Catch 22

I love writing. I swear I do. But there are times I stare at the screen and want to break it. I feel beyond tired, beyond exhausted, beyond empty. 

What gives value to our efforts is time. The more time you spend on an activity, the more important it becomes for you. The reason you hate giving up on a person or activity you've spent years on is exactly that; time. Time is what validates everything, and it cannot be replaced, influenced, bought or brought back. It's the coin we give in exchange for meaning, the one parameter that cannot be omitted in the equation of understanding. It's the funniest thing; every passing moment brings more meaning to our life while making it smaller by that same amount of time. 

Time passes, inevitably, inexorably, mercilessly. The same eyes that stared at me in the mirror years ago stare back at me now, and yet I am not the same person. The only thing that authenticates our existence, makes us mature, that may even make us happy, is the thing that kills us. So I suppose what we should do is use it wisely. Choose what to do with the time we have at our disposal.

There is enough time for everything.

Everything happens in the right time.

So billions of people before me thought, and so billions of people after me will think. 

That they have time.

Oh, I know, I know, I am becoming obsessive; I am losing sight of the bigger picture. There is happiness out there too. Love, friendship, hobbies, art, so many sources of joy, so many distractions. Right now I could be out, seeking love, or friendship, or cheap thrills of any kind. Most of the time this translates as discussing existential questions with people who don't understand what it means to exist. It's so much fun. I see through all. I see their despair, their need to be loved, and the wrong ways they try to achieve it. I see through humans. I see through them and they are dirty, they are desperate, they are petty and disgusting. Then I feel pity for them, and for the human race as a whole, and I include myself in it. I see the very foundations of their misconceptions, the roots of their deprivation, and I still manage to feel pity because I know what they crave is love. They crave what they never had, or what they had a twisted ghost of. And so they make the same mistakes again and again and marvel at the fact the result is the same, they marvel at the fact they get hurt again and again. And one day, there is no more time to make the same mistakes. As Buddha said, the problem is, you think you have time. You don't. You fucking don't.

I am a hermit by choice, voicing out my deepest thoughts and needs to those few ones I know won't hurt me. They won't judge me for how weak or silly I may be, the same way I won't pass judgement on the rest of humanity for how silly and petty and desperate they are. I am spending my days and nights in front of a screen, working on a book, making it better, trimming it, polishing it, making it as good as I can. I could be out, talking to others, listening to the same questions and the same answers for the umpteenth time. I choose not to. I choose to walk the streets alone at dusk, talking to flowers and trees instead of humans, listening to music or the breeze or the chatter of birds instead of my own kind. Because I know my own kind cannot give me answers. The only answer is found in the silent toil in front of a screen, rewriting, erasing, perfecting what I have created. 

 

I don’t expect fame, or money, or even understanding. There is a story that needs to be told, it demands to be released out there. I struggle with so many demons to make that happen. I struggle with boredom, CVs, tiredness, headache, a language that’s not my mother tongue, distractions, and you wouldn’t have guessed it; time. I struggle with all those demons inside and outside and word by word I carve my way, sweating with the effort, cursing, despairing, straining like I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I write and erase and re-read and re-write and ache, literally ache with how long it takes, and how that time will never be returned to me, and it will be what makes this book important. It’s the one parameter that gives it meaning. It’s the payment I have to make to make it work. A part of my life, countless hours, days, months spent on it, and looking back I don’t regret a single moment. I just wonder what kind of life this is, and what it offers.

I don’t write to be loved or get laid. I write because there is no other way I’d rather spend that time. There is nothing else I love more in order to devote that time to that person or activity. I know that once the book is out some will love me for it, and some will hate me for it. It makes no difference. They do not know how many nightfalls found me struggling over a keyboard, how many dawns found me re-reading the same text with aching eyes. They cannot comprehend the happiness I experienced while I watched it take form bit by bit. They can’t understand the frustration I had to overcome, the resolve I had to show, the pain of not finding the right word or the next occurrence. They can’t guess how many days and nights I spent walking empty streets and listening to music in order to untangle a part of the plot. They can’t possibly know I chose that over going out and meeting with friends, or seeking love. And all these facts are also the reasons they can’t take it from me. They can’t make me regret, or change my mind, or doubt whether I spent my time wisely. No-one can make me hate it or disregard it. I know what I did. I know why I did it; because nothing else would have made me happier. That’s why. And the reason I wrote it like I did is because I, and not someone else, wrote it.

Next time you read a book, remember you are bearing witness to how a part of someone’s life was spent. I wish you to be lucky enough to come across those books that were written because the writer loved them so much they wouldn’t have spend that time in a different way. I wish you to find those books that they’re not the voice of the writer, but all those voices of dusks walked in silence, and dawns that arrived without any sleep. I wish you to find those books the writer had no choice but to complete, or go crazy with the voices inside their head. 

