Scapegoats

It kills me that all my life everything has always been my fault. Everything that I have ever done has been wrong.

What kills me the most is how it still gets to me. This dysfunctional psychological warfare won't stop. I know the only way to make it stop it to make my peace with it and just shut it out of my life, but I can't no matter how hard I try. All the walls I've built around me are completely useless against her. Her words always manage to find their way into my head and pierce my very soul.

She's killing me, piece by piece, bit by bit. I cannot go on this way. The prison I live in gets smaller and smaller everyday and there is no escape. I feel the walls caving in and I struggle for air, pushing myself further into a corner, trying to protect myself. I curl into a ball on the floor and the walls keep closing in. I can see them through my tears, closer and closer. The air is getting thinner, I cannot breathe. I'm getting lightheaded. I'm overwhelmed with feelings of betrayal and guilt. These feelings torment me.

All I want is to be left alone. Why won't they leave me alone....

Doing chores...

I'm finally back from my vacation and it sucks. I wish I could've stayed just a little longer, all that beach and sun really got to me, I wanted to live there forever. There's nothing better in life than lying on the beach and doing nothing.

I've gotten horribly sunburned, even though I used plenty of sunscreen.

I'm lying in bed while I write this blog and honestly, I just don't want to do it. After driving for 5 hours all I want to do is pass out in my bed and sleep till the morning.

And I think that's what I'm going to do...

Offline Post #3

June 29, 2010, 00:42

The crimson moon hung low in the night sky, dark and foreboding. The faint glow settled on the city and as the growing winds wove their way through the streets the last shutters were being closed, creaking against the powerful winds. The air whistled between the tightly knit buildings rattling the closed doors looking for a way in. There was not a soul in the streets tonight. All was quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the fury of the storm building up.

It was a slow night at the tavern, most had gone home at the first sign of the storm. The weather was always unpredictable this time of year and storms were powerful and unyielding. The owner stood being the counter drying ale mugs. He was plump man with a cheerful face, his contagious smile rarely leaving his face. He was a tall man, with board shoulders and a well rounded belly betraying his love for good food and good ale. He laughed heartily and was always quick with a joke but the atmosphere tonight was somber and his lighted-hearted conversation was not to be had tonight. Sullen, he worked in silence.

The tavern was almost empty. The men from the quarry outside the city sat in the middle of tavern talking in low whispers. There were strange happening these days and rumors were plentiful. A few drunken soldiers sat the back guzzling down ale and even though they were noisy, they kept to themselves. They didn’t even bother the waitress, which was rare. An old man sat in the corner by the fireplace smoking a pipe. He was a stranger from out of town and had arrived earlier this morning at the inn above the tavern. He had spoken to no one since he arrived except to order some hot soup and potatoes. He wore a dark cloak that shimmered faintly in the light. It was indeed a slow day for business.

Offline Post #2

June 28, 2010, 02;20

As sleep takes over me I feel my head getting heavy. My vision becomes cloudy and I struggle to keep my eyes open. I cannot think, I cannot see, I cannot hear. All I can feel is the drowsiness. I feel my breathing getting shallow and I fight to stay awake but I know it is futile. I am terrified of what sleep might bring, the dreams that haunt me night after night will come again tonight. There is no escaping them.

I try to stay awake but I can’t. Sleep takes over me like a drug and my eyes refuse to obey. Unwillingly, they are sealed shut and I drift off into dream-filled sleep….

Repressed Memories

Baggage is a horrible thing. We all have baggage, some of us more than others and we learn to deal with them until we can finally unload. I've recently found out that I have a lot of repressed memories from childhood. I don't see a therapist but suddenly out of the blue, these memories came to the surface. I don't know why I suddenly remembered and it was really strange when they came to my attention because for a few seconds, I couldn't even tell that I was actually remembering something that had happened to me. I kept thinking of where I had heard it before or who it had happened to, when it suddenly hit me. This happened to me...

My psychologist friend said to me that the reason it resurfaced was because I hadn't forgiven myself about it. I didn't tell her what it was. I don't forgive myself. There's a lot I don't forgive myself for and I really wish I go back in time and change it.

