Feb. 8th, 2007
11:15 am - On Locks of Love and Depression
If you've seen my new pics, you might notice the fact that about a foot of hair has been removed from my head (13 inches, to be exact). For those who don't know, I've been growing my hair out for about a year and a half so that I could donate it to Locks of Love. If you don't know what it is, it's an organization that takes hair donations to make wigs for children who are undergoing chemotherapy or suffer from alopecia so that they can have hair. A few weeks ago, I had James cut off my hair so that I could do this. Most people have been supportive of this, and barring a few nasty comments this look seems to please most people. I'm debating whether or not to begin growing my hair out again to donate, or whether to keep it short for a while. I will be donating to Locks of Love again, though; it's a nice feeling to be able to do something good for someone else, especially a child.
On another note, my new diet seems to be working well. I've lost 5 pounds in the last 10 days, and perhaps even more; I'll find out when I weigh myself at work tonight. By this summer, I hope to have lost a total of 25-30 pounds, and I'll make it happen. I'm going to look damn good. : ) I've also decided to quit smoking, and have been doing pretty well with that. James and I are quitting together, for health as well as financial reasons. Wish us luck!
This season is killing me, though. I wake up some days and want to die. The bipolarism is worse than ever, as far as how fast I've been cycling. One minute I want to burst into tears, and the next I'm laughing hysterically. I'm trying to keep it under control, but the stress of quitting smoking and life in general is making this difficult for me right now. I might have to go back into therapy, but I'm fighting that. Not only because I can't much afford it, but because they're going to push the drugs again and I'm against medicating myself. I've managed to keep myself cool for 22 years; I don't want to give up now. But I think it'll be alright; I have James and my family and friends to keep me in line. I guess I'll just have to take things day by day...
On a more amusing note, an ex from high school wrote me a very rude letter in response to my refusal at friendship. He accused me of being shallow-minded, and said that he hopes my life is horrible. Also, I'm apparently a slut. I'm curious to know how someone in Colorado knows this, since we have no mutual friends and haven't spoken in almost a year. Funny, huh? It's nice to know that even if I'm sad in life now, there are people who lead much more pathetic lives than myself, that they would get so torn up over someone who lives across the country rejecting their friendship. Things like that make me smile; they make me realize that no matter how bad my life might be, I won't be as pathetic as others will always be.
Anyway, I should get going; I have a lot to do today, and not enough time in the world to do them. I hope everyone is doing well and is happy... I'm working on that myself.
Dec. 24th, 2006
11:14 am - FUCK OFF.
James already posted his response to the issue, but I feel the need to elaborate. My opinion, if you're interested, is also the title of this blog. So here it is: You may have been important to James in the past, you may even have loved him. He may have professed to love you; he did not know what love was then, so he says. However, to make this more clear: I am the most important thing (aside from family) in James' life now. You are no longer important, if he has cut you from his life. So, maybe I'm a narcisistic individual; maybe I'm arrogant and self-important. But you know what? He still loves me more than you, and that's what's really eating you up inside... that's what's bothering you. That just for my own feelings, he stopped speaking to you, cut you from his life like he would cut a piece of rotten skin from an apple. You are in the garbage can of his mind; I'm slamming the lid down on you. So just remember, you may love him forever... but you'll never have him. And to Jess, Kayla... this isn't about you, we've all made our peace and I wish you both the happiest of holidays.
Dec. 7th, 2006
11:13 am - I Hate SUNY Delhi.
So basically, I'm panicking. College is drawing to a close, and I've learned nothing more than what I knew when I enrolled. Finals are a waste of time, as they don't measure knowledge, just rote memorization; and to top it all off, I've already flunked one class.
I am a good student; I do my work and do my best. The one professor who told me to basically ignore her attendance policy because she worked through college and "understands" what it's like is failing me... for attendance! She won't even look at my plentiful work excuses (which all my other teachers have accepted) and basically told me not to bother coming back. The same teacher who, when I showed up exhausted after three 10-hour nights and about two hours of sleep, invited me to sleep through her class! The very same wench who, when 75% of her students dropped out, I decided to give a chance, thinking her a reasonable person. I hate her. Because of her, I will have to take 21 credits next semester, assuming they even give me the ok to do so. And if not, I'll have to take one measly fucking class to graduate... in December 2007!
I am so furious that I would wish ill upon her, if it wouldn't come back to me.
I work my ass off here; I work full-time; I don't sleep, barely have time to wash the sweat off from work before I make it here, and that pompous, arrogant bitch is going to fail me for something she considered insubstantial at the beginning of the semester. And there's nothing I can do about it.
