Euphemisms

Have you ever noticed that the things that we're not totally comfortable with in life have the most cute little nicknames?? Death, for example - the big sleep, the dirt nap, pushing up daisies, buying the farm, pushing up daisies, kicking the bucket, passing away. Barfing is the Technicolor yawn, ralphing, praying to the porcelain gods and my personal favorite, calling Ralph on the big white phone.

Then there's all the fun names for what happens when your brain and your emotional circuits just have a little more than they can handle. Your cheese slips off your cracker, you drop your basket, you hit the wall, you lose your marbles, you go 'round the bend, etc etc, ad nauseum.

I believe my cheese may be in the process of slipping. I don't know that I'm completely gone - I'm still functional...I think. Maybe I have highly dramatic ideas of what a nervous breakdown looks like. I always picture graceful slides down walls while crying and laughing at the same time, mascara artfully dripping down cheeks, hidden wine bottles, piles of pills, the back of the head bloody from rocking rocking rocking into the wall.

I don't picture this feeling of weight, of malice and intent and anxiety sitting on my chest, keeping me from taking me a full breath all the time. I don't picture being one syllable away from tears at all times. I don't picture the desire to smash bash break boom bang fragile glass just to hear it break, just to know that I've hurt and destroyed something, just to know that I've gotten this feeling OUT of MY body somehow.

What do I do with this emotion? What do I do when I start to think and I start to feel the anger build up and I can taste it and feel it in the back of my throat? Where do I put it?? Do I scream? Do I punch? Do I yell, push, kick, punch jab poke boom bash kapow crunch whack??? What do I do with it?? Where do I put it?? Right now it's sitting in a hole in my rib cage, somewhere between my solar plexus and my trachea and I tell you it makes it hard to swallow, hard to breath.

The breathing is important - it's so important right now. It's hard to breathe when you're running from a giant cloud of fear. Flap flap flap like a bird, then it goes silent and I think everything's OK, and for just a little while I can relax but then I see it, sitting next to me, waiting to pounce and I start running again. It flies behind me, chanting "vehicle inspection, no child support, dumbass should have gotten a lawyer stupid bitch, why didn't you get a lawyer, is the rent due? there aren't any groceries in the house, god you're a shitty mother you stupid whore, he was right, without him you're just gonna fall flat on your fucking face you stupid, irresponsible idiot. slut whore dumbass spineless bitch. do you even know when the electric bill is due? no. you're going to be everything you hate- borrowing money from your parents, fucking up your credit, floating checks, living hand-to-mouth, no retirement fund, bag lady, kiddo will hate you in 20 years, no clean laundry - she'll remember this you know, she'll remember and she'll hate hate hate hate hate hate you hate you hate you you have fucked up fucked fucked fucked fucked up up up up"

I have to grab the crazy - I have to wrestle this fucker to the ground, but first I have to give it a shape and a face and parts. What should it look like? Should it be a dragon? Or is that just the cheesiest thing ever? Should it be a bat? Or a man? How about a big man? That way I can fulfill those Wonder woman fantasies and kick the ass of some 6'3" man. But first I have to flesh it out so I can find a spot to grab it and drag it to the ground and then I can sit on it and then I can dismantle it.

Because right now all I'm doing is running from it. I'm running and running and I'm running out of breath and places to go. I feel like I have two options - I can sit down and let this thing eat me, or I can grab it and take it apart. I just need help.

Help. I've hit the wall.

and we're back

OOO K...not sure about Blogger.

This is twice that I've written an entry and when I've gone to publish it, blogger has swallowed it whole and let out a big stinky belch. Fucker.

I suppose I could do the smart thing and write my entries in SOME OTHER PROGRAM and then COPY AND PASTE. But I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DO THAT, SHOULD I????

bah
I'll write it again later.
hmph.

hi

Ok, so....this is a new place but not a new thing for me. In that spirit, I'll start out with The Annoying Blogger's Warning. If you know me from real life, please go away. Seriously. I'm not necessarily over here writing all kinds of scandal about my friends. Chances are really good that I have NOT written anything about you, because dude - once burned twice shy. But this is MY spot. I refuse to have things I've written here taken out of context and used against me. If you stumble on this and figure out you know me - leave. If you continue to read and start getting offended - tough shit, don't come whining to me. Nobody in my personal life has the address of this page. I do not hand it out to my friends or family. In fact, most of my real life buddies don't even know it exists. So nobody who matters, nobody who you have to look in the face, will ever read this stuff unless they, like you, have ignored this warning. In which casee I guess you can all band together and form a little "I hate Laura" club. Which is fine. This page is MINE - it reflects MY experiences, MY opinions and MY feelings. Don't like it? Leave. I will not go out of my way to offend or bash anybody, but neither will I pull punches in the name of being "nice". MINE MINE MINE. You have been warned. Do not wander around and explore the archives and then call me up all whiny because you don't like what you've read. You went there voluntarily and uninvited. That's like crashing a party and then bitching because they're not serving your favorite vodka. It's rude. Don't do it.

The rest of you, hang around. Grab a beer, change the channel, put your feet on the coffee table, pet the cat.......it's all good. Again, I won't go out of my to TRY to be offensive....frankly I'm too lazy for that. But I also will not pull punches in the name of some form of "nice" that just doesn't fucking exist. I like readers - readers comment, readers give me positive reinforcement, readers leave their URLs and give me new journals to read. Readers rock. But I ain't writin' this for you - I'm writing for me.

Cool?

So - now that that's out of the way, let's get on with the rest of the show. I'm Laura - I'm recently divorced, have a (magnificent, beautiful, amazing, genius) 13 year old daughter, two cats (thus ensuring that I will never get laid again), a caffeine addiction, affection for $10 red wines and a bizarre fetish for office supplies. I work in IT and don't hate it so much as I well...I'm in it for the money. eh. There's a reason they call it work, right??

I try to be a good person - some days are easier than others. I think that's true for everybody.

I use the words "so" and "anyway" entirely too much - you'll get used to it.

I fucking curse like a fucking sailor on motherfucking leave.

So (see?) read on. Hope you enjoy it.