Let's do this

IT'S GO TIME.

I've been in an inexplicably bad mood the last few days. Not bitchy or snappy kind of bad mood or even sad and melancholy bad mood. Just sort of half here and half not here kind of bad mood.

The weather took a turn for the gray and cold, I'm sure that has something to do with it. I've also had a small but persistent tooth ache the last few days. I'm sure that also has something to do with it.

There is a small spattering of green pushing through the underbush outside. This is hopeful.

 I copied this around five minutes ago.
Just trying to figure out why I did that or what I could possibly have to say about it.

This will help.

It always helps.

Yeah--
what?

Without the caffeine, a single Excedrin Migraine keeps me awake. It storms outside, beautiful and rolling. A friend on FB linked to a song that reminds me of my relationship with Vada. How beautiful and flawed and failed it was. Not all my fault and certainly not all her fault. Two people, as any relationship is, who steered the wrong course in deep waters. 

DEEEEEEEEEP.

We all have that person. That one that got away. Or maybe not even so much got away but that we know we could have been better for. Regret is a virtue lost on things that can no longer be repaired. It becomes a nostalgic and indulgent thing, without merit. It is also inescapable in those quiet moments that you normally aren't awake for.

Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

So drunk dude raging in the parking lot this morning. A couple of hours ago a cop pulls up and chats with some other dude cleaning his car. Cop leaves and some chick starts shouting somewhere that she's going to leave and she fucking hates whoever she's yelling at. The two events might not be related.

Sounds like a place I want to live.

I go out for a smoke a few minutes and there's a cop fucking cleaning his rifle at the bottom of the apartment staircase. And then he hauls ass inside, rifle pointed.

Because if you were a cop and entering a place where you thought you needed a rifle
you'd bring it there
and clean it first
so anyone who can shoot you can do so while you're completely defenseless.
Are you sure you saw any of this?

Oh yay, the fun of living in ghetto housing. David and I are moving when our lease comes due next year. I want GTFO of this neighborhood.

My period is on its last unsteady, raving legs. Which is good because we're out of Ibprofen. I'll call around for the Depo shot here in a few hours. Still gonna hurt today but hopefully less than yesterday. The state's sole Planned Parenthood is just a few miles from here. If I can't secure low income Depo shot, I can go there.

I gotta get out of this debilitating pain for three days out of the month thing. People suggest traditional birth control which might make my periods easier. Fuck that - I want my periods gone. I cannot imagine an easier period being actually easier with how violent my body is towards me.

We are only as strong as we are at our weakest.
Which as near as I can tell is an original utterance.
GOOD WORK ME.
I'M THE GREATEST.

Our first spring storm rolled through last night. It was beautiful. And good since my period was hurling me into a truly foul mood. Cassie posted a few pictures on FB, looking ever the more gaunt and pissed off. Clean? Yeah right. That didn't help my mood. Neither did the frustrating kill points in Mass Effect over and over again for three hours.

My drug addicted friend is really weighing on my mind
but not as much as the mind melting difficulty of Mass Effect.

My long nails are making it annoying when I have to stuff my fingers up my hoo-haw to readjust my tampon. That'll be another awesome thing to the Depo. Tampons make me sore as hell. Vaginas were just not designed to have dry wads of synthetic cotton shoved into them. 

... Cut your nails?
What the hell is this Depo anyway?
Is it like a depot?
If so that's where you store stuff.

Thank you guys for the support yesterday. I needed it. I really, really appreciate it. Time, tears, hugs - these are all things I need to give it.

I love you guys.

Icky dreams. Drugs and bugs. Overactive imagination is cursed curse, as usual. 

SHE'S GOT THE COKE BUGS AAAAAAAH

I got the Mass Effect trilogy a couple of days ago. I'll play some of that today. It's my first attempt at a shooter game. Amusing and difficult.

>Mass Effect
>difficult
maybe you're playing a different game than I did.

Eventually I'll play a male Shepard. There are some romance options that are not available for Femshep that I'd like to try out. I would like to see how the gay male Shepard stories in the 3rd game play out, too. Also, I want to play Renegade (or "jerk Shepard") at some point and it seems incongruous to do that with my girl Shepard.

God fuck those games.
They really were the beginning of the end of gaming.

I'm a commitaphobe -
or at least
that's what my boyfriend tells me.

And I don't understand
these other 30 year olds
with wives and two kids
and a three bedroom home
jobs that last all day,
china dinner ware
that matches with a cute little gravy boat,
to be brought out
with every Thanksgiving.

Oh boy.
How much of a mess your life is in poem form.

I don't understand
and my 500 square foot studio
cats and no kids
jobs that come and go
like the wind,
and a house that looks more like a
teenager's bedroom
than any adult's
I've ever seen.

And
he's not ready
anymore than I am
no argument settles that
comfortably and I know
it'll come up again.

He's never been married.

Do you need more than 500 square feet, really?

And I by 27 had
one failed marriage,
one abortion,
two credit cards maxed out
on their personal debt
and almost three decades of learning
that love was just another word
for prison cell bars
wrapped in pretty ribbons-
designed to fool
the most well versed
and underhanded
stage magicians.

Whoaaaaaaa.
The rest of the poem is just fucking whining.
The "27 with a marriage and abortion under my belt" really is the topper.
Ah see you trumped yourself.
Should have ended with that.

I just had a horrible thought. 

WHAT A HORRIBLE NIGHT TO HAVE A CURSE.

Very uncomfortable dreams about being back in a psych ward.

>back in the psych ward
ahh see this is why I hate autobiographical poetry.
Always leaves out the best details.

It led to me ranting about the elite culture of academic writing - high academic writing. Thesis papers and long-winded philosophical ramblings of ideas that really don't require 1,500 words to convey it. I understand some communities (scientific and medical ones, for examples) are littered with foreign sounding words in just sheer terminology. But for the rest of it, I said, why bother with all those fancy trappings? Just say what you mean and mean what you say.

Writing otherwise doesn't accomplish anything but alienating your readers. It's a ridiculously convoluted way to stroke your ego (and the few egos of those who can wade through such a clinical sounding mess) all without having to admit that you wouldn't know good, clear writing if it bit you in the ass. It's pompous and it's pretentious and it absolutely drives me up the wall.

...
You know she's right.
I don't usually agree with bloggers but she's 100% correct in this case.
Of course she said it about Nietzsche who, as far as philosophers go, isn't that hard to follow but whatever the point stands.

As much as I'd like to lay this at the feet of insecure writers, there is a larger influence at play. "The cult of literature", as David put it - something an old writing teacher of ours brought up. Teachers whom, from the time we are in grade school to grad school, push the idea that the best writing - the classic writing - the GREAT writers - were all long-winded. (I'm thinking of 19th century Russian literature, which I hate, by the way). Kafka. Shakespeare. Nietzsche. And so on and so forth. 

Shakespeare wasn't long winded at all.
Neither was Kafka, actually.
What the fuck are you talking about?

And the dissonance is fantastic. Teachers who claim they want easily understood papers also fail students whom do not meet the arbitrary page limit. In an attempt to navigate this ever changing set of expectations, students load up on theasaures, toss in as many 50 cent words as they can, and become passionate lovers of the semi-colon.

Uhh--
I don't know what kind of writer you are but I managed to get through school--
English teacher school--
without using a semicolon at all.
Man this blog.
It's a really bad idea to post whining all the time.
It's also a really bad idea and also gay to post all this cryptic bullshit and then not expound on it at all.
Furthermore
fuck blogs
and fuck the internet
and fuck the police.