Nothing like VENOM to create some Action

I've been contemplating the use of this blog -- whether I want comments or feedback, whether I want my family and friends to read this or not. I wonder if I'm only preserving history with a a false note, making everything more significant and wonderful than it is. And I'm wondering if I should stick with a pen and paper -- I did that two nights ago and I think my hands went into shock. They didn't know what to do with a damn manual writing instrument.

But now I know when it is I actually come back wanting to write: WHEN I'M PISSED.

Seems I know I how to feel "sad" and how to cry -- them there are some pretty comfortable emotions. But anger? Forget it. Never allowed in our house, it was "disrespectful." When I get angry, I want to eat -- ANYTHING, anything at all to numb out. It's so much easier -- either that or turn it inwards and beat myself up like a fucking rag doll or get so depressed I can't stay awake for longer than an hour at a time. FUCK!!! Thank god tonight it was just a jr. bacon cheeseburger and a coke. Used to be a half a gallon of Rocky Road.

* I'm pissed at Claire tonight, for saying, "You know, it's time. You're 40-something-years-old and it's time for you to take care of yourself, make your own living, get a job. You can't REALLY be "yourself" in front of your parents until you do that. And it's time."

I must have looked shocked/bewildered because she said I had the same look on my face as I did when I couldn't cross a three-foot-wide stream in Hawaii and dropped my wallet in the water: like a devasted kindergartener.

"I can tell by that look that you don't really get it. Not really."

Well, fuck that noise. Good thing she was drinking all that wine, it gave me an up on her to change the subject really easy, really smooth. The damn TV was on so loud and she talked through half of the Opening Ceremonies anyway -- the whole night was bloody annoying. I'm not going to be the Nasty-Ass #7 (my Enneagram number) right now and and start giving someone ELSE'S inventory away (yikes, how did 12-step lexicon get into my language again?)... I'll just mumble the topics of "smoking" and "men"...

* I'm a pissed at BC. I can't believe the only thing I've heard from her about is the "money" I owe her. "Victimhood becomes you" -- shit, I feel like I've been kicked in the pants and forgotten, a toy she couldn't use anymore and got tossed in the Salvation Army pile... UGH. (BTW, it's not MY victimhood, it's hers.)

And yet, the truth of the matter is I HAVEN'T faced the music yet about money yet. (Face the music -- oh boy, ain't that a pun that sucks.) I can't get a job yet, I need to graduate -- I don't have energy in the day to take care of myself PHYSICALLY, much less monetarily.

I'm firmly attached to my mother's proverbial "teat" until December and I'm just going to have to figure it out money-wise until then. This "Persephone" is cutting them [ice long string s of assd] <-- I'm re-reading this and have no idea what that was supposed to be! Fingers got moved on the keyboard?) Maybe I need a fucking BC break too -- my goddamn hands aren't going anywhere, ARE they?!)

* I'm pissed at Jack. Asshole hung up on me because he said I was "argumentative" -- I told him like I've told him before that if I need CLARITY or INFORMATION I'm gonna keep askin' I'm not doing it to be a pain in the ass. "But it'll save time if we don't go over it again." Save time? What, we only have a three-word-a-day limit? Asshole. Of course, I kept calling but because his work has Caller ID he'd just hang up and not even answer. Well fuck him. I unplugged both phones and I'm locking the outside door. No early morning internet for him tomorrow, jackass.

* I'm pissed at my family. I told them today that the family website domain name works and it's terrific, I've started the website and that I want and need their pats on the back... "asking for what I need" being one of the skills I need to practice. Surprise! Not one note today. Not a peep. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

You know, I know I need to create a new life for myself -- one that I love, one where I can BE myself and take care of myself really well. And I'm 44-1/2 and a hell of a late bloomer... and guess what? THAT'S FUCKING OKAY WITH ME! I'll probably forward this to Viv (hey Viv), but for once in my life, everything I'm doing feels GOOD, authentic, organic and precious. AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT FROM ANYONE ELSE WHO SAY "IT'S TIME NOW." It's time for who? YOU?! Fuck you! Get off my back.

Jenny said the other night that my "Saboteur" was kicking my ass right now, that I'm in a head-to-head battle with my old broken-record-theme-song "I'M A FUCK-UP." Well, I don't think I am anymore. This whole anger thing just feels like I'm CREATING BOUNDARIES. Like Fuck You get out of my space, get of my pool, GET OUT OF MY HEAD! AAAAAHARHRRHRGHGGHGHAAAAGGH!

Now -- better.