I hope my book will be one of them. I hope my book will be as deep and as quenching for your thirst as it was for mine.

Time, time, time.

Will I ever find the one who will make me forget about writing for a while?

Where are you?

Maybe you’ll show up in due time.

Time. Ha ha ha.

God/dess, I am so tired. But there is writing to be done.

Goodnight.

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Are you sure about that?

Cause if you are, that's okay.
You can tell me, you know. You can tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone.
I would never tell anyone.
You've trusted me with your secrets before. I didn't pity you for them. I didn't patronise or judge you.
Once you told me that my stories made you feel awkward and freaked you out because it was like I knew those secrets of your past you had told no-one else.
That didn't stop you from reading my entire blog.
There was a ticket bought for me that went to someone else, and a promise you wanted to keep and didn't manage to. That's okay.
But please, let me know. Somehow, in some way, tell me I need to stop crying because you are okay. And I will keep it a secret.
All I want is to stop crying.
Please.
I won't tell anyone. I swear I won't.
I just need closure, even if you never speak to me again afterwards. I won't ask you to.
Just one phrase, or one word.
Tell me you are okay.
Goodnight.

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Fairy walk

https://itoshii-sanagi.tumblr.com/post/675472969388179456/requiem-on-water-by-khalilofearth

 

https://www.instagram.com/pnwonderland/ 

Screaming in my sleep, keeping my thoughts to myself when I wake up.

Out of touch with my core, so I took a fairy walk today.

There is so much beauty and so much ugliness in the world.

I can see both.

I walked in a green place with spring flowers; red poppies and pink anemones and yellow daisies and little purple wild flowers. I spoke to trees, caressed their twigs and leaves. Thunder rumbled in the distance and from time to time, drops of rain fell on my face like tears from the heavens.

I can see everything as a moment frozen in time. As a snapshot of beauty. I see the vibrant colours, the different shapes, the orgiastic multitude in form. Not two leaves on a tree are alike. Not even human twins are identical, though their DNA is.

If I shift my perception, I spot decay in the same effortless manner I perceive beauty; the yellowed leaf, the dead insect, the dry branch. They are as real as their living brothers and sisters.

I see whole worlds in people's eyes. I see their inner beauty shining. And at the same time, at the wrinkles of their very smiles I read the finality of their deaths, the finite amount of time they have at their disposal.

It will all be gone, I want to scream. It will be gone. Stop fighting with each other, stop sweating the small stuff. Stop killing the planet and bombing innocents and make your loved ones hate you. It’s more fragile than you think, and it’s completely unique. It will all be gone. It will not be forever. You are not forever, so be here. Don't live on borrowed time, on plans for a future that may never come. Don't live inside your head and play stupid head games. Be here with us. Be kind to each other. There is so much pain already, so much death and fear. Don't add to it. Please don't. 
 

Heaven and hell are here and now.

Choose one.

The god you choose is the god you deserve.

But even if I do scream, who will listen?

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Has it been a year already?

A year without you? No, it can't be.
I am always thinking that you are somewhere and you're very busy and this is why I haven't heard from you. But you're okay. That's what I always think. That you are just busy. And late at night, when the knowledge of you being gone becomes an itch I can't scratch, or a burden that chokes me, I cry quietly. I've given up trying to make sense. I can't.
I miss you. I always miss you. I miss you quietly, or I miss you desperately, or I pretend I don't. But I do.
You knew me well enough to be able to second-guess me. You cared deeply and wholeheartedly and with no strings attached.
The next book is going to be dedicated to you and no-one else.
You were a blessing that keeps illuminating me even now.
I love ballet, and deviants, and loved this one.
I wish I could show it to you.

It's my birthday~!

And belly dancing makes me happy, so here is a very nice video. :)

Enjoy!

Moff and Flickerlee

This is so cute it should be illegal and so sad it should be posted with a warning. It made me cry. Or maybe I am too sentimental and fragile right now, I don't know.

Taken from here: http://stressedjenny.deviantart.com/gallery/41817441/Moff-and-Flickerlee

Toxic relationships

Some relationships are toxic.

My most toxic relationship is the one I have with my mother.

I do my best to avoid toxic relationships, however it is very difficult to avoid the person I live in the same house with.

None of us is working right now and this means we spend a lot of time together. It's not quality time.

Many years ago, my mother decided to have a child in order to have someone to love and support her.

I am the 'lucky' child in person. 

She is not the first parent to make that mistake. A lot of parents think that a child will be a way to complete their happiness, expecting to receive a lot more than they are willing to give. A safe investment kind of thing. Make a child and it will make you happy.

Really?

Make a child and you will feel proud and completed.

