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Reflection from June 16th, 2013 @ Age 31


I’m having a real hard time still, keeping things straight in my head.  I know of all these distractions that are pulling me away from my focus, all stemming from money—but I guess that’s why I need to make a goddamned plan for this week and then just do it.  And then I’ll see where I end up on next Sunday.  God, the thought depresses me, to have to go back to that stupid fucking job.  But at least I have a job to go back to (for now), so that’s a good thing to keep in mind.

I’m sitting out on the front porch at mom and dad’s; it’s wonderful—I have a faux pineapple mojito and a tank on with just my short-shorts and flip-flops and Dietrich at my feet, and for some reason a teal Cadillac Escalade just drove right around the cul-de-sac in front of the house, stopped, then kept driving like half a minute later.  Which in any case, reminds me why I wanted to sit down and write in the first place.

I am having the damnedest time not thinking about, worrying about, dreaming about, etc. etc. money.  Like, the hardest.  I don’t know what to do about it.  I know this lesson like the back of my hand—I don’t know why I cannot seem to figure the fucking answer out already!!  It’s frustrating me!!!

I just feel like I have five or six books I want to finish up this week, I want to work out like, every day, take Dietrich to doggy daycare everyday where he could expend his puppy energy which would help out a lot, but still.  The engine light is on in my car and I’m nearly approaching my lease mileage and I don’t know what to do about it.  I feel like there’s no stupid car out there I would even want that’s within my price range.  I don’t even see how I have a price range right now, seeing as though I have around $10,000 in stupid debt and the reduction in my student loans of $300/month for some reason has not helped me out at all.  All I can think of to do is max out all my goddamned credit cards but then what if, what if, what if!?!?!  What if E-M-E-R-G-E-N-C-Y happens?  What if?  I just worry and worry about it and get so fucking angry that Adam turned out to be so much less than a man even, not even within the realm of a good one! 

I don’t know.  I’m just so irritated right now.  I don’t feel like I need to scream, which is often the case; and I don’t feel like my skin is crawling and I need to rip it off (i.e. cut it open to let the irritation out).  But I just feel so irritated I could sit here and write about it.  I guess that’s not so bad then at all really now, is it?

It’s a beautiful day.  Dietrich keeps getting his cord wrapped around the table so that he can’t move to get anywhere.  It’s so annoying.  God, how boring am I sounding today!!  I wrote a blog yesterday—it was based from my journal, basically the same thing, where I felt like I was really preachy.  But it was about me not being the person that I want to be, and why I’m not doing that, or rather—how I am not acting in the ways I need to act in order to get that accomplished.  But then I start thinking about the $10,000 in divorce attorney fees I’ve now compiled, even after all the fucking work that I’ve done for the case—and how much more work there is to go and not knowing what’s going to happen in the end and I can’t even remember what the hell I was thinking about before—I’m just seeing red.

And that’s what keeps happening.  Over and over and over and over again.  And Key West, I’ve been listening to this song, it’s called “Moth’s Wings”—I know, like, the grossest thing E-V-E-R to think about right, is a moth’s wings!?  But anyways, that’s what it’s called and it’s beautiful and it’s by Passion Pit whose lead singer is bipolar and I do seriously, seriously wonder if the song is about being bipolar.  It’s like, beautiful, I can’t even tell you—even just the first note, the first chord sung, makes me feel like what it’s gonna feel like the first time I really feel like I’ve made it in this world.  Like, when the people make me feel like I’ve made it, when they have validated my creation. 

I don’t know.  In any case, I feel fat.  I feel frustrated.  I feel like I should go to the gym because I feel fat, but I did these exercises yesterday that left me ohh so sore and it’s already 5pm almost, and there’s so many goddamned excuses, aren’t there?  Isn’t there?  I don’t know.  Maybe I should just look at cars.

Actually, not having anything to do with cars but, reminding me nonetheless—I was playing that song over and over again on my phone while I was ironing and cleaning up the shit and piss stains upstairs from the carpet where Dietrich has been shitting and pissing in the AM because apparently something happened that scared the shit out of him in the backyard, and now he won’t go back there to do his business.  He just kind of lingers on the goddamned porch and then comes in and ends up shitting and pissing in the goddamned loft.  It’s driving me nuts.  That’s one of the books for the week, I actually think it’s the seventh—the one about training my motherfucking dog.  My motherfucking dog that is 100% my responsibility since Adam just bowed out one day and thought—“I think I’d prefer no responsibility,” “I’ll just give it all the fuck away.”  Or throw it all in the trash, anyway.  Why I write…

Why do I write?  For so many more reasons than this.  Why do I keep coming back to it though?  Why is it so hard to get past this already?!  Have I not spent enough time here in the dark piddling my goddamned thumbs yet, to get a fucking move on already?  Apparently, not enough.

Ohh my fucking god, I swear between this dog and my stupid fucking divorce attorney and the bee buzzing beside my goddamned head—I think I cannot hardly motherfucking believe that I am not internally combusting at this motherfucking moment in time.

—’s a real bitch too; like, half the time.  About 50%.  So that makes it a real fucking challenge too.  It’s so obvious she’s all about money; and — goes out and buys a fucking $419/month Jeep, like—who the fuck does he think he is?!?  Apparently Mr. Baller over here.  God I wish Dietrich would stop barking…that’s it, I’m putting him in the goddamned house.  I’ll be back…


Alright, well I took Dietrich inside, changed into something more comfortable, still feel fat but did give dad his Father’s Day card and Amazon.com gift card—both of which I think he liked very much, and now I’m back outside and it’s pretty peaceful and I hope that Queen Bee doesn’t come back.  I think that’s what happened to D—he thought it was a toy or something, and then he got stung on the back porch and now he doesn’t want to be out there anymore.  I don’t know, I guess my skin is crawling—or, almost.  I took one last Adderall XR for the day and two of the only immediate release type of anti-anxiety pills I have (since they can’t fill the regular Xanax again till Wednesday).  So hopefully I won’t flip the fuck out here in about a half hour or so.  Hopefully I’ll be as calm as a whistle.

(I know, I wonder too.)