Thursday, September 30, 2004

Oh Gosh. I don’t know what to do with this blog. I don’t want to delete it because I don’t want to lose the record of the time in North Carolina. But I realize that my rant post is such blight. I’m not really embarrassed, or sorry about the post. I was in pain and I went off. I came here today and saw the comment from anonymous and I tried to leave a comment to explain that I don’t in anyway think the person knew they were using “my metaphors” and even in the rant I said I realize that no one can own a metaphor. I was just crazed. And. I think I can be crazed every once in a while. But. Oh. I dunno. I can’t see my clarification comment. It may be there tomorrow. And anonymous may never return. And. It is what it is. I could just delete that post but it has been read. I kinda feel like I just need to live with the worst of who I am as well as the best of who I am.
So. Maybe if I post here more the bad vent will slip into archives and …memory.
Or maybe there needs to be a place in the blof world where I lost my self. Some record of my humanity. I just don't know.

Friday, September 10, 2004

That last post was such a vent. I wanted it in a public space. But not too public. And I knew not too many people read this blog because I don’t write here that often. I only intended it to be the Christmas in NC blog.

But when I come here and see that last post … oh. I dunno.

The person I was venting about is someone I will always love. And my heart is broken in too many ways. So I get mad. And I lose my mind. And then time passes. And I only remember that I love him. I just have to post something. So that I don’t come here and get all pissed off all over again.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

The fucker uses my metaphors. I mean that's crazy and I know it. You can't own a metaphor. Not really. But I have my metaphors. I want to scream keep your fucking mind off my metaphors. And the part of me that is rational, the very small part of me that is rational at this moment, tells me to take a breath and let go and knock it off. But I'm pissed. And I want a witness. I want to tell the whole story and have a witness who gets it. Except of course I'd be telling it from my perspective and that's not the whole truth and to get it you'd have to have the whole truth. And the rational part of me reminds me of all the things I've come up with to save myself from this pain but that's MY FUCKING METAPHOR and I'm pissed and I'm hurt and it is not fair and it's not OK and I'm not OK. Fuck.

And now I've written a post that will no doubt result in me getting bombed with nasty spam all because it's the middle of the afternoon and I need to concentrate and I can't because I'm so fucking pissed off. It's my fucking metaphor you can't have it. You can't use it. You can have everything else. You do have everything else. Leave my fucking metaphor alone.

But it isn't mine. I don't own it. Of course. Of course. I know that. I need to breathe and let go and let go and let go. But it so fucking not fair. It just isn't. It's just not. What am I going to do with all this rage?

I'm so mad. I'm so fucking mad. I'm just so fucking mad.

Don't anybody tell me to calm down. Of course I'll calm down. I'll take a walk. I'll put this out of my mind. I'll let go and let go and let go. I'll do the work. I will. Do the work. I will do the fucking work. I'll be fine. I'll be here now. I'll see more clearly. I'll see things for what the are. I will do the work. The fucking miserable work.

It's my fucking metaphor. You can not use it.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

I had the birthday page up all day so I had to blog roll from here.
I still don’t know what to do with this space. I have a Live Journal too, which was supposed to be my VERY secret place. But there is no hiding. And why write anything in a public space that you don’t want to be read?
I like the clean whiteness of this page. At one point today I couldn’t get the page to load. I think that’s a Blogger thing. Who knows? Not me.
It’s late. The day was not the worst. And not the best.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Sometimes I want an alternative place to write. A place where people don’t go expecting the me who has been writing for the past three years. Oddly enough, I find that I am me where ever I write.
I like the new blogger. I’m still wondering about how to use this space.
I’m wondering if I will post today.
I’m adrift and sad.