If you want to feel proud and completed, nothing like taking a good shit to give you that warm and fuzzy feeling. Instead of making a child, add some fibre to your diet and drink lots of water. Satisfaction guaranteed.

I will never be good enough for my mother.

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relation to my weight. If I am thin and beautiful, I am good. I please her. Therefore she has to police my eating to make sure I'll keep pleasing her. Never mind the fact she is fifteen to twenty kilos overweight. That's another thing.

I am not good enough because I have friends she does not approve of. Right now, with me nearing my forties, she still expects me to spend time with her and not have friends. Or have friends, but you know, they should not be as important as she is in my life. And as she pointed out, what kind of person is happier to meet with her friends instead of spending time with her mother?

I am not good enough because I am stupid, I don't take notice of what's happening around me, a nonsensical immature little idiot who prefers cutting bits of paper and playing with stickers than doing something mature and more 'my age'. For example, watch TV by her side. Now that would be a mature and responsible thing to do, unlike writing letters and crafting.

I am not good enough because I am an introvert and I don't like mindless socialising. 

I am not good enough because I am 37 and still have not married and haven't had any children of my own. 

I am not good enough because it is perfectly okay to spend most of our monthly income feeding stray animals, but if I want to fix my glasses, go out for coffee or go to the doctor that's not really necessary or important. 

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relationship to how much I please her. Ideally we should be like conjoined twins and I should spend every hour of my day and every day of my life revolving around her, a blissful little planet orbiting around her pleasant personality.

You know what, mom?

Fuck you.

Fuck you and your ideas and your experiences and your understanding of reality.

Fuck you and your emotional blackmailing and your manipulation and your guilt trips.

Fuck your love under conditions.

Fuck your kindness under obligation.

Fuck you. I am going to find a way to do what I want.

I may not be good enough for you, but that's okay.

I am good enough for me.

I am good enough for my friends.

I am good enough for everyone except you, it seems.

And you know what?

I am perfectly happy with it. 

I don't need to be good enough for you.

I don't need you.

I just need me.

Depressed

Today I am awfully depressed.

I read somewhere that depression is pretty much like the weather. Some believe that if you just ignore it and shrug it off, it will pass. It is not so. When depression hits, it hits me hard. I am not sure why I feel that way, but I do. Just like I am not sure why some days it is raining buckets, but it is, when I am depressed I can't shrug it off or ignore it. It won't go away. It will take its time, will do a full circle and then it will pass.

One of the reasons I am depressed is the fact I have very few friends, and unless I call them first, they very rarely do. I am not sure why they don't. Maybe they don't want to pressure me or they have their own stuff to deal with. In fact I do know they have their own stuff to deal with. But a phone call would be more than welcome. I know that since I am feeling depressed I should call them, but you know what, I am tired of always picking up the phone first. Sometimes I want to see how long it will be before they call me, how many days it will be before they realise I have not called them. Sometimes even if I do call them they won't call me back. Does it matter? No. The whole thing will just make me even more depressed. It's a lose-lose situation either way. I hate feeling dependable on others and yet I can't live alone. That's how humans were made and hardwired: to depend on others. To have a family and friends. I loathe my family, or simply put up with them with amused annoyance, and on days like this I feel like I always give to my friends more than I receive. And I am not sure if something can be done about it and what that is. I probably need to meet more and different people, or just accept my situation. 

I should go out and take a long walk just like I do when I am feeling so low. I resemble a bird with a chain around its leg. No matter how far I go, I am forced to always return to my nest, to home sweet hell. 

I am not sure what can be done about me in general. Time passes and I feel like options close instead of opening in spite of my efforts and everything I do. I know I am depressed and see everything distorted right now and I should not worry about it too much. I should ride the wave and let it pass. Because it will pass. No matter what happens, I will press on.

I just wish I didn't feel that it is pointless. I wish I did not feel so empty inside. That's all.

Learning Excel online

Perfect example of an elven king tailor-made for the purpose I describe below: Thranduil from the Hobbit.

It mostly hurts after a while. It feels like someone is repeatedly rubbing half onions on my back. I want to do something else than clicking on boxes, calculating sums and dragging ranges. Like a good girl, I suck it up and sigh. And dream of elven kings with long blond hair, who are so snobbish even dust avoids settling on them, fearing their disapproval. As a way to blow off steam, I dream that I am chasing the aforesaid king on horseback. In a field full of brambles. And he is terrified, on foot and wearing absolutely nothing. And I am holding a flogging stick and hit him for extra encouragement. There's probably a hapless human in there too, and I am sure he or she is the creator of Excel. They are an easy target; sooner or later they will collapse inside a bramble bush, and I'll leave them to find the way out on their own. 

