Pointless Ramblings

I’m very talented at procrastination, I was born with mediocre talents but excel wonderfully at procrastination and becoming easily distracted. I’m obviously supposed to be doing homework right now.  I thought about working on some artwork for our home, I even took out the supplies and then saw the laptop shining blue — indicating it was full of life and buttons that were ready to go clickety clack.

So here I am, browsing through pages all the while attempting to write about…honestly, I have no idea what I’m trying to say.

Earlier today, I was thinking that my thoughts often go to weird extremes. I’m sure i’m not the only one it happens to, but I’ve found it hard to relate to people or find anyone who isn’t ashamed to admit to them. For example, today as I was sitting in the toilet at work. I thought, what if while I was on the toilet I had an earth shakingly loud fart. So loud that everyone rushed to see what caused the building to tremble… only to find me sitting on the loo and the only words to escape my mouth were,”oops, I farted.” It would be so embarrassing. Stupid, I know. But sometimes I’m plagued by weird, stupid, or all together messed up scenarios in my head and I struggle with how to deal with these non-existent situations. I’ll spend minutes, hours, and sometimes even days worrying and finding ways on how to resolve these issues and often find that I can’t move on until I do.

But anyways. I’m not even sure what I’m rambling about. Just aimlessly rambling.

Last weekend, the boyfriend and I wanted to go for a drive so we headed out east and happened upon Elk Falls. We were actually supposed to go to a town that was further east but we were losing daylight and gas. So we stopped at Elk Falls instead. Even now, I think I was foolish. It was cold! Too damn cold for a photographic adventure. Hardly any photos turned out well, my hands were too busy trembling but I wanted to explore dammit! I walked down the hill and towards the miniature waterfall. I treaded carefully over the rocks, hoping I wouldn’t slip into the lake and die of hypothermia — meanwhile my boyfriend waited comfortably in the warm car. (that jerk!)  I had been here before, briefly, and yet again I was plagued with thoughts that I would be murdered by the hills have eyes-esque murderer. It would be so simple. We’re both out in the country, no one knows where we are. Alas, we survived with some shaky photos and a stuffy nose to prove it!

Also, I want to say I love old cemeteries. I’ve spent a lot of time visiting them. There’s something about them that I just can’t get enough of. I do try and be as respectful as I can be when I walk through them. I say hello and have conversations with them, and lament not having flowers to leave behind.

By the end of this brief quest, my boots were filled with cold water. It took about 5 minutes to thaw them out.  I’m ready for spring.



In the past several months I’ve begun making significant life changes. It started slow, then progressed and spiraled into this spring cleansing of the soul. Initially, it was difficult to think that I could manage a lot of the changes and I was hesitant to even begin but something inside me urged me to take a leap and do it.

It all started with a health scare that I’m, quite frankly, still not willing to admit to. I suppose it could be a lot worse but this is still something that I never anticipated. Perhaps it’s shock? I keep rewording the doctor’s words in my head, hoping that if I rearrange the wording it may change the results. . . but it doesn’t and though i’m not in imminent danger it is something that I have to take care of. It’s upsetting but I try and heed other’s advice and learn to accept this and though it’s been difficult I think I’m gradually learning to. I’ve begun to take better care of myself by going to the gym and eating healthier. It hasn’t been an easy transition but I’m going to do all that I can to be as healthy as I can be. Thus far, I’ve lost a little weight and I intend to lose more but all for health not for aesthetic reasons.

