Brain, what are you doing?

I thought we had deal: you were going to remain oblivious to all outside stressors in order for me to maintain what sanity I have left. You dropped the ball, Brain, and I am not impressed. I need you to be on your game so we can get through this shit together. I'm counting on you, ok?

You think we can do this? Good! Hands in: 1 - 2 - 3 - GO TEAM ME!

*cue inspirational music and movie montage of Brain and me winning at Life together*

Dear My Brain,

Further to my earlier post, written at the utterly insane hour of 3:30 am, I'd like to give a big shout-out to you, my sleep deprived homey, for taking initiative and getting started on that emotional shut-down today: 

In all seriousness, Brain, things could have turned extremely sour if I had had the mental faculties to process stressors today. I feel confident that with another night free of slumber, we can persevere through the impending shit show to come. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to you for allowing to me to see the day through with no physical or spiritual harm done. Your hard-won apathy has brought us to 9,308 murder-free days - let's hope for 9,308 more! 

Love, 

~Me

Welcome Back, Insomnia!

I've gone and screwed things up for myself again. Will I ever learn? The answer, of course, is a resounding "Nope, probably not."

The hard-sought happiness I've been building over the last few weeks is swiftly crumbling. Or was it only an illusion in the first place? I don't know, but it feels like everything I was scared of happening is threatening to happen. I'm throwing every tool I have at the impending funk in the hopes of negating it before it happens, but I worry it may not be enough. Maybe my brain is addled by the lack of sleep, but it's telling me that complete shutdown is in order - at least until the threat is over. 

I would seriously consider committing crimes if it meant I could sleep again.

Dick.

Logical Me and Emotion Self are having another discussion:

ES: You know, we could get a good chuck of change if we sold this crap.

LM: What are you on about?

ES: Look - TV, $250. Coffee table and matching TV stand, $100. Tablet, $300. Guitar, $150. Dinning room set, like, $75.

LM: Seriously, the fuck are you talking about? I hope you're not implying...

ES: Hell, yeah, I am! Sell all this material shit and you'll have $875ish.

LM: Yes, but -

ES: And then quit your job. You'll get 13.5 days vacation payed out on top of your pay cheque. Then that's about $3.100. 

LM: Yes, math is nice but - 

ES: Then all you have to do is tell the landlord you're packing up and and leaving. The damage deposit should come back almost in full. So we're up to about $3,800.

LM: And do what exactly? 

ES: Who the fuck cares? Bring your books and clothes and anything important back to mums and go somewhere. Any fucking where. Go to that commune in BC. Go live for a bit in Quebec again. See G-ma and Gil. See the oceans - both of them. Join Aya's circus. Finally go to Shambhala! (It's way cheaper than we expected!)

LM: And when that money runs out I, what? Just find a job for a few weeks? 

ES: Duh.

LM: But my friends. I can't just disappear! 

ES: I'm sure they'd understand. Oooo, or maybe they'll come with you! 

LM: Fat fucking chance my married ladies would go adventuring with me... but you do make a good point.

It's rarely safe when my emotions start making the decisions.

But it's always a lot of fun.

The Unintentional Masochist (That's Me! *ting*)

What is it with our love/hate relationship with pain and drama? Are we, the unbalanced, in such need of extremes in order to feel anything at all that we find ourselves making obviously poor choices? Or are we so desperate to feel good that we'll risk our precarious hearts for the briefest moment of happiness? We see these choices being presented to us, and still we seem to go out of our way to fuck things up.

Example (in which Logical Me and Emotional Self have another conversation in my head):

Emotional Self: "Oh, this feels good... like, really good! How can I get more of this?"

Logical Me: "Um, we've definitely been here before. Don't you think you should consider all the possible outcomes before something bad happens? Again? There is a huge potential for pain right here."

ES: "Fuck that - I'm having fun! Besides, maybe fifteenth time's the charm!"

LM: "Yeeeeah, I would really take a moment to step back and think here."

ES: "Nah, it's probs all going to work out for the best. LOL, you worry too much! It's all about positive intention, baby!"

LM: "And pain in T minus 4... 3... 2... 1..."

ES: "OWWWWMYGOD! WHY DID YOU LET ME DO THAT?"