So here I am with a migrane, on about 2 hours of sleep in the last 32 hours, and I have to worry about this bitch ruining graduation for me.
You know what? Nevermind.
I hope her house burns down.
Nov. 20th, 2006
11:12 am - School and Work
Well, as usual, nothing interesting is going on in my life.
School bites, and I can't wait until the end of the semester so that I can relax and not deal with Freshman scum. I see the little girls in their stiletto heels, and I want to kick them flat on their faces; I see the ghetto little boys who think they're in gangster heaven, and I want to explain to them where they are: in cow country. But I do nothing, just sit and hate them for having money and no worries. Hatred tires me so easily.
At work, the girls drive me crazy. They have "rights", and these can't be violated. So instead of locking them out of the kitchen so they can't dump milk all over the floor, I have to chase them back and forth, get hit, and clean up their messes. And I hear the state's trying to make SCIP-R less aggressive: are you kidding me?! WE get hurt restraining the girls more than they do! These girls need someone to punch them in the face when they do it to us; to kick them when they kick at us, and pull clumps of their hair out in retribution. A natural consequence of hitting someone is that you get hit back, but we can't do it. So I spend my days at work, having fun when the girls do, and trying not to show any emotion when they destroy property and people. This makes me tired, too.
When I get home, there's James. I feel like I should spend my time with him, having fun... but most of the time, I curl up with a book and try not to scream. I'm so tired, so achy, and so miserable. It's hard to laugh and be fun when I really just want to die some days. Maybe I do need therapy again... or maybe I just need a new job and a different school.
I guess I'm done rambling. Hope you're all doing better than I am.
Nov. 6th, 2006
11:12 am - I Hate My Job.
On Sunday, a resident at my job hit me so many times that she gave me a concussion. So for the last week, I've been stumbling around dizzy, with a migrane, avoiding the light. It sort of sucks.
I'm sick of blogging already; I'll write more later.
Oct. 24th, 2006
Boredom in my world, but what's new? My life sucks, it's sad... I'm miserably depressed.
Yesterday, I faced harsh reality: I put my skinny-girl jeans into storage and bought pants that fit. I've been wearing jeans that are two sizes too large, in hopes of dieting myself back into my previous bone-orexic state. But that's not going to happen, and I give up. I'm a huge fucking cow, and that's just the way things are. My self-esteem took a plunge yesterday when I put those jeans out of my sight; I feel disgusting, but the only way to get that small again is to starve myself again, and I can't do it anymore.
So here I am at school, where I'm basically a social pariah once more. I'm not here to make friends, but more than five people to talk to during the day would be nice. I know I don't encourage anyone to speak to me, but damn; where have all the friendly people gone? I feel like such a waste; I can't wait to finish with this college.
And the financial field sucks... I can't save a dime. I barely have a pot to piss in, and my car's going to die.
And relationship-wise, James and I are on an odd field. We're fine mostly, but it seems like one little thing that goes wrong spirals into a war. Luckily, not too much goes wrong, and he can always raise the white flag first, something I'm forever grateful for. I don't know what posesses me to spew such hurtful things at him, but I do.
Well, off to class, where I can again feel like a fat, ugly loser that no one would want to waste time talking to. Hope you're all doing better than me.
Oct. 17th, 2006
11:10 am - Welcome to the Land of Fat Cats
So yesterday, I found the newest addition to our land of obese animals. Erika and I went to Hobart Hardware and found a prettiful tabby cat who seemed to like me a lot. He's a mush and, like Kibby used to, falls asleep on his back, likes his toes rubbed, and will sit on my lap for a long time. There's no replacement for my Kibby cat, but this baby makes my heart smile.
Oh, and his name is Noble (I picked that one).
So that's about it in my life, nothing else new. Just wanted to let people know that I had a new addition, so they stop offering me kittens.
Oct. 9th, 2006
11:09 am - My Kibby Cat
For those of you who didn't know, Kibby died last night.
Kibby was the "full-figured" cat in my house, the one we referred to as "Chunk", and I called "my baby". I've had Kibby since he was about 2 weeks old (we guestimate his birthday to be May 17, 2003). I got Kibby and Girlie in a package deal when a friend of mine found kittens wandering on the highway not far from a momma cat who'd been hit by a car. Initially, I didn't want two cats, nor did I want cats who would need special attention. But as it was, they were brought to my home and, upon seeing them, I fell in love with the little hairballs. After weeks of round-the-clock bottle feeding and care, the kittens grew to be strong, healthy, spoiled children to me.