I think a lot of this has to do with my current boyfriend. He's so good to me and he's such a good person. He would've never done the things that I had done and it makes me feel terribly guilty, makes me feel like I'm not good enough, and that is why all these memories are coming back up. All these horrible things that I had blocked out are coming back to haunt me.

Why can't my skeletons say in the closet where they belong?

Offline Post

June 26th, 2010, 03:29

For some bizarre reason, my connection isn’t working and I’m too sleeply to try and figure it out right now, so I’m writing on off-line post.

I’m finally on holiday and I’ve finally managed to make my way to the beach for a few days and it’s amazing. To know that I don’t have to go to work after the weekend is absolutely brilliant.

My boyfriend is here, which is really nice. We haven’t seen each other for months and it’s so good to be able to spend some quality time together. I hate long distance relationships. Everyone warned me against this, they told me, don’t do long distance, it never works. But I wouldn’t listen. And I’m glad I didn’t listen. As much as I hate the distance and there are times when it’s so frustrating, the times we are together are amazing. He is everything I ever wanted and more.

The thing I like about the distance is somehow I think we’re a lot closer than a lot of couple who live together in the same city. I think it has something to do with the fact that all we can really do is talk and so we talk about everything. The communication is amazing and I don’t think you can get to this level of communication in the time we’ve been together without the distance. It’s all one-on-one. There are no friends to meet, it’s just the two of us. I would recommend long distance to anyone. It does work. So long as you trust each other and you make an effort, it does work. The key is to work the distance into your routine so that you actually talk. We have a set date every Saturday, where we spend the entire day talking on skype. We cook together, we watch tv together and we surf the net together. I know it sounds really cheesy, but it’s about making the best of what you’ve got. If it’s the real thing, it’s totally worth it.

And someday, we will be together. And it’ll be brilliant.

All-nighters

Yesterday I pulled an all-nighter. I haven't done that since college and it feels really strange. I'm exhausted, long day at work yesterday, partying all night, another long day at work today and then dinner with friends.

I'm writing this in bed. Unfortunately I missed yesterday's blog and I feel terrible about it. And a part of me thought, well since I missed yesterday, then it's ruined and I should just quit the whole thing. I'm amazed at my lack of self-discipline (I knew I was bad, but this is something else) and I'm amazed how easily I get discouraged. I don't know, there are some things I would fight for till the bitter end, but others, not so much. And I have no idea what makes something worth fighting for.

I'm not entirely sure what this post is about and I'm ready to pass out. I'm surprised I was able to drive home safely in the first place.

I'll let this post go and just finish it off... Tomorrow I'll make up for yesterday.

I'm going to finish this project if it kills me....

Cleavage - Managing your talents

I went shopping today. Summer has started already and I've decided that I need a new swimsuit. So off I went to the mall during my lunch break and I hit a few stores. I found some really nice swimsuits, and after trying on more than half a dozen, I left disappointed and empty handed. Why, you might ask. I'll tell you why. Because nobody cares about big breasted women! For some bizarre reason, all the top were extremely skimpy! I know all the guys out there are thrilled to hear this, but there are some of us women who are not out there to flaunt what they got. Some of us actually want to look decent...

Don't get me wrong, I think cleavage is brilliant. It's like a woman's super power. No man can resist good cleavage. And I think it's absolutely hilarious when a guy is sitting there trying to pretend like he's not checking out the cleavage. It kills me, in my head I'm just cracking up. But there is a difference, there's classy cleavage and there's trashy cleavage. I, for one, would like to constantly maintain classy cleavage and with the current swimsuit collection in the market, there is no way in hell I can do that. It just doesn't work, not with these babies.

There was a lingerie shop that I went into a couple of years back that had fantastic bra's and as I was looking through them, I realized there was no size written on the tag. I asked the shop attendant, and you know what she said? She said that the entire collection was made up of B cups. An entire store for B cups! And why were there only B cups? Because 75 percent of the women in the city were B cups. What about the other 25 percent? What about those poor women who have wonderful, beautiful big breasts? What the F?! I wonder who came up with that brilliant business plan. For all you well endowed women, you'd be happy to know that shop closed down. I know I was.

Tomorrow I'm off again to find the perfect bikini. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that somewhere out there, someone appreciates classy cleavage...