Friendships has been even more difficult to tackle than my health. I had a long chat with someone a while back and they put certain things into perspective. They asked me who my go to people were, who I went to when my world was crumbling and the people I thought would be on that list weren’t. Not because I didn’t want them to be but because I knew I couldn’t turn to them because when I needed them most they never there. It was an awakening. From this conversation I also realized I’m guilty of a lot of things as well, like: I have kept friendships/people in my life that were (exhausting, terrible, selfish, etc), I’m a terrible friend because I too am the aforementioned, I don’t know how to be a proper friend. I know I’ve mentioned a lot of this before but I overlooked and didn’t do as I promised. It’s a lot harder to let go than I thought. I second guess myself and wonder if I’m the one to blame for it all. But I just can’t do it anymore. A couple of weeks if not months ago I began by either unfriending or unfollowing people on Facebook.  I’m also working on trying to be a better friend. I think though that first I have to work on my friendship skills. It’s a process but I’ve been keeping in touch with friends, though the socializing bit I’ve been failing because I’ve been ridiculously busy. But I’m going to be better. More date nights with the boyfriend, alone time, and friendship hang outs.

The boyfriend and I have also decided to sacrifice our privacy and move in with family for a brief amount of time to reach our goals of getting a house. Unfortunately, things came up and it would be a lot easier if rent was not part of the equation. It’s scary but I think it’ll be worth it once we have our own house. I’m already anxious to have a home, to take dive into the pool or drink some pina coladas while floating in that pool. Sigh. It will happen, a little later than anticipated but it will.

Another huge thing is I’ve decided to go back to school this fall. It’s been 6 years since I had to drop out of university. I’m freaking scared out of my mind yet insanely excited. I’m still clueless about what I want to do but I feel as if I’m going to figure it out this time and if I don’t I’ll try until I do. I dictate what I do, what I don’t,  and I’ve decided I’m going to have a motherfucking adventure while I’m alive and kickin’.




It’s been a while and I’m not even sure where to start. For starters, my computer has been ill and I’ve been freaking out trying to find things to make it better. I want to proclaim success but I don’t think that it’s better, which is a shame considering it’s barely a year old. Sigh. But, I’ve gotten it past the grey screen of death so that’s a minor accomplishment. 

Much to my chagrin, we had a Halloween party but it actually turned out a lot better than expected. I wish I would have taken pictures, I think I just took snaps here and there but nothing significant. Quite a shame, really. I was overwhelmed with all the bodies in attendance and getting everything sorted. The final details were never truly finished. Towards the end, after downing sufficient enough drinks to soothe my nerves, it was easier to deal with and I had fun.

Another think occurring in my universe, is that I’ve been heavily debating art school — to study photography. It was the plan 5 years ago, but then a shit ton of things happened all at once. I fell off a ladder at work, developed GERD, consequence to the fall I began having trouble walking, any movement was extremely painful and it all led to me dropping out of university. This, of course, all led to a small little dark spiral of self-destruction. Life is wonderful, isn’t it? So, here I am 5 years later debating on uprooting and moving to study photography. The thought is frightening but what’s even more terrifying is staying in my cubicle staring out my window for the next 40+ years wishing I had gone. I’ve always known I couldn’t have a job like the one I do now. It’s much too stifling. I want the ability to dye my hair any color I want or have piercings and whatever other restrictions I’ve had to abide by since joining the grown up world. I’m a toys’r’us kid, not a grown up kid. Even if I fail at art school, I want to say that I earned that failure. I’ve started working on ideas, for the portfolio I have to submit with the application, and I’m excited because I’ve started coming up with concepts and ideas. It’s even reignited my love affair with make-up.

Because of all these wonderful thoughts and ideas, I’ve decided that it’s time to attempt to go back on anti-depressants. I’ve been fighting it alone for so long and lately it feels like I’m on the losing side. I realize it’ll never truly go away, but ordinarily, I’ll go through  rough patches which’ll last a week and then after they’ve beaten me senseless they subside. My little cycle of darkness. However, as of late, the episodes have been interminable and brutal. It’s been tough to deal with all of these feelings that I thought I had killed, it’s as if the dead have risen from their graves. I thought I could do it alone but I think I have to learn to admit that sometimes I need help, and this is one of those instances. Also, I’m tired of depression sucking the life out of everything.

