Archive for the ‘Pointless whining’ Category


Thursday, April 16th, 2015

Sometimes life has the ability to throw a curveball at you. And it usually comes in a time where you’re least prepared to handle the aftermath. Which -let’s face it, we’re not major league baseball pros, any of us- usually is a complete clusterfuck of everything and you end up feeling like a juggler with one or ten too many balls in the air.

I have Lego Pirates for my 3DS unopened. I’ve yet to finish my Lego Star Wars. And Lego Harry Potter. My house looks like a small but effective bomb exploded inside and of course I’m hosting a party on Saturday. To which I’ve promised to bake a cake. Thank fuck everyone’s pitching in on the eatings, I’d be doomed otherwise.

I could manage all of this, would this be the usual time of let’s say two years ago.

But it’s not.

Enter curveball: child teething, hence being difficult and craving almost every second of my day.

So I’ve had to make some adjustments in the daily routines. I have the choice of either blogging about all the things I have on my blog planner. Or keep my sanity and keep the child from screaming his head off.

We’ll see eachother, most likely soon, but I’m not making any solemn promises.


Monday, March 16th, 2015

I’m feeling quite bad at the moment. I’m all out of things to blog about (so i’m blogging about how i don’t have anything to blog about) and I still haven’t touched my fiction files.

Except that I did. I thought this one picture removed the writer’s block (a block about the size of the great wall of china at this moment to be brutally honest), but I only got like two sentences down and one of them is pure bollocks.

I’m not going to reach the goal I’ve set for myself this month in weight-loss project. I have been doing my lunges and crunches, but I’m going to fall at least two kilos short of the goal. So I’m not going to fit in my motorbiking gear come the beginning of May.

I’m genuinely feeling like shit. All I can manage is keeping my planner updated, so I can at least go to my appointments.

I think this might be the looney pills. I have to tell you, choosing between feeling like this and the rollercoaster of feels without the pill? I’ll take the damn Kingda-Ka. I’ll take the depression and the mania high and the self-destructiveness of it all. Anything but this.

Concerning Christmas

Sunday, November 23rd, 2014

When I was a kid I used to love christmas. Like I think about every kid ever does. I mean what’s not to like? (i have a lovely gif that says exactly that but i will put it at the end of this post, otherwise i’ll get distracted and you will too because it is a thing of beauty) There’s presents, there’s lounging about in your jim-jams for days, a ton of good food and also no school for what feels like eons. Childhood christmases, my favourites.

Then adulthood happened and mom and dad got divorced and everything turned sour and shitty. I spent my christmases with mom, since there was no one in her life while dad had remarried. I started to dislike the whole idea of christmas. And then I got into a relationship and things got even more messier, because now I had to juggle between his parents and my mom and what-not.

I hated christmas. It became a big fucking bother and all I felt was miserable and I really really wanted to call off everything and just bury my head in the ever-piling snow. Never more than last christmas, at around which time I have no problem admitting I was trying to drink all of my discomfort away. I was actually sitting at the table at the in-laws and they took away the wine from me because I was drinking too much. To their taste. Not to mine. I would’ve been happy just to pass out. You might remember the nice old-fashioned ghost-story from last christmas, in which me and my dad were haunting our house and not sleeping. Yea, I was on a mental high, but at the same time I was feeling fucking miserable about all the hassle.

This year I feel different. I think it’s mostly due the fact that around my birthday this year, my mom, who is notoriously socially awkward and bears grudges something unbelievable and my dad, who is a happy-go-lucky as ever, made up. Like thirteen-ish years after their divorce. They sat around the same table, even alone by themselves and had a civilized conversation and no smackdown happened. It’s like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I know I’m a thirty-six-year-old hag and I shouldn’t give two fucks about another adult’s businesses, but I do. I do give two fucks. And I’ve been feeling awful, but not anymore.