Conformity

Conformity has never been one of my strong points. I've never really been able to be the person I was expected to be. When I was a child in school I really made an effort to stand out. I didn't want to be like everyone else. As I got older, my non-conformity got worse. I did everything, from skipping school to smoking cigarettes to becoming a goth. I gravitated towards those like me, the rebels.

I am much older now, but not much the wiser. Even though I shed my Gothic clothes, got a mainstream job and live the fairly mundane life of a conformist, I still find way to fight against the current. My current battle right now, is of course, the persistent topic of marriage.

My family is far from normal, in fact, I think they're quite dysfunctional. But from an outside point of view, we are the symbol of normality. We all have regular jobs, regular cars, live in a nice house, and we go on nice family vacations. We are one big happy family. We are happy, as long as we don't think too hard about the things that bother us.

Unfortunately, I'm not like that. I think too hard about everything. There is nothing I don't think about and being the grouch that I am, I think about the things that bother me a lot. Like I said, I'm a non-conformist. I refuse to be anyone other than who I want to be, and I refuse to do anything I don't actually want to do. One of those things happens to be marriage.

In the society I live in, a woman's success is solely based on the husband she lands. It's a status symbol and it's the ultimate goal to be reached. It's gotten so bad that if you're not married by the age of 25, you're considered a spinster. Naturally, I've over 25 and I am most definitely not married. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against getting married, I'm just against getting married for the sake of getting married.

So as a spinster, it is my apparent duty to meet the ever so attractive suitors who come to call, and oh how attractive they are. I've seen it all. I've seen the guys who were more than 10 years older than me, the divorced with kids, the fat slobs, and the mama boys. I've seen it all. Yes, it is entertaining sometimes and makes for some funny stories to tell my friends over drinks but it can get so frustrating. The worst part is, the reason all these men are incompatible with me is because I refuse to conform. It all comes back to this issue of conformity. Why can't I be like the other girls? Why can't I dress like them? Why do I have to be so loud? Why do I have to be so opinionated? Do I have to be so wild and out of control?

I suddenly feel like I'm in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. That is of course what I am, a shrew. I am headstrong and I am stubborn. And unfortunately for the modern day Petruchio, I cannot be tamed. Reverse psychology is lost on me and hunger... well let's just say when I was told to eat my veggies or there'd be nothing else, I opted for nothing else.

More creative stuff...

He stood trembling in the chill night air. He was thoroughly drenched from the fleeting summer storm that just passed as he cross the open plains. There was no cover from the rain and the heavy drops seem to bore into his very soul. He was cold and hungry, his supplies had run out the day before and there was very little in the way of food on the plains. His hunting skills were far from apt, growing up in the palace had did him little good. Alone, cold and scared, he began to walk again, rubbing his arms for warmth. He felt miserable and the creeping sense of self-pity began working its way into his already troubled mind. This was not what he wanted, not what he expected. He left his home looking for adventure, fairytale dreams to heroism and honor. Instead, all he had found was betrayal, loss, and pain. He body was at the brink of collapse. He would not be able to walk much longer. He only hoped he could make it to the mountains up ahead where he could find shelter against the cold billowing winds.

As he trudged along the open plains he thought of the days past. All his memories began to merge together so that it all seemed like a blur. He could not make sense of all that had happened and somewhere deep inside, something snapped. It only took a brief moment but the damage was irreparable. He did not realize what had happened and he could never fully comprehend what transpired, but as he felt bitterly cold and alone, a part of him broke loose. A part of him that had laid dormant for all these years, buried deep inside him surfaced. There was no struggle as it was set free. It would protect him. It would punish those that hurt him.

A deadly warmth started following through his veins. He could feel it move slowly from somewhere deep inside his chest and running through his entire body. There was a moment of terror in his mind as felt it take over but the terror quickly subsided, barely noticeable, and then his mind receded completely drugged and numb.

Self-discipline

Like I said, keeping this blog is going to be harder than I thought. I've had a really long day and it's past midnight. I am really exhausted. I think I'll pass out the moment my head hits the pillow, but since I've made a deal with myself to write everyday, I have to write everyday. There is no escaping, I guess.

