My original subject was too "emo"

It's funny the way things can suddenly turn around. Not always for the bad...but not always for the good either. Maybe for the...kinda ok. But honestly, I never really know what to think about...anything, really. My mind, my thoughts, are usually a jumble of scrabble letters on the stands before anyone really makes any actual words out of them. Triple word score on Demented...wait, that's not right, is it?

Letters come together, sometimes they form words, sometimes they don't. It's my longoria (read: word vomit) and I live by it. Mainly because that's just how it is in my little horrorland. The letters, the words, the sometimes full, actual sentences...they don't always make sense. Not to me...not to people...not to the actual voices in my head. It's something I come to live with. And so it begins. Take two drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

When I think, I write. When I write, it doesn't always make sense. This is a grand example of one of those times. Currently I sit in front of my weasels' computer, listening to the soft purr of snores as he sleeps, and I think. I think and I think...of what it is that I actually want to say, and...nothing. Nothing comes to mind. Yet, when I'm not looking for words, or sentences, they spill out like a bulimic's Christmas dinner. It's uncontrollable...to a point. To the point that it's hard for me...at least in the past few years...to actually cry in front of anybody. I'll bite my lip as hard as I can and intermonologue, "Don't cry, don't cry. Just breathe." It works, but it's hard. And kind of controllable (read: tough acting).

So, is there an actual point to this little rant of mine? Not really. In fact, I'm drunk...on natty light and day four of no sleep. I wonder if I'll be able to sleep at least a little tonight. The past 3 days, it wasn't really affecting me. In fact, when I worked (read: paid gym), I seemed to feel better and actually energetic. You know, the adrenaline combined with a high dosage mix of Monster and Diet Coke pumping through my veins as I moved boxes around and lifted and squatted as recquired...made me a little awake, despite the lack of the sleepytown visits. But now, it's the weekend. No working (out) for a whole two days. And my battery juice pretty much seemed to run out halfway through today. Which, like the past two days, seemed to last an eternity. Wait, rewind, I keep losing my train of thought.

Ugh, with the no sleep, it's like my realities and my dreams become one and the same. Unintelligable to the untrained mind (read: me), do therr'd nothing I can do about it.

Ok, I'm starting to have to hit the backspace button one too many times (read: drunk), so that's when I know I need to stop blahgging. Take two drinks. A couple pills. Repeat. (read: good luck making sense of this invariable mess of thoughts).

On another point of messed up thoughts...wondering about that girl that talks to him, daily, it seems...and the one that used to be in his life who I hate...am I crazy? Or just a girl? I'd like to say it's just cause I'm a girl, but that's just an excuse. Who knows why I get the paranoid, schizo feelings, but I do. And it sucks. And the not sleeping doesn't help my rational thinking either. There's always the possibility of cheating. Note: cheating isn't always physical. It can be emotional as well. And secrets? Well, let's just say they fan the fire. Take two drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

Oh me oh my

So I've come to the conclusion that I am completely insane and I should be admitted. One padded room with a view please. And a fashion designer polka dotted straight jacket. Yes, I believe that would do me right.

I always wonder if people that are in institutions are there because they need it, or simply to get away from...shit. You know, the shit everyday that happens. Hmmm, something to think about. Whatever. My whole point is that it would be nice...a padded room. Don't forget the view.

The good thing about my crazy little phase is that I'm losing weight. Add the not being able to eat anymore to 7 hours of lifting and moving anywhere from 20 to 1,000 boxes and you've got looser pants, smaller boobs and less fat all around. Silver lining, right?

Oh, and to add to my insanity...I'm back to not sleeping again. Yes folks, incredibly grumpy girl is back. When you can't sleep, time seems to slow down and speed up all at the same time. Everytime you glance at the clock it seems to be the same time as it was 15 minutes prior...but then if you do finally fall into a semi kinda sleep, next thing you know, it's time to get up. No food, no sleep makes Mal a grumpy girl. An incredibly grumpy girl. Meh, I've gone through this before. After a fews I won't even miss the sleep. And I'm pretty much used to the no eating. Not that I'm intentionally trying to starve myself. I still eat. Just not as much as I used to. The stress and depression I've been under lately basically fills my stomach with knots...no room for food. And on days like this, where I just consistently work to get all my stuff done, I skip lunch so that I can just leave earlier. I haven't eaten today yet. I opted to blog instead of food and a shower. That'll come later.

