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Act normal

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grown women who cliche it up like tweens

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flushing bullshit

I’m old. And experienced. I used to think I was deep, but now I don’t care. I used to care a lot. I cared about all the things. Like protest slogans. 

Now it just seems like a fabulous waste of time. People care about things they can’t do anything about to make themselves feel better. 

People also throw curses at people who disagree with them to make themselves feel better. 

I’ve found most people are pretty weak. They take no responsibility for themselves and need to spend their entire lives in padded safe rooms. I’ve never lived my life this way. 

I don’t expect others to bend over backward for my sensibilities. If I even had any. I think I used to have them. When I gave a shit. Women usually have a lot of sensibilities. We’re raised on them. We’re supposed to guard them and grow them so that we can use them like weapons. It makes us miserable, boring people. 

I have few sensibilities left. And those I hope go too. I do have what I consider “decency” but that involves trying not to judge people. Because judging is caring, and I’m done caring. 

I think I suffered a curse yesterday I have a cold and it got much, much worse. Then a power surge restarted my computer. Someone desperately trying to get my attention. 

I might do magic, but cursing isn’t something I do. I have no use for that. I trained in positive intentions. Healing the world and the lost, wounded soul of humanity. That was always my mission. Truth, healing, evolution. Not the evil eye, like a common criminal or twelve-year-old girl. Really, curses are so middle school. I don’t even fight back. 

Karma takes care of evil intentions on its own. I might say a lot of bullshit, but my intentions are above reproach. I have a high level of purity and it insulates me from, well, everything. 

Intentions are everything. People who need to attack for no reason prove how weak they are. They harm themselves far more than anyone else. 

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Abnormal love

I love someone. I love him like I’ve never loved anyone. It makes me weep when I think about everything he’s done for me and my children. It makes me cry because I shouldn’t love him. I divorced him and moved across the country to get as far away from him as I could. 

And he let me go. He told me to go. He didn’t even fight me about taking our daughter. It only took a few weeks before I wanted to come home. But he didn’t want me to come back. For years, I wanted to leave the city we lived in. He never listened to me. But when I left, he followed. He left behind everything he knew, his friends, his business, everything. 

He came to live in a shitty little apartment to be near me and our daughter. I think he meant to drink himself to death. 

When we were together, he could never tell me what I mean to him. He still can’t, to be honest. My love isn’t romantic. But he is who I love. He gets me. We get each other. Even if we don’t always get along. 

That’s an understatement. When our communication breaks down, we are horrible to each other. He drinks and says terrible things. He breaks my heart. The worst is when he tells me he doesn’t love me. 

My baby has a brain disorder like mine. It’s just on the opposite side. He’s autistic. And it took a long time for him to come to terms with that. He’s finally opened the door to that reality, but it took years. 

He isn’t allowed to verbally abuse me. We’re going to have separate rooms, and he knows he has to slow down on the drinking. Expecting him to quit is unrealistic. But I do expect him to control himself around me and our daughter. 

He might be a messed up person who has hurt me, but I don’t care. I love him and I won’t apologize for it. I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth. I’ll hold his hand through the storm. Even if it’s his or mine. 

I don’t know why I feel the need to justify my love. But it might have something to do with the fact that I write romance novels for a living. And our love story would never be something you could write a romance novel about. 

I know what romance novels are, and it’s not this. Romance is about a woman getting everything she wants from a man. I’ve written and read enough of them to know that. 

Not that I ever really enjoyed them. I do it for money. I started writing to make money to get away from him. Ironically. Because, as much as I love him and have always loved him, he’s a massive dick. 

I’m not making apologies for this. And I’m not asking for permission. If you love someone, you have to accept who they truly are. 

We’ve worked very hard on our communication problems. We have agreements. I made him agree to a fine if he verbally abuses me. The threat of losing money woke him up and made him realize how serious it is to me. It only took ten years. 

I also agreed to sleep in separate rooms. We both need our space from each other. Also, nothing like a romance novel. 

The reason I bring this up is that I’ve been trying to change my business model for a long time. Since before I got back together with my ex-spouse. Because romance bores me. I’ve never been a fan. I do it for money and money alone. 

But getting out of romance is hard as hell. And I think it’s mostly psychological. I was on a writers forum recently, trying to get past this, but the people there just kept giving me the same old bullshit. 

Some dude decided to shit all over a story idea that I had. Something that was actually a solid story. But he was a know it all and threw me out of my work. So that in turn made me act even more annoying, as will happen if I can’t work. 

So the romance hags started talking shit about my problems in another forum. If I’m so nothing, then why are they reading my private journal? Anyway, I refuse to give those assholes my juice anymore. 

If i want to spaz out and complain about my life, I will. I’ll just do it far away from anything that is associated with my business. Authors are assholes and author forums are havens for bullshit. 

At this point, places like that have nothing to offer. I need to journal about my life and my worries and all the shit in my head without some asshole taking it personally. If you don’t like what I have to say, don’t come to my thread. It’s pretty simple. But assholes like that doesn't work that way. They own the world don’t you know. 

I guess that forum is just a place for them to feel superior. Because, honestly, there wasn’t really much else going on there. 

It certainly didn’t give me anything useful in any direct way. What it did teach me was to stop going to author forums. To stop depending on others’ for direction or information or anything. 

All the information is already out there. No author will be able to tell me anything I can’t figure out myself ten times faster. 

So, what does this have to do with my abnormal love? Everything. I write about love. And I can’t write about my love. It isn’t the right love. It’s not a proper romance. Clearly, that makes writing romance a challenge. 