One of my friends says I should change it. That I should maybe limit it to four times a week instead, that way it won't feel like such a chore and I'll have more fun doing it. I can see how that logic makes some sense, but I think I need to do this, to get this self-discipline, work the idea of writing everyday into my routine so that I can finally finish that damn book I started more than two years ago. I think that I need to stop making excuses, like I'm tired or I've got writers block, or that I don't feel inspired, and just write. There is no such thing as writer's block. It's all in the habit.

At least that's what I tell myself and I just tell my friend that she's not being supportive enough...

I don't know if this anonymous thing is a good idea though. A part of me really wants an opinion. I need some feedback, but my brother tells me that if I tell no one about this, then I'll never get any feedback. No one will ever read it. How do these blog things work? Do people just randomly hit blogs and read stuff? Or only the popular blogs get circulated? Will anyone ever read this blog?

Locked in my own prison

I'm in love and I have been for the past year. It's a wonderful feeling that takes over me. I daydream all time and all I can think about is us being together. It's all I want. It's like my entire being is dedicated to this one cause, to be together, to spend every waking hour together and then fall asleep in each other's arms.

I've been in love before but not like this. There is something about this love that is different. It is everything. It's calm and peaceful, it's passionate and wild, it's tempting, it's comforting, it's young and it is old. It's everything rolled into one and I cannot get over it. I believe deep in my heart, in my soul, that we will be together forever. We are one.

But this love is terrifying me. It's scares the life out of me. A love like this is so powerful and I cannot resist it. I cannot resist anything. It reduces me to a trembling mass of emotions that I cannot control. I would gladly give my life to make him smile. His happiness is all I care about and that is what scares me. That I would give away everything to make him happy, that my own existence is so inconsequential. I am terrified of losing myself.

In any relationship there is some kind of battle for power, no matter how hard couples refuse to admit it. There is always that constant power struggle and ultimately the person who cares less is the person with the power. For the life of me, I cannot figure out who cares more in this relationship, and I worry that he has the power and that he would use it for selfish reasons. Even though he has never given me reason to doubt him and doubt his intentions, there is a part of me that is really struggling to hold back, to keep a part of me hidden away, but I can't. He uncovers my soul in ways that I didn't think possible. He sees me more naked than I was the day I was born and there is nothing I can do to change that no matter how hard I try.

I need to have some kind of protection against him. He is invincible. He is all seeing, all hearing. He knows every single thought that goes through my head, every feeling in my soul, every beat of my heart. I am a prisoner of his love and I can never break free...

I am a prisoner inside myself. His love has imprisoned me and I cannot escape. It's both suffocating and comforting. The walls that I have built around myself all these years seem to crumble and fall in his presence but somehow, not having these walls is an even worse prison that the one I built for myself. I am tormented by my need to stay and my need to go....I cannot decide.... It is an impossible to decision... Can someone please help me? Help me make peace with myself?

Water.... oh dear water...

There is nothing I love more than the beach. It is by the far the most amazing thing in the whole wide world. If I could, I would live in the sea. I have daydreamed countless times about being a mermaid, I think I should've been born a mermaid.

I love everything about the beach. The sand, the water, the cool breeze, the sun... I love it all. Unfortunately, I don't live by the beach, but thankfully, I'm lucky enough to have parents who have a house at the beach. I've just arrived and I'm sitting enjoying the salt-filled breeze, the view of the water, listening to the crashing waves. Here is where I belong. I am one with the world.

And I love swimming at night, when it's pitch black and the only senses I have are my hearing and the feeling in my skin. The water is warm especially after sunset, and the cool breeze is chilling, the sound of waves crashing are everywhere, and somehow, in the darkness, I feel peace. I think the reason I love the beach at night is the feeling it gives me. I feel really small surrounded by the vastness of the sea, just a speck of nothing in the midst of all this greatness, how inconsequential I truly am. I am awed by the magnitude of it all, how in one swift moment, the current can pull me under, and then I am no more. It's scary, it's terrifying, and it's invigorating. It makes me feel alive.

I once heard that all those who drown go straight to heaven, that the fate of drowning is one that is so horrifying that there is no need anymore for that person to pay for his sins. For anyone who has chocked on a morsel of food, those few moments where you cannot breathe are indeed the worst.

As deceptive and turbulent as the sea is, I cannot help but feel a constant yearning for it, to have my body immersed in it and let it take me away to where it wishes to take me.... It is home, and if I could, I would like my body to be given back to the sea once I've left this world, to be my final resting place.

