Work’s keeping me hopping.  Getting in shape and cooking a decent dinner is keeping me hopping—on one foot.  I feel that I don’t have the time to put forth decent posts.  The desire to do so is still here, however, the time is extremely limited as I write for a RPG group, play a little WoW, and spend some time unwinding.

It seems lately that all my posts have been about updating what’s going on in my uninteresting life, or complaining, or being more than a little insecure.  That’s not what I am.  (Well, ok, I AM a bit whiny and insecure, but I do have a heart of gold underneath it all. Sorry, that issue is under construction.  Probably have it fixed in the year 2020.)

What I need to get back to is entertaining stories, not the fluff that makes up part of my life.  Little tidbits of fun.  Not dire news of a personal nature.  Fun, fun and more fun. With a bit of snarkiness to spice things up.

Yeah!   Time to get out of Funkville. Bleh!

The terms: Idiots, imbeciles, and morons are not synonymous.

Idiot is less than a 25 I.Q

Imbecile is in the 25-50 range

Moron is 50-75.

So if someone calls you an idiot, then a moron, you can thank them for upgrading your intelligence.  Information supplied courtesy of my medical dictionary.

Have you ever felt lost inside so unloved within that you almost die? —Shinedown, Stranger Inside

I listened to that at work today, and it resonated inside my brainpan as depressing lyrics often do. That struck a chord in me because that was true for me for a long time. I felt unloved when I looked in a mirror. I felt unloved with my own family. I felt unloved in my own skin…and it was killing me from the inside.

I guess one day I woke up and realized my self doubts were not just bringing me down, they were like vines, clinging and choking me until I didn’t know which way was up. I thought my self esteem would always be low, that I would never amount to anything other than a waste of space.

I was wrong. I was also wrong about once it got to a point where it was good, that it would always be good. I was mega wrong about that. For me, it’s a constant battle. I have to continously monitor against negativity. I mean continously, too. It is easier to just lay down and let the negative thoughts aka “demons” swarm over me.

Let me tell you, I’m not the kind of person who does things the easy. Just ask my roommate.

It’s just been one of those days where nothing is right. Nothing I do or say is right. It makes me curl up into a fetus position and just want to vanish. Poof! Yeah. That kind of day right there. Yesterday was bad too. Tomorrow? It’s another day, full of potential, either good or malicious.

Also, I have to add, I get tired of people’s promises to do this or follow through with that. Words are cheap. From now on, I want action. My new motto is: Don’t tell me, show me. If you can’t, let me know. Everything, honest, will be cool. Just don’t say it then give up on what you intend to do. Otherwise, I’ll start to think you’re flakey and unreliable. You don’t want that.

I have a tendency to move on from friends that consistently are unreliable. Can’t trust them, so there’s no basis for friendship. Without trust, there is no relationship. I have been burned many times before, and I Why do I always seem to attract oddly flucuating ( by flucuating, I mean vacilating…or is it ..unstable..Yeah, that’s the word!) people? I know I’ve asked that question before.

Maybe it really is me. Maybe I just hold people to unattainable standards….or…..I just live in some weird world with weird expectations.

I’m tired of hoping.

Twilight By Stephanie Meyer

Twilight has quite possibly the most annoying lead female character. Ever. Even more annoying than …well, Hermione Granger. Or Lisa Simpson at the peak of her case of know-it-all-itis. It’s more than Bella Swan–hideous name– being annoying…she’s not interesting. She’s blah, meh and craptacular all rolled up into one teenybopper package.

Really, this book is pure drivel. I couldn’t even make it halfway through before throwing it to the floor in self loathing. A pox! A pox on that book. I have never hated a book as much as I hate this one. It’s…just horrible. I can’t believe I wasted six whole bucks on it.

There are no likeable characters (I know, I know..I like the Punisher, but at least I can see where he came from. Hey, at least he’s interesting too.) that entice me to care for them. And if I don’t like the characters, I’m not going to enjoy the book. And if that book serves as romantic inspiration for young women…. I feel sorry for the men they’ll meet.

This novel has either been written by a hack….or a thousand monkeys high on crack. You pick what you want…but I’m going with the latter.

To anyone that likes this book, hip hip hooray….it’s just not my cup of crack tea.

I hesitate to write about this because it is rather embarrassing and involves a really mean old teacher who should have never entered the profession.

He was my fifth grade teacher, who often grumbled and yelled at the worse students. (Of which I was one.) He often put the three worse homework assignments on the board for everyone to see. And yes, my work usually had “pride of place” on the chalkboard.

I didn’t care. Even having him tell me to my face that I did not do good failed to get me to care more. Forbidding me to not read in class didn’t do the trick either. I’m not (and never have been) the kind of person to force into anything. Either I’ll do it or I won’t. Note to other people: Generally, if you ask nice, I will do it. Give me attitude, and I never will. Without good reason, that is.

I think he was an old school teacher; shame a kid and that should be motivation for the kid to perform better. As I mentioned, it’s hard for me to care about doing well for people I do not like. So that sort of old theory doesn’t work on me. Did I ever mention that I’m a particularily strong-willed person? You know now, and knowing is half the battle.