As a romance author, I’m supposed to present myself in social media like I have this perfect happily ever after life. When my life is nothing like that. I might as well pretend to be a man or a spaceship captain. It’s an equal level of fiction.  

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http://iglovequotes.net/

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BUBBLY

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LAVA SHOT

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ttazn666  -   http://drawr.net/sarnath  -  http://electroillusion.tumblr.com  -  https://twitter.com/ttazn666  -  http://www.poocg.com/sarnath/index  -  http://zhongbiao.deviantart.com  -  https://www.instagram.com/electroillusion  -  https://www.facebook.com/%E5%B9%BB%E9%9B%BB%E6%94%BE%E6%98%A0-316760638491044

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Kamikaye  -  https://www.facebook.com/Kamikaye-101054096763909  -  https://www.instagram.com/kamikaye1337  -  http://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=2535244

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living with repressed energy

Oddly, I’ve studied energy. But I never thought of it in terms of my brain. Spending my life trying to behave has led me to as many bad decisions as good ones. Trying to be “normal” when you aren’t, makes you deeply unhappy. It makes you constantly second guess yourself until you are living a shadow of your own life. 

I have no idea how to use this platform. All I know is that my mind needs an outlet. I want other people to see what I have to say. I’ve been journalling since I was a young teen. I drew pictures and captured my thoughts. 

After so many years of writing to the world, I somehow need to have people hear what I have to. say. I don’t know why it is. That need to shout into the wilderness of the internet. Maybe it is the narcissism of the current era, maybe it is mine alone. 

I’ve been telling my spouse I’m working on my narcissism. To stop acting so humble. I’ve been working so long to suppress myself, I don’t even know what it is anymore. 

I want to let my energy out. Doing this writing doesn’t make me money. I don’t have any expectation of a following. I don’t care if anyone reads these words. It is the shout into the dark. Dropping my soul into the bucket that is the collective mind online. 

If I could let myself, I wonder what I would do. Where I would go. Who I would be? So many things have tied me down through my life, always tugging on the cords of expectations, reigning me in. 

I should be writing outlines right now. Or maybe not. Maybe this is just what I need to be doing. Not caring. shouting out loud. Anonymous. Behind the screen. like all the rest. 

It is so good to not care. On a runaway train in the dark. Deep into the well of life. Where the juices are. Where there is pain and hope and despair and love and all the ups and downs and twists a heart can bear. 

What else is there to want? To live happily ever after? What is it to be happy? It has to be punctuated with hunger. Pain. You cannot feel up without down. The adventure must go on. There is always more to learn. To know. To grow into. To understand. The truth is yet to be revealed. The veil of magic is still over our eyes. 

We have yet to know who we truly are. Evil still lurks in four the corners of the globe. There are no answers. Only questions. Where is there constant happiness? The adventure goes on.

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i like intense things

I do. I really like them. Like, like like them. Intense music. Intense people. Intense conversations. Intense love. Intense sex. Intense experiences. Intense ideas. I like to be excited. Aroused. Provoked. I want to turn it on and never stop. I want to. be in the flow. Going. Going Going. 

But I usually fall asleep at about 10pm lately. I’m living the life of a middle-aged mom. I don’t really know how to describe the live wire inside me, but middle-aged mom doesn’t do it. 

But that’s my life. I love my kids. More than anything. But the life I’m supposed to be happy with. Well, it is anything but intense. Unless you consider wiping someone’s butt intense. 

And I’m supposed to be happy with this. Playgrounds. Gossip about other women. Conversations about my husband and everything he. doesn’t do right. 

Snore. Who cares? I don’t. I’d rather stab myself than start a conversation with the average mom at the playground. Do I think I’m better than them? No. It has nothing to do with that. But the second I. open my mouth, I’ll have to edit myself. Edit. Edit. Edit. 

I came in a pretty package. Something between a cheerleader and a trophy wife. But what comes out is... I’m not sure. Not that. Maybe closer to Howard Stern. Problem is, I’m actually so nice. Like, really really sweet. 

I just can’t care about stupid boring shit. I want to. shake everyone up all the god damned time. I don’t know why. If I could stop. I probably would. It would make life easier if. I just wanted what I’m supposed to. 

I suck at life but I do so many things other people are jealous of. I just think. just do it. and stop trying to be. normal. Normal doesn’t get you amazing. Although, sometimes it. does. If you have just the right brand of normal, you can ride that shit to. the bank. And they do love to talk about it. 

“Yes. My normal is THE normal so deal with it bitches.”

I just don’t care. I don’t think I’m even a feminist anymore. 

I’m so tired of trying to make men into women. It’s a very poor use of time. Why would you do that? Men are so much more fun anyway. I’d rather let them say mean shit and look at big boobs in video games. 

But, that doesn’t exactly make me popular. I’m also not particularly popular with men either because I hate being patronized by ppl who think that just because I’m a spazzy weirdo, that I’m dumb. 

Spazzy weird men aren’t called ditzes. They’re considered super deep and interesting.  

I’m fine with coming across ditzy if I can at least be myself. A person who can’t sit still. A person who can’t be normal and doesn’t want to. I need to suck the juice out of life. I need to feel deeper. Know truth. Hold the universe in my hand and have it throbbing to the beat inside me. 

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Gucci

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I am a speck in a beam of 

l i g h t.

The majestic Milky Way rises above a Pohutukawa tree on New Zealand’s Mimiwhangata Bay.

Mac Elliott Media

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ABGT100 | WE’RE ALL WE NEED

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I don't care.

me