Some creative writing, maybe?

It was a hot summer day and the noon sun offered no mercy. The sky was cloudless, clear and bright blue. Hot winds carrying dust blew across the fields and the yellow grass swayed reluctantly.
The sweltering heat was unbearable. He was sweating profusely soaking his last clean shit. He paused for a few seconds to catch his breath and looked around. The land was dry and dying. Nothing could survive this heat. Nothing should need to bear this heat. Sighing and shaking his head, he shouldered his heavy pack and kept going.

He had been traveling for five days now and still no sign of them. He had been able to follow their tracks for the first day and half of the second but soon their tracks led into the Moonshine Forest. He tracked them as best he could, and there was no better tracker, but navigating the forest was a daring feat. They must have been really scared to dare venture into the forest. They must be running from something really terrifying.

He had followed them into the forest and spent three days trying to find their trail but it was impossible. The undergrowth was so thick and the trees so tall that the canopy above let in little light. He traveled through the forest using all his senses except sight. The perpetual mist was very deceptive and played tricks on the mind. There was no sign of them anywhere.

After three days he gave up and made his way out of the forest. There was no point in getting lost in there himself. He would have to find them some other way. If they were running from something, there was only one place to run to, the coast. He decided it was best to make his way there keeping as close to the edge of the forest as possible. He would spot their track if they left the forest and could follow them from there. If not, he would wait for them at the coast. A week, maybe two. If they don't make it by then, then they would most probably be dead. He would take his chances. He can always track them again if they slip past him this time and next time he'll make sure to see them buried.

Does everyone need to be bilingual now?

Yes the world is getting smaller. Most major cities now are filled to the brim with people from all over the world, imported products are everywhere, and it's almost a necessity to speak another language to get a decent job, that other language usually is English.

I've been blessed with a really good education where I've learned how to speak not 2 languages, but 3 and for that I am grateful.

Others, unfortunately have not been so lucky. I think it's perfectly fine to speak only one language, provided that's the language being used in the country you live in. Where I have a problem is when you're in the right place, speak the right language, but somehow a foreign language gets through with no subtitles and you make assumptions. Never assume people. If it's in a language you don't understand, don't assume.

Let me give you an example to illustrate. I don't really treat myself often, but every so often, I decide what the hell, let me spend some money on me... So I get off work and head off to the nail salon to get an manicure and pedicure. So I'm sitting there, getting the royal treatment, my feet soaking in some warm water while the lady starts working on my hands, when I notice something odd about the label on the bottle of cream she's using. So I pick it up and read it. There's no translation on the bottle, it's all in English (and I live in a country where the official language is as far away from English as can be) and on the label it says: "Cream for the Strong, Happy Man" (okay that's not exactly what it said, I don't really remember it word for word, but it was something along those lines).
Anyway, I read the back and it's a cream that helps improve blood circulation down there, thus making a guy last longer. Now the problem is, the lady doesn't speak a word of English, not one, and she's using this cream away as skin moisturizer and it just killed me! I'm sitting there thinking I'm getting moisturizer on my skin, but instead my foot is being treated as a failed penis! Do those things really work? Should I worry? Will I wake up tomorrow morning with two penises where my feet should be? That could get a little awkward.... I don't know how they'd fit in my shoes... I think my boyfriend might have a problem with it too.... and I have such nice shoes...

I wanted to scream at her, how the hell could she use something when she doesn't know what it is. Isn't that like the basic rule? I mean when we were young, the older kids would always try to trick us into saying things that we didn't know the meaning of, like swear words, which of course ended up as soap in our mouths. Did that teach us nothing?

And does that mean that from now on everyone has to know more than one language? Why isn't their mother tongue enough? And what happens, when slowly, you replace the foreign language, be it English, French, or Spanish, to your mother tongue, so that you speak the foreign language better? What happens then? Is your identity tied to your language?

Well, I am grateful I speak more than one language and I'm grateful for perfectly painted nails, even if it took penis cream to get them that way.

The Key to Success - Whining

Yes, whining. That is indeed the key to success, and if you mix some ass-kissing with that, you've really got it made.