Damn that G.I Joes cartoon….that motto has been permanently emblazoned on my tender gray matter.

I digress.

One day, I had to go to the bathroom. I really had to go. I asked three times, politely. He said that I could go during recess. Looking back, I think I should have just gone anyway, but I didn’t want to risk the board of education being brought out. (Yes, I went to school back in the day where that was permissible. I was sent to the principal’s office at least once a week. And yes, I had behavioral problems.)

I couldn’t hold it and I lost it all over the floor. Of course, he let me sit in it until recess. Then it was taken care of by me on my hands and knees.

My parents were mad at the teacher, as they should have been, and I don’t know what they said, but he never yelled at me after that. No “bad” homework was put up on chalkboard, and the next year….he retired.

Err. This isn’t a post about a crudtacular pop band. It’s about a panic attack at work. Oh boy.

Had one at work. At a office “Christmas” party in a small room with twenty co-workers. If you could call a raffle a party….

Anyway, I just felt so crowded by people. The room was spinning and people were getting louder and louder. I made some snipy comments…when all I really wanted to do was get under the table and vanish. My panic attacks usually include heavy breathing, but there have been times I felt as if I were having a heart attack. I also have PTSD, Agoraphobia, and Social Anxiety Disorder…Whee!

Some of my co-workers looked at me like I was a freak. Yeah, I am, but I’m a person too.

I confided in my supervisor later, and told her that I was sorry for any misconstrued comments, and she said that she understood. Let’s hope she does.

This is where I’d say that it sucks to be me, but it doesn’t. I still love me…for the most part….panic attacks and all.

Sometimes it just feels like such a struggle to make it through the day. Of course, some of my lack of energy may stem from the fact I have a 250lb frame, but I won’t go there. Yet.

Lately, it’s been really hard to go to work, to find the motivation to keep soldiering on in the rat race. I have no choice, really, but I find myself dreading the work week. Once I’m at work, I’m glad to be there. I’m thankful that I have a job that pays and treats me well. Honestly, I love the people and I like the job I do.

Why then, do I feel so resentful when I don’t want to go to work? Here’s one of my mental conversations:

I don’t want to go to work. I want freedom; I want to be free of corporate America. I want to write–this job is sapping my creativity. I want to learn and grow.

I know that’s a real mature attitude to have, but hey, it’s the one that’s currently in production by my psyche. (Or where ever ‘tudes come from.)

Let’s face it. I can want to write until my skin turns blue. Wanting never pays the bills. Here’s another dose of self-esteem killing reality; Only popular writers end up making a living from their craft. And never, ever in my life have I been popular. I’m liked, appreciated for me, but I am not a popular person.

Heck, I couldn’t even hold onto the pack of friends that Dustin introduced me to. Adonis, I am more than sure, thinks I’m a freak. (As people have mentioned to me, no one is going to find a 250 pounder attractive. And I have certainly acted goofy enough to scare him off.) Some have moved away. Some have refused my gentle advances to be friends–as a rule, I ask to hang out only twice. Then I get the hint and move on. Some refuse to even get to know Dustin has endorsed as a good friend. Not that I particularily blame them….he has burned a lot of people….but still. It’s a little unfair.

Bitterness and a cynical nature have permeated me lately, bogging me down. I don’t like being bitter. I like being sarcastic, but that’s not the same thing. I’m going to have to find my brightness again. I know it’s here somewhere, dimmed by dreams that may never be and bills that never end.

Regarding my social life? I’m just going to keep on looking until I find the friends to whom I belong.

Work has taken its toll on my central processing unit, otherwise known as my mind.   Enjoy the ‘Best Of”‘

I have no Brain
I think It went down the drain
Or drowned in the Oregon rain
Perhaps it got hit by a train

I simply want to entertain
With stories of my everyday pain
Nothing pressing me to complain
Everything I write sounds so inane.

I think it exacerbates depression.

My conclusion: Depression and excessive computer usage is Not a Good Combination. When people start isolating themselves because of depression, they turn to other outlets to fulfill their social needs. Especially chat rooms. Hell, even WoW (and my former outlet for fun and social events—play by email roleplaying) can seemingly fill the need.

I say seemingly because an online life—is ultimately empty. At the end of the day, there will be nothing to show for it. Sure, people do fall in love and get married, form some friendships for life, but 99% of cyber life is unreal. It’s hard to connect to reality when someone is lost in the “Matrix”. It’s easy to feel safe and secure…and to think that the basic human need for like-minded company is being met. It’s easy to pretend that online friends are real friends. Online, you can be and say what you want. No worrying over looks.

It’s seductive, the online life. It really is. But, taken to extremes and it is the only social outlet a person has, it is unhealthy because it distorts what life is about. Growing. Learning. Physical contact with other–hugging, sharing a beer or a tear. The kind of living one can only share in close proximity.

I can say all this because I was afraid to “live life” out loud. I lived my life exclusively for my online time for a long period of time. Yes, maybe that made me what some would call a loser. But, I ripped that capital L from my forehead, starting talking to others, and now I see that real life is so much more precious than my internet identity.

Live and love life, I say.