected: A question posed

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May 27, 2006 Posted by | Thoughts, Unwashed Masses | Enter your password to view comments.

Today’s Thought

I didn't even know there was a twelfth level of hell until I found myself sitting in it. 

May 27, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | 1 Comment