I work for one of those big corporations, you know the ones where they are constantly advertising about how they care about the environment and what they're doing to reduce their carbon footprint. About the employees and how they're what makes the company work, their most valued "possession". About the customers and how their main aim is to serve them, to help them with their business. Yes I work for one of those corporations, where in fact, they are probably contributing to half the pollution on this planet, they couldn't give a rat's ass about the employees (they can always replace them, and let's face it, when it comes to big companies, everyone is replaceable), and they're looking for any opportunity to swindle some money out of customers (help them with their business, yea right, bite me).

I've been with this company for a good number of years and I've climbed up the food chain quite a bit, so really I shouldn't be complaining. But I am. I'm not complaining that I'm underpaid (which I am) or that I work long hours (which I do, without getting overtime), or that my boss may occasionally take credit for my work (hey it happens everywhere). Nope, I'm not complaining about any of that.

I'm complaining about the complainers. I've noticed that the more your complain, the more people pat you on the back, the bigger your raise, and the faster you climb up that stinking ladder.

I'm one of those people who works in silence. I do my job, I do it well, and I never complain about having too much to do. The way I see it, it's what I'm paid to do. Today, I've learnt that that is not the right way to go. No wonder I'm underpaid! In fact, what I should be doing is complain. I should complain about the workload, about the working conditions, about the job, about the coffee, just complain. That way I'll give the impression that I'm really contributing, that I go out of my way to help the company and that I work harder than anyone else.
Perception is reality after all.

And what I really don't get are the people who really care about companies like my company, who make an honest effort to find ways to swindle money from customers, who look for any way to line the pockets of those on top. And they do it in the name of the company. They do it for the greater good. What greater good? Since when was more money the greater good?
People who do that and complain... oh they're the worst. They got it all. Their souls have shriveled up and died a long time ago. In fact, they killed them and buried them six feet under and then pissed on their graves. Their souls couldn't even make it into soul heaven because of how wretched these people really are.

One day, one day, I'm going to make it out of this godforsaken corporate world....
It's okay little soul, don't die, I'll save you....

Smoking - The Disease

I'm a smoker. Not a particularly heavy smoker, but a smoker nonetheless. I've been smoking since I was 16. Yes, I did start at a young age.
Back when I started smoking, it was really no big deal. Yes only the "bad" kids did it, but it was really no big deal. It wasn't cool or anything, but it wasn't viewed so negatively as it is today.

I come from a long line of smokers. My parents are smokers, my grandparents were smokers, and my older siblings are also smokers. When I started smoking, I just really wanted to become a smoker. It wasn't that I was pressured into it, I just wanted to be one. I remember I was dating a guy at the time, and he warned me, he told me not to get into, don't start or you'll never be able to quit.

And here I am, more than 10 years later, unable to quit. I've tried a million times, I really have. I've tried cutting down, I've tried giving up cold turkey, it just doesn't work. I lack the will power to do. I lack the self-discipline. Of course, that is also why I'm here writing this blog. To get some of that ever elusive self-discipline.

But what is it about smoking that is so addictive. I know the nicotine causes some physical dependence, but as I understand it, it's not really the nicotine. A friend of mine who's a psychologist says it's an oral fixation, whatever that means, and there have been countless books on how to quit smoking, how to "kick the habit", but do they really work?

Here's what I think it is. For those of us out there who actually like to smoke, who don't quit because really deep down, they don't want to quit, I think smoking is a safety net.
The cigarette is always there. No matter what happens, it's your best friend. It's good at any time, when you're out having drinks and having fun, when the whole world has crumbled around you, when you're nervous, when your crying hopelessly into your pillow, when you're bored, even after sex. It's always there.

I think personally, I hide behind my cigarette. When I walk into a bar and none of my friends have arrived yet, I light a cigarette. When I'm waiting at the bus stop, I light a cigarette. I think it makes me look busy, makes me look like I know exactly what I'm doing, makes me look like I belong where I am. I take nice, long, slow drags and then let the smoke leave my lips in one smooth breath. I am confident, because I am actually doing something instead of standing there like an idiot. In my mind, if someone is looking at me, they're not looking at me because I look weird or because I look out of place, they're looking at me because I'm smoking. And even if that non-smoker is looking at me with disgust, in my mind it's better than him looking at me because I'm not supposed to be there.

