Bout time...

I have known for a while I needed to start writing again because writing my ideas down seems to give me some stability, but the problem is I have no idea what inspires me lately. I know that without inspiration my writing seems to be stagnant and pointless. I can't just write to write, I need to feel passionate about my writing and my craft. I am missing my muse tonight, I have for a while now. I should have told my muse to stay, to be comfortable, to be mine... but when am I ever honest enough to be vulnerable? Never. I wish it was something my heart and mind could agree on, but I can't seem to allow myself to be honest with my heart. If that makes enough sense in words. Confusion and cowardliness drives me to write tonight.

I will admit that starting school back up has gotten my mind tangled up and confused, but at least it is being challenged again. There is so much of this life that is confusing and backward, I sometimes find it hard to stay positive when informed of its reality. It really doesn't become known until you are informed of its existence and pressure. Whether it be a social construct you didn't realize until someone presents to you or it might even be a relationship that is neglectful and one sided. These are all realizations that need to be brought to our attention because the routine of everyday life camouflages their existence. It isn't until we are comfortable and then broken that we can find the feeling of being uncomfortable. Who ever wants to be uncomfortable though? This might not make sense, but the past couple of weeks have thrown me for a whirl. I have seen people and things that I put a lot of confidence in fall apart to be left destroyed and defeated. It leaves me hopeless and heartbroken to realize these conclusions. How do I find hope? I write. My muse has been love, perfect blue eyes, heartbreak, beauty, strength, friendship and success, but I find that my muse these days is hopelessness.

Now, the question is: can negative inspire as much as positive? I think it can and does. Maybe hopelessness makes me sound emotional and depressed, but this hopelessness has made me motivated and want to show gratitude to the abused and defeated in my life. I wish that I was stronger and more honest with the ones that I have loved and because of my dishonesty I have in turn lost, but I always seem finish last because of this fault and end up mending my heart with hopes that others can be loved back and fulfilled with the emotion I am scared voice and practice. It just seems to be such a fragile game, love that is, and it isn't until I see someone I love get destroyed by love that I am reconfirmed that I am petrified to get broken again. Even though the people I see heartbroken are the strongest people in my life, I can see that even the strongest can fall as hard as my weakest flaw, that is, loving what I know I can lose. I want to apologize for my fault and let my walls down. I loved you, I should have said it. Forgive me. Rejection is far better than regret. Be honest and live with your consequences. Regret is the worst emotion and doesn't seem to leave, only periodically. Forgive me, because I can't seem to forgive myself.

Routine

It comforts most-

I am left unsatisfied,

but yet I am immobile.

I sit in your illusion.

comfort; you promise.

I feel despite.

Wanting more-

you can't give it.

obsessed with your rhythm.

I've been captured-

prisoner or follower?

I am not myself regardless of your power.

I'm finished-not devoured.

Hot Wife... Old Man?

(So much relevance)

There is an obvious pattern and trend that I am starting to notice when I hang out or mingle with what we as "Americans" call the upper-class. Why is it that when I go snowboarding on the weekends or spend my time in Park City surrounded by rich tourists, all I see seem to notice is the unit of hot wife, old man? I am starting to realize that investing in education, real estate, stocks or even pyramid scams (you know who you are friend('s)... and you have a lot of juice to shit your life away with now, don't ya? LOL) is not effective. The most effective way to reach fortune and fame is to hitch-up with a old man... Not just any old man of course, but an old rich man.

Hot wife seems happy as a clam with her half a million dollar ring blinding me in the eye. These hot mom's usually have one or two kids hanging all over their rumpelstiltskin looking daddy. I have come to realize with my recent observations that old man river did not realize that hot wife comes with the desire to still be a mother. Home

boy daddy is well past the age of rough housing or wrestling on the ground with kids, hell in some cases even bouncing a child on a knee is way out of their physical league. THESE MEN ARE OLD.

Now that you as the reader have created a mental picture, a picture that might include imagery of your grandpa with Angelina Jolie, I want to inform you that I am now taking applications for my rumplestiltskin... If you know any old dudes that are ready to hit the box sooner than later and are willing to leave me their fortune, let me know. I am experimenting with morals right now and want to find a positive relevance in possessing/lacking morals in my life. Thank you.

My Daily.

I have recently become obsessed with my daily horoscope. Yes, I know that there are a lot of people who indulge on this daily habit of checking your horoscope and trying to find its relevance in throughout the rest of your day, but I have suddenly let my horoscope it dictate my days. 

Crazy? Yes, but only because it is proving my theory that when we read something or someone tells us something we are inclined to focus on that language we have taken in and make decisions that will make that statement become our reality or truth. For example, the whole positive self talk theory that every insecure teenage girl has heard a million times in attempt to help them through their adolescent identity crisis. You know what I am talking about, that stuff you thought was bull shit!?! Remember being taught that if you tell yourself something positive in the mirror or in your head everyday, you will then start to believe it and it will eventually come true. That is because we focus on these words we have read, spoken, heard or written and our decisions are dictated by them, making us make them our reality. 