The desk of wonder and my many faces.

This weekend has been wonderful and I am terribly bummed that it is coming to an end. Initially, the boyfriend and I had intended on going to Nebraska because it would be one more state off of my list. But in the end, we decided to just stay home for the long weekend and it was well worth it.

I was released early from work and went thrift store shopping with my friend and found the best desk in the existence of mankind.

It’s an old 70’s metal school teacher’s desk and it’s absolutely wonderful. Everything I own fits inside. All my paints, faux flowers, pens/markers/pencils, camera stuff AND I still have space to fill it with more junk!! Although, it almost cost me my relationship but I think it has proven it might have been worth it. Haha. The desk weighs approximately a million pounds. It took 4 people to get it inside my apartment, though to be frank one person did most of the work while we marveled at his ability to lift the million pound desk almost all on his own. It was truly astounding.

I have to say, I feel very professional sitting and forming thoughts on it. I feel like a new person. It’s great because I get to have my typewriter to the left and my record player to the right. I feel like I’ve traveled back in time or something like that. I still haven’t finished decorating it with my personal touch but still, it’s quite wonderful. Also, the desk only cost me $29.00. Total steal!

Now, I actually have space where it’s not terribly inconvenient or awkward to take a gander at my external drive. It’s been an interesting time going through all of it because the external drive holds my past, both the good and the bad. I’ve found old photos that make me smile, reduce me tears, or it brings on a face that looks like I’ve just come across a foul odor.

One regret is not having done any exploring or attempt at taking any pictures. I barely even touched my camera. It’s sad because I love it so much. But I’ve decided to just post some that I’ve taken with my mobile.

Here’s what I’ve done to my desk at work, thus far.

I later added some zwinkies, at least I think that’s what they’re called, of the Spongebob Squarepants family.

The time I thought I found Oscar the Grouches home.

I recently chopped over 9 inches of hair and decided to share the before and after.

I, apparently, love before and after pictures.

and my love for collages is endless

I’ve been asked before if I’m embarrassed sharing pictures of myself looking horrendous or making ugly faces. I’m really not, their was a time when I was but forced myself to accept the many shades of ugly that are lurking in the shadows or the ones that don’t lurk at all. I refuse to be one of those girls that only posts pretty pictures of themselves at all the right angles because that’s not who I am. I’d be lying to myself if I only ever did that or if I photoshopped the shit out of myself ALL THE TIME. I don’t think I’ll ever understand that. You should embrace the good, bad, ugly, hideous, horrendous and beautiful sides of yourself. Even the wrinkles that are forming or will form.

Change is Hard

Growing up is harder.

As of late, I’ve been coming to many realizations. Where as some have been great others have been hard to accept. Even now, I’m fighting to accept them and because of it I’ve been going in and out of more frequent depressive episodes. On the outside I appear to be perfectly content but inside I’m waging war with myself. 

I’ve been fighting the instinct to run, hide and hold myself hostage in the bathroom. The old me would have reverted back to old habits and destroyed everything in her path but I refuse to go back to that. I lost a lot, hurt people I cared for and lost sight of who I was. At this point in life, I am fortunate to have a wonderful boyfriend who is my best friend and is very supportive.  When I’m at my darkest he, unknowingly, saves me by saying something completely ridiculous and with that I can breathe again and am no longer drowning in my thoughts. It’s like he instinctually knows I need him. Even though I had admitting it, I would undoubtedly be lost without him. 

