Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Oh neglected blog...

...how I miss you so. I would pay more attention to you if it wasn't for that whole censoring thing I have to do from time to time. But alas, you are always here, waiting for me diligently to return and pay attention to you. Sort of like those assholes at Best Buy when I miss a payment for the now dead laptop I bought five years ago.

Many things are going on, yet nothing is going on. It's a strange dichotomy that my life is now days. For a big thumbs down, my cat died, and that sucked donkey balls. For a big thumbs up, I'm trying to do something productive with my time. But thus far, getting divorced is significantly less aggravating and was a shitload faster than trying to work for free.

I'm finding that I have to redefine what it is I consider to be bees and/or honey. I'm turning 40 in t-minus seven months. As it stands right now, I worry the only souls who will be celebrating with me will be my husband...because he has to...and my cats. The cats will be awesome when I'm sixty, and I can proudly tote my Cray-zee Cat Lady Status around as if it was a Birkin bag. But for now, it's an odd place of suck.

I find myself stuck between a fart and a can of Glade. Perhaps it's a fucktarded version of midlife crisis? Or maybe it's the voices in my head who are now trying to do the speaking for me? But I find my ability to connect to people outside of a teeny tiny micro-circle just about impossible. As I trip and fumble over words that seemed to come so easily not but a year ago, I now struggle to even speak at a tone that's even considered audible. Additionally, my patience for things that I once thought I'd always have patience for has vanished into a wisp of air; slightly visible, and with peculiar disdain for most topics of conversation.

Obviously, my biggest concern is I'm unintentionally alienating people who are very dear to me, or those I would like to get to know better. I enjoy my quiet time, but flat out isolation at my own hands was something I never signed up for. If that was really in the cards for me, I would have moved to Dallas with aforementioned ex husband, and been the country club outsider, yankee ho bag that Pam gives it rough to on Big Rich Texas.

This is not healthy. I know it. I'm trying to figure out what to do about it. Good manners, common morality, and maturity should tell me to be the solution to my issues, and not add to the cause of them. Because it's a thin wire I'm standing on, as I try to decide if companionship with some is worth the bullshittery that comes along with it. I would like to think that in the long run it is. My problem is clearly brought upon myself. Because at this point I'm old enough to do a better job of picking companions.

Unless it's a cat. Cats are awesome.

So I'm going to self explore, and see what I can conjure up here on my e-happy space. My premise remains the same; I do solemnly swear to continue to strive to be less rude than most people around me. I want to see where this journey takes me, and where the last stop is before I turn 40. From there, hopefully I'll have figured some shit out. Or at least have been gifted with a lifetime subscription to Cat Fancy.

In the meantime, to keep in the spirit of things, I'd just like to say that people who take calls at the dinner table after being 45 minutes for the meal in the first place, should have their phones confiscated and the firebombed before their very eyes, and then be forever deprived of dessert.

You know it's true.