And Logical Me just crosses her arms and shakes her head as she tells Emotional Self "I fucking told you so."

On the other hand, I can't help but think that if I take too much time to consider the possible outcomes, I may let great opportunities slip right by. This renders the epiphany I had about going after your desires basically invalid. I might be miserable if I don't go after what I desire, and might likewise be miserable if what I desire doesn't pan out. Hmmm. This is quite a dilemma. A cyclical, maddening dilemma....

But also occurs to me that this dilemma may well be the mysterious and elusive formula I've been seeking so long. The key to becoming a real-live adult (or at least a functioning human being):

I have to be both cautious enough to pick the right desires and brave enough to chase them. I have to get my heart and mind in sync, to work together for the greater good of "Me".

BOOM. Mind blown.

Now, how the fuck do I do it?

Why, body chemistry? WHY??

Puddles of tears collected in my glasses. Drops of running mascara now stain my carpet...

No, it is not my lame attempt at poetry - this legit just happened to me. I made the huge of mistake of watching a heart-wrenching movie tonight because I am evidently an masochist on top of being clinically depressed and (despite all my efforts to overcome the  affliction) I have a set of fucking ovaries that screw me every month. 

I really should have thought a little harder before stumbling upon Seeking a Friend for the End of the World on TV. By the end of it, I was rocking back and forth on my floor blubbering "That's just so fucking beautiful! I remember when some one used to love me!" 

I've had a good run feeling great about being single, you know? Getting to rediscover my self as a solo unit, doing what I want to do rather than what we want to do, not feeling bad about shameless flirting. Besides the overwhelming frustration caused by the lack of sex that has left me feeling pretty "I-want-to-punch-someone-y", it's all very magical and liberating and blah blah blah sisters with no misters unite.

But what about the companionship, always having some one who cares who'll drop everything to be there for you when you need them, and vise versa? What about never being bored and having great sex with your best friend whenever you want it? Waking up next to some you love every morning and seeing them brightens your whole day because you know you get to see them as you fall asleep? I want that again. 

I feel like a little kid with kick-ass toy made of moonbeams and fairy dust, the greatest toy she could have hoped for, and she is having so much fun. But then she sees some one else on the playground with an even more kick-ass toy. It's shiny and new, made of T-Rexs and unicorn farts. She stares agog at this glorious new plaything and thinks to herself "I want thaaaaaat..." as she wipes the drool from her chin.

So the kid in me looks down at her own toy and wonders if she should just keep the one she already has. It's not a bad toy, and after all moonbeams are friggin rad... BUT NOT AS FUCKING RAD AS A T-REX  PLUS UNICORN FARTS! So does she stick to what she's had all along and have the same old fun? Or does she  bribe the other kid with Tamagotchis and Orbitz and take what she wants? Sounds like a fair trade it ask me...

Well that's enough of that metaphore now, I think. On to another amusing conversation with Buddy which, despite the mild blow to my self-confidence, I found pretty damn funny:

 "... so basically the name every ball used in sports is the 'sports name' plus 'ball.'" Buddy told me was we were on a smoke break. (Don't ask how we got to ball talk... I have no idea)

"Yeah, except for Quidditch. None of them are called Quidditch balls," I nerdily pointed out. "Do you beat the Bludger?"

"Oh, I'd say I'm a fair beater," he said roguishly.

"I'd have to say I'm great chaser, if you catch my drift." 

"But how," Buddy asked me in mock innocence, "can you be a 'great' Chaser if you never catch the Snitch?" 

"Ow... I don't think I like that one." 

I chase boys and they constantly elude me, is what my dear friend is (needlessly) trying to remind me. 

Even though he got the players jobs mixed up. Seekers catch the golden snitch and Chasers chase the quaffles... some "nerd" he turned out to be. Seriously. Get your shit together, man.

Sooper-Sloot

Took an extended lunch/field-trip this afternoon with Buddy. Found ourselves in the Chapters at West Edmonton Mall.

"Hey, look!" Buddy said, "I found a book about you." And points to a book titled Easy.

"You know, I'm not actually a slut." I informed him. "I only have sex with people I really like."

"Well, you like a lot of people."

"... I know," I conceded,  hanging my head in shame. 

*I maintain that I am not slut, though: Sluts get laid, and I most assuredly do not.  

:'(