Kibby and Girlie have been there for me through horrible things: abusive relationships, my father's death, rape, and other things that would have destroyed me without their unwavering love and affection. At times, my cats were my reason for living, because I was afraid that if I wasn't there to spoil them then no one would be.
Kibby and I spent a lot of time together, and admittedly was very spoiled; I'd have it no other way. He was always perched on my lap, letting me rub his ears and in between his toes. He slept on his back like a baby, and I held him like one. He caught hell from many people for being so fat (at one time was up to about 28 pounds), and he knew when someone was picking on him. But he was my chubby Kibby, and he was happy. Kibby was a stoner cat, and we smoked many bowls together. I couldn't have asked for a better friend or child.
About a week ago, Kibby started sleeping in his litter box. He did this when he was younger, when I'd change his litter and it was clean. He'd keep Girlie out until she really had to go. But this was different, because the litter was dirty and he still did it. After about 4 days of this, I called the vet and got him scheduled to go in. He'd lost about 4 pounds in a week, and he was jaundiced. The vet said his liver wasn't functioning, and he was going to die. Today, on the 5th day, I called to pick him up. We were going to spend one more day together, the mommy and her baby... we were going to cuddle, talk, and I was going to smoke him out before bringing him back to be put to sleep, while I held him so that he wouldn't be scared. But when I called today, I was told he'd passed in the night.
Today, I picked my baby up and brought him to my Mum's house to be burried. I wanted him to be somewhere that I could always visit him and he wouldn't be alone. They put him in a bag, but I took him out of it and laid him on a white towel. There, in the sunshine, I pet my Kibby cat for the last time; played with his ears, his toes, and kissed him goodbye. I apologized to him for not being with him when he went, for not getting him to the vet sooner (even though they said it didn't matter), and for not being a good mommy to him. My uncle dug his grave, and I laid my Kibby in it with a blue blanket and his feather mouse from when he was a kitten.
Nothing is going to make this alright for me; my Kibby was more than just a cat. Kibby was my baby, my "little boy"; he was like my child.
But I just needed to get this out, to talk about it in a non-judgemental place where no one will mock me for my tears or emotions.
Kibby, mommy loves you and she's sorry. I hope you're in a happier place, smoking a bowl and remembering the good times we've had. We'll all miss you.
Sep. 29th, 2006
Today is my first midterm. I am no excited. I hate taking timed tests; not because I do poorly, but because I read too quickly, answer too little, and try to get the hell out of there as soon as I can. At least with a take-home assignment, I make the attempt to do well because I have nothing better to do at work. But I hate sitting in a class of kids who say things like, "If I fail this test I'll just die!" No, you won't, your mommy and daddy will just pay for another semester. But worse are the people who readily admit that they don't care if they pass because they're not paying for college anyway. Well, then quit sucking up financial aid that I could be using, and drop out; I'll see you when you're working at Aldi's in the check-out.
Other than that, things are fine... I'm sleepy and stressed, but at least there's no fighting and minimal drama. I'm waiting for my copy of Taiko Drum Master to come, as well as the package of socks and underwear my Mum is sending. It's kind of creepy to have your Mum pick out thongs for you, but at least she has good taste.
I've started baby-shopping for my twin, and I'm waiting for that stuff to show up, too. I love babies... dressing them up and playing with them, watching them learn to do things that we take for granted (like walking) for the first time. I especially like the fact that, since they aren't mine, I can give them back any time I please.
I might be going to Michigan in the end of October, because my sister's getting married. I don't particularly care for the guy she's with, but at least I'll get to wear a pretty corset (it's a Halloween wedding) and see my sister and neice again. What I don't look forward to is flying, but I suppose I'll manage.
Anyway, I should be going. Hope everyone's doing well. : )
Sep. 26th, 2006
I am so sick of people talking shit about me, and how I control James' life, won't let him have friends, etc. For the last fucking time... JAMES DOES AS HE PLEASES! I do not control him, in any way. The decisions he makes are his alone, ask him if you do not believe me.
If he chooses not to be friends with someone, it's because he wanted to cut ties with them, not because I made him.
If he doesn't want to hang out, it's because he doesn't want to for whatever reason, not because I won't "let" him.
He will tell you these things, with or without me present... because they are true. I'm no better at "controlling" him as I am at controlling the change of the tide or the sun's descent.
So again, I am no longer asking, I am telling you all: LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. Grow up, do something else... There are better things to do than bother someone about her boyfriend and the decisions he makes all by him wee self. For any of you that really know James, you know that it isn't possible to make him do anything he doesn't want to do. So basically, fuck off.
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