There's something there that I think that is oddly disturbing, but I don't think I want to dig any deeper into it now.

My point is, that back then, when I was 16 and I was dating that guy, he was right. He knew it and he tried to warn me. Whatever my reasons are for smoking now are irrelevant. I can't stop. I can feel it eating away at my lungs and sometimes while I'm having my beloved cigarette, I imagine the white smoke filling up my chest and I can almost see how black my lungs have become, how old and withered, shriveled up like a bunch of raisins. That's what my lungs have become, some dried up, blackened raisins.
My skin doesn't look the way it used to. I've been blessed to look a lot younger than my age, but I can feel my skin getting coarser, drier and I don't think any amount of moisturizer will help unless I throw away that damned pack.
And my teeth, oh my teeth. This is what makes me really sorry I ever started smoking. It's not too late yet, but I've noticed the tiny little stains forming. And I have such nice teeth, perfectly aligned, but now, those tiny specs are starting to appear....

I know I'm not quite there yet, that somewhere deep inside me, I still need the safety of that cigarette, but one day, one day, I'm going to give it the boot.

All I need to do, is find another safety net.... Or alternatively, stop hiding....

Blogs.... Talk about complicated!

Okay, so I am new at this. I've migrated my first two entries from another blog site, after I found that this one is much more interesting. Go Blogspot!

And keeping this blog is actually harder than I thought. I'm only on day 2 and I have no idea what to write about....

Is there really such a thing as writer's block? I know I have used that as an excuse to not write, when I know I should be working on my book. It's been 3 years since I started but I still can't get myself to finish it.
My boyfriend has read parts of it, he thinks its really good, but I don't trust me. He's in love with me, he'll think anything I do is wonderful, and he does... which is actually quite sweet, even though sometimes it can really get on my nerves, like when I need an honest opinion, a critical opinion, he's not the person I can go to...

So.... writer's block....

Yea... I think is all a really got today.... Maybe if my day had been a little more productive...
Tomorrow will be better....

Nile Crocodile....

I hate guilt. I really hate guilt. I hate feeling guilty and knowing that there is nothing I can do to change that feeling. Of course when you feel guilty and there is something you can do to change it, then it's a little better.. but when you are where i am right now, the guilt is the only thing there. And it kills me, it tears me apart. It doesn't matter what I've done or haven't done, or how big or small a big deal it is, the guilt just rips through me, like a giant reptile, jaws gaping, razor sharp teeth sinking in, shreds me to bits.

That's what guilt is to me. Its a giant green reptile inside me, vicious and unforgiving. It lies there, somewhere deep in my chest, watching and waiting, and the moment there's a shimmer of hurt in someone else that could've been caused by me, it rears its ugly head in my direction and I can smell its fetid breath....
And then it feeds on me. It just chews me up, over and over and over and over... I feel my insides churning up and I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I can't think for days... until by some miracle, or some crazy creative rationing on my part, it retreats back to its lair and I can breathe easy again....

Like I said, I hate feeling guilty...

My best friend is mad at me. I think he has a bit of a right to be. He's traveling in a couple of days, and I was supposed to see him today and then something came up. I really just couldn't. There's a part of me that feels like i could've, but really, when I think about it, I couldn't have. No way in hell....

So I'm sitting on my couch, trying to find some way to make it up to him, but I can't because he won't let me.

I think he knows the guilt will kill me, and he figures this is a good way for payback.

I had a boss who always used to tell me: Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you...

I think he might've been right.... Does that mean I'm not actually paranoid? Does that mean I'm right in suspecting them?

The Start....

I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this blog. I've never been into this sort of thing... But writing has always been a big part of my life, and somehow I've never been able to get over my insecurities in order to actually write something meaningful.
So... the objective here is to force myself into it, to whip myself into shape, get over my fears, and really commit to a project and actually finish it... which I'm sorry to say, I've never actually done before.

I've decided to keep this blog for a year. I am to write in it every day for 365 days. I'm not entirely sure what I'll be writing about, but i can imagine it'll be a mix between my life and fiction... get that inspiration rolling so that I can actually finish my book, once and for all.

And who knows.. maybe this little experiment of mine will work. Maybe I'll get over my insecurity, my fear of commitment, and actually do the things I want to do... They might finally stop being dreams...