What tickles, tortures my soul
I was actually up part of the night wondering whether to delete my last post. I don’t like that side of me. I don’t like how one person I’ve never met (and someone I’d be so fucking nice to in person if we ever met, it would sicken even me) can rile me like that.
It’s funny how we attach certain things to people we don’t know or don’t know well. It’s easier that way, really, than to go to someone you do know very well and say what’s on your mind. Especially if you’ve said it and still feel like you haven’t been heard.
Anyway, it’s weird how this shit kicks back on me. Usually once a month. And consulting my calendar, yeah, it’s a few days from unleashing-the-floodgates territory. Like fucking clockwork, I get this weird flare-up that makes me react to actual wrongs by going off the rails about long-ago ones because I can’t do a damn thing (yet) about the situations that ARE in front of me.
Longtime readers know I cuss like there’s no tomorrow in my writings and conversation, although I’ve toned that down substantially over the past couple of years. F-bombs have always been my bullets. I never met a C-word I didn’t embrace and over-use. I got in trouble with my high-school “boyfriend” (the is-it-or-isn’t-it relationship thing started early) because we used to swear a lot. Of course, both of our families told the teacher to go fuck herself and leave us alone. 😉
Anyway, what y’all may find ironic or even funny is that I keep a paper journal. I write a paragraph or a page every single day. And here’s the funny part … I write it to God.
That kind of cuts down on the snark a little, and certainly the swearing!
The journal is just as cryptic as this, but I think if I could explain to you some of the facts, it would help from a perspective factor. And because I’ve never been one for sharing details much beyond my perception of things, well, you have to rely upon how I see the world to understand where I’m coming from.
That’s all I can give you, most of the time. I may not be able to share context, but I love that most of you trust and respect me enough to say, well, if that’s how she’s reacting, she probably has a pretty fucking good reason for feeling that way. And believe me, I love you for it more than you will ever know. 🙂
Anyway, I have a post that has been in draft mode for a while that I want to share that, well, I’m glad I didn’t. Watchers of “The Bachelor” would get it — how you find someone who loves you but you’re never the only one. And when he chooses, he never chooses you but nine times out of 10 he will wish he had. Meanwhile you feel like shit when you could have felt special.
Normally this doesn’t bother me. After all, by rights, I’ve been “on the show” about four times in my life. Still looking for that great love but I’ll die trying. In the meantime, I always have other things going on. But I don’t talk about those. I don’t know why. I honestly don’t. I guess because the ones that cause me to be profound (and slightly psychotically imbalanced) make for the best prose.
My industry has killed my love of writing. This blog is all I have left. Of course I’m going to go for what tickles and tortures my soul.
I wrote something yesterday that made me so proud and yet I can’t share a word of it. Because it was a brand-new insight into an old problem I thought I’d left behind in 2012. I closed my journal and smiled, so happy with my genius little mind. And I thanked God for that stunning moment of clarity.
So, I guess what I’m saying is that I SHOULD delete my “Imma cut a bitch” type of posts. But you know what? If any man ISN’T flattered that I would have done anything for him at one point in my life, he ain’t passionate enough for me. I’m still looking for the man who will throw me up against a wall and have his way with me and I don’t think I can suffer through anyone who would do anything less.
Sure I’m kind of a lazy fuck these days, but those of you who have seen me be “in” it, know when I’m “in” it. And there’s nothing like it from what I hear. 😉
Oh, boys, what some of you have missed out on. How you’ve done it so willingly, however, will baffle me till the day I die.