Sobbing, But Not Crying

Earlier in the day dad had asked to ask a question of me without a sarcastic response.

“Why do I sprinkle the salt from so high when cooking my food?”

He has asked me this before and I always felt like he was antagonizing me. Without thinking about the question at length, I answered him as seriously as I could, “I don’t know.”

While sitting here knitting, I pondered his question and finally realized why I do sprinkle the salt from so high: because there are two shakers – I am completely unaware of which is which – one sprinkles fast, one slow and I can’t fucking see.

Serious Truth: I sprinkle salt from high so I can see the sprinkles in the light and know how much salt is going into my food.

I just went over to my parents house to cook some Ramen Noodles (5 for $.99) for lunch. I approached my dad and said: “The reason I keep giving you a sarcastic response is because you keep asking me a sarcastic question – seriously, in what world does sprinkle height correlate to taste? Before I could continue with the discovered truth to his question, he interrupted me with his normal tirade about cleaning up after one’s self after cooking. I replied that when “everyone else – specifically, my fat-assed, active-addict – started cleaning up after themselves, I might be even more detailed. I kept the rest inside.

Now between you and me, I clean every time after I cook. Sometimes, by the time I get back to my garage, to eat with Mojo, the food is cold. Sometimes, I clean the microwave. Sometimes I clean the sink. Sometimes, I clean the stove. In my head, I feel like my dad is being unreasonable. I know he is right, and I would have explained that to him if he had not interrupted. I will pay more attention, but he could’ve been nicer about how he was communicating that to me.

Adding fuel to his inner fury is my brother – back from more “research,” which has thrown my mother into co-dependant mode. I am just as furious and completely disgusted at my mother’s and brother’s relationship dynamic. It is sickening to see.

Talking about all this with my cousin, I do see how my dad is acting out from his fury – for me: identified by the fact that my brother has not been welcomed back into their home this time – and I am making it personal. Still, my heart is broken (big time seriously, I am actually sobbing, but not crying) at the realization of who I had become, especially at the horizon of another layer being peeled away, when I am trying to change who I had become to the person I really am.

I am feeling like no one is there for me, not even my family. Here is another example: There are three recliners in the tv room: Mom, Dad, Guest. At first Mojo and I would go over to watch tv with them at time. Our visits became less frequent as I noticed the cup holder on the guest chair was always occupied with my father’s drink. Next – and I perfectly agree – Mojo was no longer welcome; indicated by no invitations to sit in dad’s lap anymore. Not a word has been said about Mojo, but I have stopped on my own, taking him over. I got the message loudly passively and aggressively.

I just don’t know what to do. My immediate plan: stay home…until dinner time. I hate to go over angry. My cousin says I should have accepted her invitation to breakfast this morning. When I though about it, she was right: had I gone to breakfast, I never would have had to cook this morning, prompting the question at all. I declined, claiming financial insecurity.

Moral of the Story: Say yes to the universe and universe will say yes to you!

Calling for housing assistance again.

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Truth Regarding Mass Shootings & Massacres

Like it or not, this is my response to the events unfolding in Las Vegas.

My Truth: As long as…

  • there is a 1%
  • humans are divided by race instead of united by species
  • military bombs the hell out of the planets surface
  • the outer space becomes littered with spacecraft
  • the American government continues to kills its constituents through lack of decent healthcare as a right
  • this world falls into disrepair

…we are going to need this more often.

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Obesssion is essential to creativity

Obsession

ob·ses·sion

noun

  1. the state of being obsessed with someone or something.
  2. an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s mind.

As I sit here at my desk, crocheting a onesie for my future grand nephew, I am realizing how fucking lonely I am: I am crocheting through my pain. My thoughts keep going back to companionship (sexual, intimate). My mind keeps telling me to make another personal ad, but then I start thinking of all the negative aspects about myself that will keep males from responding: HIV+, herpes, obesity, impotence, etc.

I also think: you have 500 mg of marijuana edible; drop that with two bananas and enjoy the day. Sounds good to me! I love altered states, especially marijuana states because it makes me mellow. However, it also makes me crave male companionship even more.

I realize that I am constantly focus on sex. When I meet people and I am attracted to them, I immediately wonder what he looks like naked, how good he would be, now nasty, how dominant, how submissive, how passionate, etc. Because of this, I don’t know how to relate; it might be a different story if I was pleasantly attractive to others, but we’ll never know, so let’s not go there.

I think about calling my only friend, my cousin, to see what she is doing since I know I have received my SSI deposit, but then my logical brain says to pay my bills first.

My Truth: I need to get back to my crochet; at least I am being productive. Might as well get high also; make a boring, eventless, routine day more pleasant. Besides, I already have laundry in the washing machine.

Searching for the feature image for this post, the one I chose made me feel better, despite lack of understanding. I am a creator and I suppose I can become obsessed with pattern testing, development, etc, but that is good; my sexual obsession is not and I do things that I am not comfortable with, but anything to achieve my end goal: intimate companionship.

Enough!

Obesssion is essential to creativity

Obesssion is essential to creativity