My horoscopes are becoming my reality.... Coincidence? Or am I just that powerful?

I Love Public.

Everyone can most likely agree that public bathrooms are one of the most awkward concepts in society. Whoever thought the idea of creating a gathering area for people to do one of their most private acts in public had to have one sick sense of humor and they probably have never had a serious case of diarrhea either. I understand stuffing six stalls in one room saves money and space, but it is just wrong. I am pro having one toilet alloted to one room as a social/comfort code and feel that it needs to be put in writing and voted in the next legislative session, ASAP. No more potty orgies, just saying.

Also, I understand that sometimes we are away from our own personal porcelain thrones and need a rent-a-pot, which gives public restrooms a legit purpose, but isn't it the worst knowing that you not only have to go number 1 or even the dreaded 2 in public, but that you might actually make eye contact in a public bathroom with other people who are doing the exact same thing as you. AWKWARD!!! You would think this would put you on a equal playing field with your other potty goers, but no, for some reason everyone still tries to act innocent within those bathroom walls. YOU'RE NOT! Stop judging, ass.

Eye Contact, why are we all so scared of it? In almost all situations eye contact is so intimidating, for example: in relationships, work, school, parents and of course to prove my point, public bathrooms. It is almost like we believe that if someone looks into our eyes they can read our soul and we are exposed completely. Trust me, people don't care that much, stare at them, you're safe. Knowing that we will all still avoid eye contact out of habit, I will continue with my rant. 

Now, you might be able to relate to this scenario... you accidentally glance at someone leaving the stall you are heading for... ugh eye contact is made... you feel awkward knowing that you both just shared a bathroom moment with a complete stranger. Not a good moment, by any means, but an intimate and embarrassing moment none-the-less. All you can think is something along the lines of: are they thinking what I'm thinking? Do they know I pee & poop too? Are they judging?  So you both judge the other because of your own guilt and assumptions. These are just typical human coping strategies, but it doesn't change the fact that you both pee and poop. Darn it. 

 Then there is always the awkward hand wash with the overweight lady you heard struggling in the stall next to you, as you were balancing over the "can" making sure you don't touch anything that you didn't bring into the bathroom with you, in the meanwhile you are struggling to multitask and finish your routine bladder disposal. While washing your hands next to this monument of a woman, you might find yourself thinking to yourself, act like you didn't hear her or even notice her, don't make eye contact and God help her fight the urge for small talk!... You dry your hands quickly and bust through the door back into the hall, the comfortably safe hall. 

YEESSSSSSS!!!!!! You're safe! You've just made it through another awkward public bathroom experience. You continue down the hall, only to notice everyone is avoiding eye contact with you, it is so obvious that something is not right, something is very wrong with you. The hall is no longer comfortable, it is now a long stretch of social anxiety. You find yourself resorting to what people naturally do when they feel like an outcast or abnormal, you glance down to hide your eyes. Walking with no visual aid or direction, you notice the catalyst for your social doom... a tail of toilet paper dragging down the hall, mating with your shoe. FML.

Who's Turn?

Your turn-

You waited so long to speak-

you doubt, and so your voice sounds meek.

Should have listened and noticed its existence-

Now I'm baffled by its presence.

Withholding words cause of hesitation-

leaves me despising your lips indecison.

In turn-

My words seem to trip over my lip-

you seem uninterested in my tongues struggled slip.

I've become scared of my most loyal lover:

Attention.

While you hide in bed with yours:

Imagination. 

My turn-

I can only imagine in words-poetry-verbs. 

Knowing poetry isn't your preference-

only because it is too welcomed by what you have protected. 

I want to wake your imagination-

instead I'm left thinking you're far too complicated.

Now - - I want attention. 

For the Love of... Writing?

I have found myself living in a fantasy world this past week or so, which explains the glazed over look on my face that I have been walking around with only to make everyone around me uncomfortable. No, I don't need professional help or rehab my friends, it is just a form of depression not a drug addiction. I kid! I'm fine, but this state I am in is not any kind of fantasy world worth wasting your dreaming in, it's far too close to reality and emotional to be a dream, but for lack of a better word, a nightmare. 

Working two full-time jobs only leaves time for writing and day nighmaring I am afraid. I am at a point in my writing where I am actually living vicariously through my book because I am writing too in depth for comfort and pushing myself to create vivid imagery. It's draining. I've always been a believer in the power of words and language (see January blog "Words" for another one of my rants). I have read books that have left me feeling just about every emotion on the emotional spectrum. Whether it be happy, sad or even some form of depression, I feel these emotions for hours after reading. So with that said, writing a book only makes you feel the emotions you are trying to portray constantly, I am exhausted to say the least. 

Now, I ask myself this question every time I pop open my little white apple to write, and the questions is: Is it sane to purposely lose control of reality and live in a fantasy world, just so that you can make your reader feel alive, while you are left dying to create it? I know this sounds dramatic, it is, and don't forget pathetic. Thank goodness this is my place on the internet to whine and bitch, and I love it oh so much.

If you haven't come to the conclusion already, here it is. I have writer's block and emotional problems.