And I feel all christmas-y now. So I’m going to decorate the house early and bake a shitload of christmas goodies and can we get an amen when two weeks before the d-day I break down and burn everything because I’ll get fed up and end up haunting the house all by myself, drunk as a skunk while the hubby and the kid sleep.

So fuck you, christmas. I love you and I feel you but you bet your mistletoe-y ass I’ll end up hating you this year too.

Oh and here’s that gif that was promised.

lovely, innit

Going nowhere

Tuesday, January 14th, 2014

Look, I know talking to a therapist is supposed to be … well, therapeutic, but I really honestly feel like I’m getting absolutely no progress of any sort with mine. Like zero, zilch, nada. I don’t even know what I’m expecting, really, because it’s like I go there, they go what’s up and I go nothing much, I feel like shite or I feel ok. And then it’s just pointless repetition of everything I’ve already said in there. I’m getting frustrated beyond belief. You’re not gonna find anything new to this thing, you really aren’t. I know exactly what event in my life has triggered this god-awful downward spiral and it’s not gonna change. It’s just not. I’m thinking about just quitting the whole thing, what the fuck, there’s probably a bunch of people who need help much more than I do. Why am I taking up their precious time, because there appears to be nothing new developing.

I’m just tired as fuck of sitting there for an hour trying to convince everyone that I don’t feel ok. That maybe something needs to be done. Or does it? I don’t even know anymore.

I’m just…


Fuck it.

Of insecurities

Friday, January 10th, 2014

I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, mainly because I have an appointment coming up next week with the mental illness people. I guess I should try to find out what the triggers for my mood swings are, but I really have no clue. All I’ve gathered is that when I’m manic I want to write (and i do write) and I listen to mostly trance and ambient. I have no idea why, but it just is a really good combination: mania, writing and trance music.

But I digress.

What I would like to really get a hold of are my insecurities and fears and how they affect me and my mind. Because how is it possible that during a mania streak I have zero insecurities, I’m lovely and witty and basically an all-around goddess of fucking everything. While depressed, it’s no surprise that I feel like the feed that bottom feeders feed on. That -as I said- is no surprise, but what is interesting, are the insecurites I have when I’m on my “normal” mood. Or what I feel like is sort of the default me.

Of course there is your basic variety of physical insecurities like being overweight and not particularly attractive and I could do with bigger boobs, but then there are the not-so-visible ones. Like the one where I’m used to being the one filling awkward silences between two people who are trying to get it on. See, I’ve always been the third wheel, the chaperone. No one (before my husband but that’s another story) has ever shown genuine interest in me. It’s so painfully accurate what I read once on some light-hearted tumblr text post: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they’re like “Hey your friend is sexy is she single?”.

I’m not -at least not totally- complaining about being the comic relief, I’m complaining about the assumption that I’ll be there to fill the void. Somehow my friends got used to it and then depended on it. I know it’s partly my fault, like I haven’t said no to that. And now, since most of my friends are happily in a relationship, I find that I’m not needed anymore. Which really is what it sounds like: I’m not useful anymore and therefore I’m not good company for a night out. Which results in me being alone on the weekends.

I would like to change my … for a lack of a better word: role in my pathetically small circle of friends, but I don’t think I can. Because if I’m not the class clown, what am I? Do I even know myself what I would like to be?

I’m afraid tho that the truth about me being alone on the weekends is something completely different. Something that I’m terribly afraid of. It’s that everyone else grew up. That I am the only one left of my friends who still likes to get shit-faced and hit the dancefloor to make a complete fool of myself and be drenched in my own sweat. I don’t know if it’s some stupid survival instinct that makes me cling to that feeling of being young and carefree, or if it indeed is really what I am (i’m leaning towards the latter, honestly, that i just am like this), but it terrifies me something incredible when I think about it.

Maybe I’m not at their level. Maybe I’m an embarrassement to them.

And that, children, is my biggest insecurity: because I don’t know who I’m supposed to be, I feel inferior to everyone else in my life.