I Still Can't Believe It

Apparently, I just can't be "light" and witty anymore. It would probably behoove me to try and rediscover that whole part, but everything seems heavy. I am tired of doing nothing and yet, I still don't want to do anything. Boil it all down and I'm straight up scared. I ask myself "What's the worst that could happen?" and usually can't come up with anything good enough to legitimately hold myself back from whatever I'm afraid of at that moment. And still I manage to talk myself out of (or into, depending on the situation) taking action. I'd never thought I'd say this, but I need to make some action items for myself and fucking get something done already. At this time last year, life seemed so promising. This year I'm stuck in a vortex of suck and self-loathing. I miss my dog. I miss intimacy and affection. I miss my paycheck. I miss the excitement of trying new things. I want all of those things back in my life, so why c...

It was once suggested to me that when one makes a significant change in their life, it can cause a domino effect and other massive and unintended or unforeseen changes are the result. In last week's visit to my therapist, I went on record with my disdain for the theory and the way my life in the past two years has proven it out. I started seeing this therapist, who I fondly refer to as The Poodle (short for Therapoodle), a few years ago now and the impetus was a pervasive feeling of unhappiness. I didn't want to come home from work but I didn't want to be at work either. When I got home, all of the things I'd wanted to do when I got there would go undone because I just couldn't find the motivation. I was anxious about traveling for work, anxious about wanting to have kids or not, anxious about my future with Surfer Boy. Anxiety and malaise characterized my life and I had that dreaded feeling that my life was slipping away while I sat and watched. In the course ...

If I could take photos of my bruises that accurately reflected the depth of color and relational size, I'd probably start a bruise blog wherein I could diarize the comings and goings of my colorful skin. This week's soccer game left me with a couple on my arm and a lovely, huge, and frightfully painful one on my shin. It's so bad, I might have to sit out next week as the thought of anything even brushing up against it makes my eyes water. And sitting out fries my eggs...I pay to play so if I'm in town and physically able to be there, I'm there. What's more, I'm pretty sure my psyche is just as easily bruised. Maybe if I could, say, eat a lot of pineapple and that would cure my subcutaneous bruising, I could find some remedy for the bruising I take regularly to my soul? Something like rubbing shedded dog hair on my eyebrows would be good, lord knows I've got plenty of dog hair at my disposal. Don't get me wrong, most of the soul bruising is sel...

I have a lot of magnets on my refrigerator and I've only just noticed how varied their messages are. Some examples of magnetic philosophy from my refrigerator: "If it smells good, eat it!" On the surface, this seems like well-thought out advice. But when peering deeper into the meaning and with the added knowledge that this magnet is one of those close-up, disproportionate angle pictures of a dog, I start to get suspicious. They say dogs have this intense sense of smell, but have you seen some of the things dogs will try to eat? I rest my case. "Lovely day for a Guinness" I defy you to find a day that would not be a fine day for a Guinness. "Hooray Beer!" This simple philosophical statement could seem like the above Guinness motto, but this one goes deeper I think. It's all encompassing in it's love for beer, not singling out any one flavor (although it is a Red Stripe magnet) and I appreciate that willingness to embrace all kinds. ...

Corn Dog did indeed try to kill me last night. She left her rubber chewy bone cleverly hidden on the stairs to the basement, about halfway down. You know how this ends, right? Yes, with me stepping squarely on the bone and slip sliding my way down half a flight of stairs. On my ass. And apparently on my wrist. My right wrist is super tender, sore and poppy now. As an old friend would say, Gooooooood Corn Dog. Tonight, Corn Dog has been faithfully barfing all over the house. First a nice liquid version over a shockingly large area of the rug in the family room and then a nice chunky version on the hard wood floor. Don't worry sister Jenn, she's just getting it out of her system before she comes to stay with you and her boyfriend Indy. Isn't that nice of her? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous about leaving the dogs for another 10 days after just leaving them last week. It's not that I don't trust the people that are so kindly caring f...