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Monday, July 13, 2009 

Looking Like a True Survivor, Feeling Like a Little Kid

I lost my words. All the big shiny slippery words that would slide in and out of my head and mouth as easily as one hits the snooze button every morning and then proceeds to roll over and shove their head underneath the pillow.

The other night I woke up and reached for someone but my hand fell into empty space. I should have easily fallen back into a restless slumber but instead I lay there as if splashed with a bucket of water.

For a long time I wondered if I had traded my words in for some kind of stability. The traditional roles of domesticity. And I don't really know if I can answer that with any type of accuracy except to say this, I only missed who I used to be a very tiny bit. I stepped into those new bigger shoes knowing full well that I didn't understand the jargon or what exactly my role was, but okay with the learning curve. I was a traitor to my alter ego, but my alter ego didn't seem to mind.

I'm not the only blogger to have experienced this.

I can't blame it all on the status of relationship of course. There was this job and it was huge and it was draining and their was this crazy gestapo looking lady with bright red lipstick and a slash of a haircut who printed out reports every single week with a report of every site you had visited on the net and she liked to stalk back and forth in front of my cubicle with her clickety clackety heels on the carpet. She was scary and there was more than one morning when I wondered if that job would be the end of me. I went home and melted. I also learned something. People with fancy degrees who went to boarding schools with famous celebrities and own yachts can be just as not nice as all us have nots would lead you to believe.

Last year I had this big feeling inside that this was my year. MY YEAR. I don't know if I had any outlines of what I expected, I just knew it was coming and it was going to be fan fucking tabulous. Since then not much seems to have gone right. Disaster one hit and I said, okay, well surviving this is part of the fantastic part. Disaster two and I tried to ignore it. But this third one? It's not that I believe now that this is a bad year. Not at all. Just a tough one. I'm going to put one foot in front of the other and you know what's going to happen? It will be next year. No biggie.

I once met up with a blogger who told me, 'you know what you do when something doesn't go right? You scream real loud, 'FUCK THOSE GUYS!!', and it makes you feel better'.

I tried it the other day and it still totally works.

I may have lost my words but this can still be a chronicle of madness.


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I Can't Help You Now - Look, I have two songs on my hard drive that don't have the name 'iTunes' tatooed to their asses, so suck it
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