Friendships are another thing I’ve been struggling with. I’m terrible at making friends and even more so at keeping them. I never used to be bad at it, at least I don’t think so, but when you’re young it’s so much easier to make friends. You’re instantly best friends with anyone who likes the same color as you do, but now I’m not even sure how you begin to befriend anyone. After being burned by terrible friendships and dealing with major depression, I let go of the thought of having friends and became aloof. It was easier to deal with life without having the added drama of friendships, amongst many other reasons. Now, I have a handful of friends but always forget what the proper protocol is to maintain them. I often feel that I’m too self-absorbed because I’m caught up in my own thoughts, all from being so accustomed to it just being me, so at times it feels uncomfortably awkward. Friendships always seem so much harder than relationships and they shouldn’t be, should they? I think I’m a decent friend. I do my best to be supportive, honest, and attempt to be there for a friend because I genuinely care and because that’s what I think friends should do. I’m not sure if I’m doing it wrong. Sometimes, I’ve been very skeptical of some friendships, questioning the kindness of some and thinking their was something sinister behind their smile. Maybe I end up in friendships that are one sided or I just delude myself into thinking I’m a good friend when I’m not.  Perhaps, I’m just not a worthy friend. I’m honestly not sure but I feel like I’m failing miserably. After much thought, I realize that I’m tired of making justifications for others and myself, or feeling like I’m forcing my friendship on others. I’ve decided to finally just let go of some friendships, their’s no point in keeping friends that don’t want, need or should be kept. I’m exhausted and though I need to learn to accept that their are people who genuinely want to be friends I also need to let go of those who aren’t worth the time and stop trying to keep those who want to be left alone. I don’t know why it was so hard to accept this, I’ve been down this road before but I guess it’s a little difficult this time because I was just getting used to the idea of friends and began to assume some would be there forever or would get to that point. 

Another realization is that I’ve decided that I need to stop making big plans or having ideas and never doing anything with them. I’m starting a list of things I want to accomplish or at least attempt doing because the fact is that death is imminent and I don’t want to regret things at a later point in life when it’s too late. One of those things is starting a band. I was in one briefly a long time ago but I moved away and that was that. I really shouldn’t even consider it because it was over before it began. I have no expectations for this band, I simply want to do it because I’ve always wanted to and it should be fun. It may very well be a terrible endeavor but at least I can say I made the attempt and that’s all that matters. I also want to make an album that I can say I helped create, even if it ends up being bad. I have one friend who is ready and willing, so it’s very exciting and off to a better start than anticipated. 


Happy Father’s Day Rant


It’s Father’s Day! Not that it’s terribly important to me, actually it’s still not important at all. Growing up without a father makes you oblivious to this holiday, the only reason that I’m aware of it now is because my boyfriend is out spending the day with his dad and the constant postings on facebook, seems like that they all have the “best” dad. I don’t say that in a sarcastic way, even if sometimes I am a little bitter at not having had one.

When I was little, the impact of not having a father wasn’t obvious. I knew he wasn’t there but the lack of his presence didn’t affect me in the same way it probably did my brothers and sisters. My father walked out on us when I was about 3, I have very few memories of him being around. The only faint memories I have of him, at least while he was living with us, is of him building a bathroom for our house and that’s as far as I can reach. We did, however, see him from time to time whenever we visited my Grandma’s house. So even despite his abandonment he still had a small role in our lives but it was always tough for me to see him as my dad.

I’m not so sure that as I child I knew what hate was but I swear I hated him and hated whenever he was around. I, especially, hated that he had the audacity to expect us….or me to still call him dad, as if he deserved the title. My family would always try to get me to call him Apa and I never wanted to budge so my compromise was to call him my ex-papa. I felt it a more appropriate title, I don’t know that he was ever truly hurt by it. At times, he would give us money to go to the corner store and buy snacks, when I was older I began to suspect that he did it as a means of trying to lessen his guilt but I couldn’t be sure that he ever truly felt guilty. After all, this was the same man who when he walked out on his family of five said that he didn’t need us, that he could have more kids. We were expendable.

I hated him. Not because he abandoned us, not because he was the macho type of man I loathed, nor that he forgot our birthday’s, or that he left my mom to fend for us all by herself but because despite all of that a part of me still wanted him to want to be my father. To want to get to know us, to say that he was sorry for leaving us and all the terrible things he did to my mom and siblings. I still wanted to know what it was like to have a real caring father, but I think I hated myself more for that.

