Wednesday, September 24, 2014


ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
we all grow old, and we all rust,
sometimes bitter, sometimes cold,
i keep warm though i grow cold.
time that passes, each a memory born,
it is time how we weather the storms.

So my cat suddenly got better, and now we're not sure when she'll have to be put down or she'll die of old age.  Which is good.  It's a bit rough but Lacey's still around.
For those of you who are not aware of real-life circumstances, Rudy is a close family friend.  His wife, Sheila, had cancer but she's in remission.
I don't know.
What can you say?

Monday, September 15, 2014


That's really all I can say.
It's in my head.
My heart.
Hurting so goddamn hard I can't even -
It's not me.
Cancer comes like a stealthy villain and you can't escape.
It seems like once someone you know gets it, someone you love will die.
Maybe twice over.
(Good-bye, Rudy.  How's heaven?)
It's hard to be okay.  I'm not okay.
Soon, my cat will leave me.

Good-bye, Lacey.  I love you, my sweetheart, my old cat.  You made it fifteen and a half years.  If you made it to April, you would be sixteen.  If you were a human that means you'd be old enough to drive.
(You'd still be alive)
I'm sorry you're hurting.


Sunday, September 14, 2014


So yesterday, as I was ambling around the internet, I stumbled upon something.  About autism.  This piqued my curiosity, as I have a current friend with Asperger's and an old friend from elementary school with autism.
I fell in love with a blog I had managed to link-wander through: Diary of a Mom.  I want to be a mother, so this showed me a unique set of challenges I hopefully won't have to face, but might.
It opened up the floodgates, it inspired curiosity, and - most importantly - it made me smile.  It made me see the similarities.

Through this blog, I discovered an autistic 'meltdown' (oh goodness, I hope I'm using these words respectively and in a correct way).  And it struck me, when reading it over, how much it's like... me.

I'm not autistic.  I am academically advanced (albeit chronically lazy).  But I have anxiety and depression, and meltdowns... I do that too.

There are too many people.  There are too many issues.  It is never lights and colors and sounds, it is people and thoughts and the concrete things, not the way my brain processes it.  I break.  I crack.  I burst into tears, I flee, I do everything I can.  I - shut - down.

Words are my everything.  I find it exceedingly hard to communicate without them, whether written or spoken.
A girl in my class has autism and she struggles to speak.  She's in my acting class, and I think she enjoys it.  I don't know.  I can't tell.  I'm scared.
I am scared to approach her, because the only way I know how to communicate is with words and hugs and holding hands.
Autism is not always friendly to that.

Another boy, in my psychology class, is talkative.  He recites lines from movies, but he also talks to us openly.  I talk back.  I can talk, and words are how I communicate - quotes are how I dance around issues, how I begin to express my opinion.

This girl is different.  She is "Tummy T" (omitting all but the first letter of her name for reasons), a name alliteration she made up in our acting class.  She can mimic things other people do easily, but she needs to be guided.
In the same way, in some games she is not fully included.  We are not sure if we should tag her when practicing the name games, we are not sure if she should ever be in the center of the circle.
The awkwardness permeates, and yet: "I love T.  She's great."  Someone said that.  Someone found the light to communicate with her.

I can't, and it breaks my heart.

But then I turn to myself.
I like blogs and stories like this, when I can understand more.  When a new world is unlocked and opened for me, when I am no longer trapped in my own filter and lens.
The similarities of people are terrifying and exhilarating.  Everyone shuns that which is different.  We all put up masks and play pretend.  Normalcy is a farce that keeps people separate and broken.  What if we broke the chain?
What if we allowed ourselves to be ourselves, stopped judging, stopped being so overly sensitive, and just -- be?  No more colors, no more constraints, only beautiful souls with all the potential in the world.

I have anxiety and depression.  I get meltdowns.
(I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.  It can go away.  I pigged out yesterday.  I'm a failure.)
I am one of those kids labelled "gifted and talented", G&T, rising from a second grade reading class to a girl everyone says "stop reading and pay attention!" to.
(I am lazy.  I can't do anything right.  I need to be working on homework but I'm - still - procrastinating.)
I am in an in-between state, of adult and child.  The teenager years.  I am in an in-between state of intelligence and laziness, of this and that.
(I am stupid and ugly and ugh.  There is nothing good about me.  Why do I keep trying when it's so pointless?)

Similarities for everyone.
Minds don't work the same.
Everyone has their challenges and their own hells.
Who are we to be?

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


i wish
people would listen
and  hear me
instead of hearing
what they think is the truth.

even with friends
it happens.

i am alone.
everyone feels this way sometimes.

i'm not the only one.

why can't i
take a moment
to breathe
and regret
and not let go?

just a moment
where's it's about me
and my wants
my needs
my problems
instead of everyone else.

i do that
for other people.
but apparently
i'm not worth the effort

Monday, September 8, 2014

Hates Gonna Hate

...I may or may not be listening to Taylor Swift's new debut single "Shake it Off" right now *COUGH*

seriously though, people love ignorance.  Hatred is so much ignorance like for reals.  You hate because of a lack of knowledge.  That's racism and religious persecution and stuff.
Knowledge is power.  Knowledge is also related to not hating.  It's seriously obnoxious when people are hateful.

Poem time.

Paint me a pretty little picture with all the pieces missing,
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
You say these things and all I hear is some made-up story,
About how you think you know me when you don't.
You sing your songs and tell your tales and never let go,
You shackle all your anger and your pain and drag it around all day,
And of course you think I do the same.
I am so done with this BS, the fact letting go is a killer,
Listen to the songs that everybody's singing,
For once in your life let it apply.

My life is no easy breezy Covergirl commercial,
It's no movie with a problem easily solved,
I've spent hours trying to escape,
I don't know where to go.
A train ticket costs my soul, which I plan to keep,
A little vacation's going to cost my heart,
I'm really rather tired of the judgement and the trap,
Since when did society get so bad?

Money money money makes the world go round.
Everyone thinks they know everything,
Nobody's willing to admit they're wrong.
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
All you're saying is this made-up story.
You shackle all your mistakes and then you repeat,
I refuse to do the same.

I am so done with this BS, the fact hate is a hero.
Listen to the words that are whispered so soft,
There's some good everywhere if you know how to look,
Nobody looks, keep all your rage,
I'm done with the grudges and I'm done with the pain.
You shackle all the people who've done you wrong to your wrist,
I refuse to do the same.

Money money money makes the world go round,
It's a fact I can't escape.
I am so done with this BS, the fact hate's bigger than love,
Listen listen listen instead of all the yelling you've been doing.
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
I'm so much stronger than you'd expect.
I was raised on happy endings,
This is one thing I won't screw up and regret.
You hate things that are different and people who make mistakes,
I refuse to do the same.

...Bits and pieces of that are posted directly at people.  Like, I picture your face (or avatar) in my head for this one part.
Mostly about hating and ignoring the good and absolutely nothing to do with BS stories about me.