So the elven king runs for dear life, his testicles dangling about like a meaty pendulum, his penis making a flapping sound against his thighs, his wide back golden pink in colour and full of crisscrossing red welts, his legs covered in scratches, his firm, muscular butt poetry in motion, and I yell like a banshee from the back of my horse. Run, motherfucker, run! Run because when I catch you I'll have a distinguished elven aristocrat for supper and guess what, you'll be the main course! 

If I keep going, I am pretty certain eventually he will stumble and fall. I hope he lands face first on a pile of horse or bear shit. And rest assured I'll jump off the horse and step on his head to make it sink deeper in it.

(What do you mean this is just too cruel? It's a mating ritual. You wouldn't understand. The way these fuckers pose and their behaviour manages to tickle all the wrong anatomical bits of me, unfortunately together with the right ones.) 

The reason my basic hero in that other story (/book/ trilogy/ saga) is a dark elf, is that they usually are stronger, faster, and more vicious than any pure-blooded, arrogant, belonging to a superior race and blessed by the gods elf. And they have absolutely no qualms about punching those arrogant dickbags in the face and bloodying their perfect noses. In fact there's nothing they, or their maker, would enjoy more than that. So I cackle with glee and go back to learning Excel. Maybe one day I'll write that story. Maybe not. Let me finish with what I'm halfway through first, and we'll see about that.

Here is the site I am using to learn Excel, if you feel like torturing yourselves:

http://www.excel-easy.com/

https://youtu.be/8L1OVkw2ZQ8 

And here are some more Thranduil photos in case you want to have a better look. ;)

A sincere cover letter

I am trying to write a cover letter to include with my CV. It's one of the most boring activities someone can engage in, with advanced accounting and being whipped to build an Egyptian pyramid being marginally worse. I am tempted to write a sincere cover letter praising my unique and amazing abilities, like being able to discover the petting spots that turn cats into goo, writing good porn with just about any gender and species involved, regularly producing farts of outstanding potency and duration, and being able to make successful divination with a thesaurus. The more I struggle with inane templates of cover letters and the pompous statements they contain, the more facial ticks I develop. So here is a cover letter guaranteed to land you the dream job you were always looking for, or a place in jail and one hell of a reputation.

Dear Sir/ Madam,

I am writing to apply for the position of Exalted Asslicker in your prestigious company of nitwits and attention whores.

I am a unique and highly resourceful individual, managing to stay out of jail although I can't pay any of my bills due to the current political situation. I am a fast learner, competent in bullshitting or threatening to have it my way, and adaptable to any situation, including zombie apocalypse. In my last job we were adequately trained in shooting the delivery boy and one of the accountants if they were late. I can cope with a vast range of administrative tasks while balancing a waffle with ice-cream on my left ear and juggling with living piranha. I am fully capable of prioritizing my workload, putting porn and masturbation on top and leaving office work for the clerk I am blackmailing with photos of his current affair. I am motivated by cocaine and fueled by speed, have a gangster attitude and love learning new skills, like ritualistic sacrifice, taxidermy and shibari (Japanese bondage). My communication skills are excellent; everyone does as I say or find themselves swimming in the nearest large body of water wearing cement shoes. I can fulfill a variety of roles due to my numerous interpersonal skills. I prefer Dominatrix, but I also double as a bodyguard and negotiations expert, because my plasma cannon is way bigger than yours.

I believe that every problem is unique and needs to be handled as such, applying both past experience and new ideas to tackle it successfully. I am in constant contact with hit men of different nationalities and most mafia organizations. I am also discreet with personal information and can handle a range of possible situations, from blackmail to murder.

I am well versed in the use of the written word in a variety of subjects and occasions, from ransom notes to political manifestos. I am fully capable of adapting to given guidelines and improvising according to circumstance and need, moderately good at wording contract loopholes and fully proficient in forging. I am also highly skilled in planning, customer communication, and handling all the different tasks and challenges of a busy office environment, such as hidden landmines, possessed managers and drug addicted CEOs. I am keen on meeting with new challenges and expanding my professional horizons with a reputable company like yours. I believe that I will prove myself to be a valuable asset to your team, or I will make sure there isn't a hole deep enough to save yourselves from my wrath if you don't hire me. 

In my free time I am an astrophysicist and a neurosurgeon. I love recreational drugs and occasionally run the gatherings of the local Freemasonry organisation, including minute taking of their plans to take over the world with the assistance of Pinky and the Brain. 

I’m looking forward to learning more about this position and what it entails. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity of speaking with you at your earliest convenience, via e-mail or phone. Thank you for your time and consideration. And psssst, nudge nudge. If you hire me, the girls for stress alleviation and the office cleaners are on me.

Sincerely and/or not bothering much,

Elizabeth Armpit.