I had an agenda for a post when I booted up my laptop tonight. Between it's reluctance to start up and everything that is annoying the ever living shit out of me tonight, I have zero desire to write about any of that. What I do know, is these are the things I am thinking right now
I can cook. Well. And without thinking about it.
I hate 50 Shades Of Grey. One of the worst examples of any writing I have had the right to read. Disgraceful. I could write a post on that alone. All I will say at this point is, if you're a fan, ponder this- how does something as CLICHE and non engaging as that crap get past a decent editor and publisher and become one of the most hyped books of the last 5 years? Talent? Non-existent there.
I have the most amazing life right now, no matter how I look at it. I am employed. I am progressing daily in my job, My superiorers recognize that. My employees recognize that. My children recognize that. The man I am with recognizes that.
I have a favorite Pearl Jam album and I don't know how TSMA would feel about it, but I love it as if it were something I wrote myself.
Where the fuck did I sit my beer (my first and last of the evening)???
How is it someone could be cursed with all the maladies I possess on a physical level? That isn't even a question. Huge tits, tiny waist, belly destroyed by having babies so quickly in succession. And feet like Sasquatch. Shopping is IMPOSSIBLE.
With having made previous posts like Shit That Reminds You Of Me, I have created an online following that berates me daily with ecards, pinterest finds and random other crap in an attempt to be published here on this rant of a journal someone in the technological world allows me to deem a blog. It's sad. I might be smug, sarcastic, humorous and find the glitter ridden silver lining of every cloud that passes, but I am NOT the person these people assume they know me to be. I find it discouraging and saddening.
Seriously. Where the fuck is my beer?
How did I ever think I loved the man I married? How does he love the woman he is with now? HOW does she love him? And how does really of that not matter when I look at the man I first realized what love was? And how does he get off so easily doing that to me without trying?
These are the things that keep me awake at night, people. These are the boring things my mind races with. Though, I suppose 'boring' is the most relative of terms. I try to look at them from a reader's perspective. They're boring. To me they're reminiscently thrilling. Some of them spark that woman I know I am. Some of them remind me of the past I wish I'd never lived. Some of them remind me why I have that past. More often than not, I am struck by the thought that I have a future and I have grown and it has all been by my own accord. And I can continue to do that, at my leisure. I have a choice. I have MANY choices. And with every day that ends, I've made them myself.