Shortly after I graduated from high school, he was severely beaten up and was hospitalized because of it.  At that time, I was going through a tough time and was annoyed to have to drive down to visit him when he was never there for us. I didn’t think he deserved the gesture. But I had no choice, so when we made it there I was expecting him to be his usual self and was prepared to put him in his place but something about seeing his heavily bruised face and bandaged head all I could do was pity him. Normally, he’s not soft but something about him was different. Somewhere in that short visit, he slipped and actually told me he was proud of me for graduating, for not being subservient, for being me. I was speechless but I was even more surprised at how mad I was at him for saying this. 

When we drove home, I kept thinking that maybe it was time to bury the hatchet and finally talk to him and get everything out in the open. I didn’t want to leave things left unsaid or unanswered, I didn’t want history repeating itself. I decided that it was time to have that talk with him, even if it hurt me. But I never got the chance because two months later he died. 

At his funeral, I shed very few tears and those were only reserved for my brothers and sisters. I always felt I had it easy because he didn’t get the chance to hurt me as much as he hurt them when he walked out on us. But I was hurting, even more so than ever even if I didn’t want to admit it. Again, he had abandoned us, but this time for good and with his death he took the closure I will never be able to get.



I will say, that this day should truly be dedicated to my Mother. She may have made plenty of mistakes along the way but she was resilient and did as much as she could for us. I don’t think I could have had her upbringing and have been as great as a mother as she has been. I wish that I could give her the life that she deserves but I’ll be damned if I don’t try. 

Welcome To My Silly Life

Yesterday, I felt extremely vulnerable and it didn’t help that I watched a film called Bully. It’s on the list of topics that are sensitive to me. I’ve been the target, and am ashamed to admit that I have been on both sides of the spectrum.

Throughout my life, for as long as I can remember, I’ve battled depression and anxiety. When I was little, I thought they were just things that I was going through and should be ashamed of. I didn’t know that their was a label nor that their were millions of people out there experiencing the same things that I was. I always thought I had to keep those feelings private because everyone I knew was happy or normal all the time. So, I did what I did best, I pretended and acted as if though everything was fine. I fooled many and at times even fooled myself.

I grew up very poor and we lived in a humble home. It was a one bedroom house that initially had no bathroom, it was added later by my father. Shortly thereafter he walked out on us. We had two beds in the bedroom, one in the living room, and one in the kitchen. I shared this home with my 2 brothers, 2 sisters and my mother. At various points in my life, their were sometimes up to 10 or more people living in this home and even though I was always surrounded by people, I always felt alone.

I felt this overwhelming fear of abandonment, anger, guilt, emptiness and sadness. I found joy in running amok in our yard and found solace when my flesh was grazed, in pain, or bleeding. I vividly remember moments where I used to wrap myself in chicken wire until I bled, walk on broken glass, put the cigarette lighter from my Mom’s car on my fingers, cut my fingers as well as the webbing in between my fingers. . . amongst other things. A lot of it was not out of curiosity but because I felt alive when I hurt myself. In retrospect, I realize that those were the moments I had first discovered self-harm — it was a trend that would continue for a long time.

In elementary school, I had people pick on me because I was either too poor, shy, quiet, fat, tall, had big ears, or holes in my socks. The list is never ending. Their was always a reason to be picked on. I don’t quite recall the moment but I snapped. I remember, just not wanting to be made fun of anymore and wanting it to stop. I came from a family of 5, so I was taught by them that I had to fend for myself. So I did.

