I feel like I haven’t posted here in awhile, except I can see February 6 was the last time. That’s not that long ago, right? February 6 was a mere week ago. (Weeks feel like years these days, on my end.)
So. It’s February. February is a weird month for me. It’s my birthday month (February 23…gift-wishlist-on-demand list to follow at the end of this entry), but it’s also the month my dad died (February 12). Ever since the February my dad died (2001), I’ve just not had good luck with this month. If something weird or effed up or really really bad is going to happen, it always seems to happen in February. But maybe it’s just my frame of mind/perception. Because of what sad tragedy befell 16 years ago.
Today is Valentines Day. Another February day I shake my fists at. I abhor it. I think it’s a trash holiday (sorry if it’s your favorite, but uh…you like a trash holiday). I think it’s a money-making scheme, and the only money-making schemes I’m about these days are schemes that get me out of debt. I could be a gold digger and find me a sugar daddy like I always joke about, but I don’t want to use another human; I literally just want to not owe any other humans any more money. The end.
Another thing going on with me right now: I feel like I’m in this really poopy, Downer Debby, negative phase and I’m trying hard to pull myself out of it but I’ll be very honest: some of y’all out there are making this real damn hard for me. At least 3 someones I love a lot have all suggested I may be an empath, and so I looked it up and yes – I do have these problems in this article – and so basically I’m soaking up other people’s toxicity. Hey other people who have psychotic issues, Imma need y’all to back the F up outta my empath zone.
Though I do feel weird going, “Oh, look at me, I’m an EMPATH,” it would explain a lot about how I operate. I just know if you’re kind and good and full of love and positivity, after I’m with you I generally feel these things: I feel hopeful and uplifted. When I’m in the presence of someone toxic, I spend a lot of time fighting off storm clouds afterwards and going: WTF??? and having people reassure me: it’s NOT you, it’s that other person. I can’t explain it better than this: I know good people when I’m around them. My problem is I don’t know bad people when I’m around them, because I want to believe EVERYONE is good people. But I do always feel like crap after being around bad people, and so maybe I need to believe that more. When someone shows you who they are, believe them (the first time). Lately, I’ve been running to others for comfort, and these are all people who already have enough on their plates. But if I don’t, if I don’t reach out to others to vent and freak out and commiserate, I promise I will end up in a fetal position unable to continue. Because that’s where I’m at. These days.
At any rate. Let’s move on. Shall we?
Let’s talk about what I’ve been doing.
First: my laundry monster. I have a tremendously large pile of laundry I just pick and pull clothes out of. Last weekend, I thought: maybe if I re-wash everything, it will make me want to fold and put it away. So I rewashed everything, almost breaking my washing machine, and now the laundry is still sitting on the floor of bedroom. It was all over my living room floor, but I started to feel like a wayward frat boy and so I just moved it all into my bedroom. I actually have two separate piles: Mine and Miss M’s. And this is how we live. (But the rest of our place is pretty clean.) (Just don’t look too closely at the toilet.)
Second: I went to a bet-designers-LOVE-this-place with my sister-in-law, brother, niece, nephew, and Miss M last weekend. I found so many things I really really love and would like to have in my life. None were less than $799. Coincidentally, this is how much replacing my back brake pads/rotors and front brake pads will cost. But the Bohemian in me really, really wants the distressed wardrobe handcrafted in India. I’m sure I can go a few more months with bad brakes, right? (I’m kidding…I do still have a sense of self-preservation.)
Third: I’m just really grateful for friends right now. I have some really good, patient ones who put up with a lot from me about a lot of different things, god only knows why.
Fourth: I’m thinking about writing romance. Do I love and read romance? No. But I will. I will study it like a mofo. Because it’s lucrative. You can make a living off writing romance. But more than THAT, every time I’ve ever visited a romance author’s twitter page or website, I’ve thought: I’d totally hang out with this chick. She’s hysterical. And also they drink a lot of wine. And they go to these romance conventions and I bet they have FUN. So I’m willing to give romance a go. I can write erotic romance, under a nom de plume. If it’ll help me pay down or off some of my debts and possibly put me in a living situation in which I can freely be me and not give a rat’s ass what Donald Trump’s evil cronies have planned for public education, then I’m all for that. IF THERE’S COOL CHICKS AND WINE. I’m going to focus on paranormal fantasy, like Renaissance era mermaids falling in love with swarthy ghost pirates and stuff. Simply because that’s just what I happen to like: The Renaissance era, mermaids, ghosts, and swarthy pirates.
Ironic, no? That I’m thinking about trying to write romance and I abhor Valentines Day. I am a walking dichotomy, and I don’t just own it I flaunt it, darling/s.
It’s been a long day. My morning did not go well. I work with really awesome people, though. I am alone tonight, with a frozen pizza, chocolates a sweet student gave me, some Carmenere, a Netflix show about the Medicis is on in the background filling up quiet space and I only started watching it because it has Dustin Hoffman in it and I wish we still dressed like that but with better hygiene, I’m writing this, and then I’m about to get busy and focused on a project I can’t give public details about but I still like to be mysterious about it anyway because mystery is the only thing I’ve got left to bargain with these days. In between I’m rescuing my cat from breaking her neck on my glass dining table because I’ve blocked every bit of access she has to climb onto to get at my pizza except for the high bar stools. Cats are not the brightest strategists. But then, neither am I. Fair enough.
Here’s my Birthday Wish list in case you want to get me something. I divided into a Needs vs. Wants list:
Things I NEED for my birthday on February 23:
*new car brakes
*a mouse pad (currently I’m using a book because my wireless mouse hates my table’s glasstop)
*a new iPhone protective case (I like aquamarine and sparkles)
*a really, really long hug by someone safe (you don’t have to be tall, but you do have to be strong)
Things I WANT for my birthday on February 23:
*a headboard for my bed
*a new TV and cable box for my bedroom (so I can put my old TV into Miss M’s room in a desperate attempt to get her the crap out of my bed at night and sleeping in her own room–she swears she will if she can have the comfort of a TV on in the black of night…I have not the heart to clue her into how Poltergeist works)
*some cute Bohemian outfits
*a month long trip to Fiji (any South Pacific island, actually, I’m not picky…for pete’s sake, I’ll take a week in Destin)(actually, I probably should only ask for a week in Destin, Florida…if I leave this country and then have to go through customs and border agents there ask to view my social media accounts/what I’ve been saying about the Trump administration….lands, y’all. I’ll be retained like 72 hours or something. Possibly waterboarded. I’m certain I’m on a watch list or something at this point.)
*a drinks/dinner/theatre date with a really lovely person. Male or female, I don’t care. If it’s a male, though, I’ll probably ask to be held for a very very long time.
*$500,000. I’ve run some numbers and concluded this is literally all I’ll need to pay off my credit cards, buy a cheap townhome, a new car, and have money to live off of while I start my romance writing career.
I have no idea how to conclude this entry. I wish I had a mic drop, but all I really really want at this point is to stop being afraid of people who don’t deserve my fear. If I’m going to be afraid of someone, I think it should be someone really frightening, like Stephen Miller, Trump’s advisor. The one who gets on all the Sunday press shows and does his best Junior Lex Luthor impression, but always ends up looking and sounding more like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.