::sigh:: I'm starting to babble. Surreality is starting to set in. Another side effect of the no sleeping. Two drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

My week...you know, in a nutshell

My week...you know, in a nutshell
Monday: Work at 5:00 am...no, that's not a typo, FIVE A.M. 920 boxes later, I pretty much wanted to die.

Tuesday: Thinking my karma would be good because I returned a lost wallet full of cash that was left behind would be wrong...some dipshit asshole stole my favorite purse from my car. My car that was in my driveway. Granted, it was empty, but that's not the point. My car was violated.

Wednesday: Work at 6:00 am...ick.

Thursday: Don't remember much. It's that lack of sleep.

Friday: Realized that not only was my favorite pursed ripped from the gut of my car, but my cd's were gone too. Seriously, all of them. I had worked hard to try to build up my collection since the last time my cd's got stolen. If there is a god, he hates me. Or karma does. Oh, and how could I forget the once again amazingly, absolutely bitchin' booty I got...ya, I have the right to brag!

Drink a couple of beers. Two pills. Repeat.

My tongue...it's magic

Ok, so this blahg has absolutely nothing to do with my tongue...I just happened to say that exact thing to my weasel and thought it appropriate to use as my subject. So now onto more pressing matters.

Not really that pressing, but I am tired. My job is hard. But I like it. Just like I like other hard things...ok, maybe I should stop right there.

It's pretty obvious what my mind is on. And contrary to popular belief, girls can't let it go. I'm pretty sure that if I had balls, they'd be blue right now. Hey, it happens.

And I'll stop right there because I know my dad and my sister read this and if I go any further, they'll have nightmares for months.

More later when my mind isn't so one tracked.

Those things we do...

Here is my life lately...in a nutshell:

1. New job...I like it, but it's damn hard and I'm pretty sure I lost 10 lbs. in sweat alone today...unloading 435 boxes from a huge, HOT truck.

2. My new car...well, new to me...is now out of commission...no money to fix it. Stupid starter, cullinoid or altenator...whatever it is.

3. My glasses broke. Stupid Costco. Luckily I still have my old ones.

When I first started making this list, I was pretty sure I had more to say about what's going on, but I'm so damn tired that I can't even think anymore. Who knows, the things I wanted to say probably weren't even that important. Meh. I'm done. At least for today. I'm sure anything I do, say and/or write will be sub par unless it's a weekend and I didn't have to work.

I guess we'll see. No longer a chatty cathy.

It's off to work I go

I started my new job at Michaels' on Thursday. I had one and a half days to be trained. Ya, that was real fun. So now on Monday, I'll be left to fend for myself.

The job? Well, the official title is "Product Flow Coordinator". Which in my dirty birdy mind, means something funny. Unofficially, I'm the receiver. Which entails me to lift and move heavy, big and sometimes awkward boxes around and off the delivery trucks, and scan them and check them to go out on the floor. The one and half day of doing that pretty much made me feel as though I'd done 2 straight days of step aerobics.

I'm sore. And it doesn't help that I had a bunch of amazingly hot mind blowing sex last night. Sorry, I just had to put that in, cause well, it was THAT good. And I have to brag. Not need to brag...HAVE to brag.

But I digress. I think I'm going to like my job. Not only is it my favorite store, I get a discount. Hell ya. Projects galore!

Oh, and not to mention the money. Considering I need to pay my phone bill. Currently I can only recieve calls...and who knows how long that will last. Damn being a broke ass bitch. Though I won't be getting paid much. When I told my weasel how much I'd be making, he said "that's cute!" Yeah, my new salary is cute. Like first job 16 year old cute. Eh, I wasn't expecting much. I mean, they will work with my schedule once I start school in November. So it will all work out.

Speaking of November, I've really been craving a Thanksgiving dinner. But like now. Not on the official holiday. I don't know why. But I just really want to make a turkey with all the fixins'.

Weird. Well, I have to go now. There is some interesting cartoons on now. It's funny how I never watch network tv, what with my 200 some odd channels my cable gives me. My weasel REALLY needs to get cable. I mean really. Dazed isn't really the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Out of the mouths of babes

"Mom, I probably like weiners more than you do!"-the genius

Let's hope not son.

Disclaimer: Not that it would really be THAT big a deal. I'm just sayin'.