I wish I could recall the exact moment, but the feeling of wanting it to stop still resonates. I remember it changing from year to year. Their were moments where I felt like everything was normal, but then you’d fight with the popular girl and you were a social pariah. No one spoke to you and the bullying would commence once again. You’d fight back and then you were back in everyone’s good graces and the roles were reversed with the popular girl and yourself. It was like this, year after year. I remember their was even a specific boy who attempted very hard to make my life a living hell. He’d always find something at fault with me and we’d get into fist fights that at times even drew blood. Mind you, this is all in elementary school. Of course, he had his goonies who would also assist him but I was fortunate enough to have a best friend who was there by my side.

When I wasn’t being bullied I was bullying those who bullied me and at times stooped to their level and said awful things to people who may have not necessarily been deserving of it. I thought it was retribution, because they did nothing when I was being forced to be the outcast. I was only nice to those who had been nice to me. It’s a shame that I had to learn that you had to fight back in order to get these cruel kids to stop being cruel to you. I also learned at a young age, that bullies were cowards and belittled people because they were even more insecure with themselves than I was.

Things in middle school became more psychological. I did my best to be nice to everyone and to treat people equally because I knew how terrible it was to be the one being bullied. I was always labeled the weird girl and I don’t say that because I wanted to be weird but because it was a label given by the masses. I lived in a small town, so anyone remotely different stood out like a sore thumb. I liked tattoos, wanted to dye my hair unnatural colors, had morbid dreams, wasn’t girly and watched The X-Files. I honestly can’t recall what it was that got me labeled as the weird girl because I never thought I was weird. I never even got to go through those phases where you wore weird clothes or dyed my hair at a young age, because my family was poor and I couldn’t afford to express myself through those means. Still, I was teased for being fat, ugly, gross, poor, “lesbian” and especially weird.

I remember having to deal with not only myself and my personal demons but with the taunts and shit that kids at school said. I wanted to end my life. I wanted the pain and sadness to stop. I wanted nothing more but to sleep forever, to never wake. I would sit in class and wish that I could make them feel the pain that I was feeling. I wanted it to end but how can you stand up to more than one person when they were being protected by the people that weren’t supposed to take sides? That’s where my thoughts wandered to hurting them. I thought of ways that I could make them regret having ever hurt me or anyone for that matter. I plotted ways that I could, it could have been so easy. Terribly easy. I didn’t own guns but their were other means. I thought of plans and reworked them every time they said something hateful. To this day, I don’t know if I ever would have gone through with those plans. I moved away before any of them could come to fruition.

It’s no wonder why kids are committing suicide and/or shooting up schools. I don’t justify their actions nor am I saying that it’s the right thing to do. But when the people that you’re supposed to go to for help are turning their heads and when you’re going through all that shit. . . you run out of options. You’re a child, you can’t just ask your family to get up and leave. You’re cornered and you start thinking of ways to make it end. Even then, sometimes stopping it isn’t enough. You want to make a statement. It always frightens me how much I sympathize with them, but if it were not for the experiences that I’ve had I would never be able to understand the thought process.

But to answer my own question, on whether I would have gone through with my plans, I don’t think that I actually would have ever done anything. The harder that I think back on those moments I remember telling several people that these high and mighty people would soon be removed from their kingdom. They would surely fall and some would fall harder than most but that’s what I found solace in, knowing soon it would end and they would face the consequences of their actions. I liked to think that Karma would reward them generously for being shitty humans and I can attest that plenty of them have been rewarded sufficiently if not more.

After watching that film, I just realize just how much I didn’t want to admit to myself and even now still can’t. I suppose at this point I just want to put it out there rather than leave it in my brain where I would sulk in it for days.

I could go on with my experiences but it’s torture reliving this much and admitting a lot of this. I always wanted to say how much of a bad ass I was when I was little but really I was fighting for my peace of mind. My sanity. I fought because I had to, no kid should have to fight for that. My experiences in school weren’t nearly as bad as most peoples and were probably made worse because of my own personal issues but still no kid should have to go through the little that I did. And though I would like to pretend that the little I experienced didn’t have it’s toll, but it has and some experiences will haunt me for life.