My posting rate has been positively abominable.  Initially, being disorganized was the culprit.  Disorganization morphed into being legitimately busy, and that blossomed into “it’s been so long since I’ve posted, what the hell should I write about?”  Somewhere in the midst of that, mind-depression.  This bout was weird, because it wasn’t from a source.  It wasn’t of the, “Well, you ain’t shit anyway” variety.  It was just me not knowing which end was up and slowly slipping into a world where I didn’t care.

I don’t like sharing much of my depression with my friends because I don’t like baring that part of myself.  I don’t mind letting them know that I’m sad.  I don’t mind letting them know when I’m angry.  Depressed? Eh, that’s usually a game time decision that I usually don’t share until I’m coming out of it.

This last time, I think I was trying to commit suicide by gravy.  The amount of weight I’ve gained in the past four months has been nothing short of astounding.  I keep making these plans and small moves in an attempt to improve my lot, but thus far, nada.  Before anyone suggests a group, I feel the need to express this sentiment:  If pitted with the choices of joining a fat person hugging circle where I tell them how I finger fuck chicken and cookies, or skinning myself alive, point me to the most sharpest potato peeler, and I’ll effectively make it happen.  Yes, I know that group therapy is helpful etc., but I’ve spent my entire life being transparent and part of a team.  I really want to focus on me, possibly with the help of a private therapist and go for what I know.  Fellow fat people, I’m really not interested in why you eat your feelings.  Sorry.

I’m so tired of lace front wigs, I swear.  Factually, it’s none of my business what people do with their hair, but I do care what’s done to my eyes.  I’ve even given that perpetual fresh oil sheen look a name:  “wig gloss.”  There are a million and one reasons that a woman would wear a wig, ranging from medical necessity to just wanting something different.  None of those reasons fall within the realm of my business, and I won’t presume to opine why women wear them.  But just like I would be bored if I went to a thousand restaurants and all of them had oatmeal a the main course, I’ve grown weary of wig gloss.

I never built a Lego project.  Same for blocks.  My mind was never really creative in that way.  My daughter is extremely artistic, with a great eye for colors, shading and shapes.  I guess she got it from my younger sister, because I certainly have no expertise in that regard.  I was so glad when she outgrew the phase of wanting me to draw and color with her.  I guess it was around the time that she discovered I suck at it.

I either need to strike it rich or marry rich.  My bosses gifted me with $300 at Aveda, which is one of my favorite stores.  Their hair products are divine.  The fact that they are botanically based is a major plus for me.  I’m sort of cheating, because I’m a Mary Kay consultant, and MK has a spectacular product line as well, but there’s no harm in seeing what the competition is working with, particularly when it is gratis.  The reason I say I need to be rich though, is the fact that I went through that gift certificate like it was NOTHING.  But buying things that make me feel pretty help me with my feelings sometimes.

Yesterday, Mother Nature gave me a Christmas “present.”  What do you do when Mother Nature tells you “Merry Christmas, bitch!”  My boobs are in extraordinary pain.  That’s really not a good look.

I can’t believe it’s the end of 2009. We’re entering a new decade.  Incredible.  I don’t know that I’m any more or less reflective than I am on any given weekend, but I do know that there was a whole lot of allowed bullshit that took place in 2009 (and maybe part of 2008) that I just have no interest in.  Not because it’s a New Year, but because I just need to be made new.

You’ll be happy to know, however, that I’ve still been reading and writing.  There’s been a lot of work that I don’t plan on using currently.  I’m glad about my progress and the fact that I’m not giving up.  I pray that my tenacity bear fruit.


3 responses to “Freestyle

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