Bed. On the damn bed.
Biography? I am 44 years old, my Bio won't fit in a blurb. OK, anxious about this now.
Um... I was reading a Blog about chronic pain & relationships and thought "I wonder if i could blog again". Kind of in the blah way i do everything these days and that purple is SO not good. Really ugly with the cool default BG pic, isn't it? :) I really tried to make it hot pink, it had zero interest in that.
OK so I thought i was going to the "write a blog" place but ended up here. It's ironic, since all i can tell you about me with any measure of certainty right now is that i have no idea who i am. And it's (i have no idea if this is wise at all. I used to KNOW these things)... no clue where i was going with that.
I think i need to write about what is scaring me. And if that gets counter-productive, i'll stop. Because man, i am Depressed. With a capital D. I don't leave "my room" - those quotes will make sense later, i well, hope. <--- NOt a fave word.
You know when you finally work up the nerve to tell someone something is wrong with you and FRAKING IMMEDIATELY, they respond in one of two ways. 1) "I have been through way more than you, you don't even know!", usually as they are basking in the sun in their backyard pool & you're, say, not sure where you'll SLEEP that night, or 2) Aw, so sorry! Hugggs! Hey, can you call me in 8 minutes, i need your help with 4,688 problems!"
Sounds ... no, it sounds insane! Who responds to a friend who is weeping by asking for help with their shit?? Yes, i cussed, i see some of you leaving. Good, separating the sheep from the goats. I think tahe goats are the good guys here, since sheep just follow. And goats get a bad rap.
wow does this need editing :)
* Extra from "Education" - i was going to write that my mom and dad won't be writing this, but last year, some person with too much free time & no cojones at all, in the guise of a FaceBook friend, took screen shots or whatever they're called, every time i mentioned a word that was causing my family much stress. Well, mainly me, since it caused my homeless situation, but for some reason my Mom was sent Sympathy Cards. Imagine popping your head in quickly to a house that is TOXIC to you & seeing SYMPATHY CARDS covering literally every surface in the kitchen and dining room/
And i wonder why i'm lost. I remember this! Writing is so cathartic. Anyway, back