Does anyone else ever think about past crushes?

When I was younger, I worked at a movie rental store with a guy and often times we had shifts that coincided.

It was because of him that I formed an appreciation for the movies Little Shop of Horrors, Nightmare Before Christmas, and My Blue Heaven. We would shuffle through our work and help the occasional customer while dueting with Audrey II, Seymour, and the Ronettes. We would each take on Lock, Shock or Barrel’s dialogue and shake our asses and overexaggerate our movements for Oogey Boogey. He led me through the store like Rick Moranis and Steve Martin did with those ladies (even though he was supposed to be lying low, what with being a snitch and all).

He was (is?) a special effects makeup artist and I found myself completely amazed at his artistic abilities. I watch Face/Off in the hopes that one day he’ll be on it. We had even talked about creating an incredibly terrifying Haunted House and had started laying out the details of making it happen when he had to move to Pennsylvania (or something).

In case you couldn’t tell, we lost touch… and I was kinda crazy about him. Not crazy like watch-him-through-the-windows crazy. Every year around his birthday (May 5th) I wonder what he’s up to and whether or not he’s on any of the social media sites. I remember he and I chatted very rarely on MySpace, but that in itself is an indication as to how long it’s been since we last spoke.

So much has changed in my life in such a short time. It would be great to catch up with him.

Do you have any stories of people you lost touch with? Have you ever tried looking them up? Alternately, have you ever been contacted by someone you hadn’t seen in years? Was it awkward?

What bothers you? 10 Things that grate my cheese

1. People that talk on cellphones when they are being waited on (or rung out) –
Yesterday I stood for about ten minutes in a busy grocery store only looking to buy salad dressing and sliced turkey breast. Why? As a woman shouted in her phone at a cable company, her inept husband fumbled to scan in four items. FOUR. Then after all of that was done, he told her it was $53. She then put her hand over the receiver and said “Well I only have $42.” They had a conversation back and forth and as I looked at the other registers to my left and right I saw everyone traveling quickly through the line. Then her inept husband took a bill from the pile they had amassed, smoothed it out, and leaned forward to see what way the display showed him the bill had to go in (though below it says “face up”, it doesn’t say which way it needed to be slid in) and he fingered the edges to make sure that the corners were super straight before placing the bill down with one hand while using his other hand to force it in like it was a game of shuffleboard.

2. People that talk loudly on their cellphones –
One of my neighbors has taken to going outside and standing on the walkway directly in front of my window and shout into his phone. HE LIVES ALONE. So instead of muffling the sound by making the call upstairs in his condo, he decides to shout it at me. Most of the time I don’t really care about it, unless it’s 9am on a Saturday and I have just managed to pass out for a small block of time. I make it a habit not to start making noise until about 4pm as I know he works the night shift. Instead, I either leave for the day or I watch TV until I hear the creaking above. Then it’s ukulele happy fun time.

3. Networks spreading out their programming so they can bloat your DVR with crap you’ve already seen –
I know that every network is “struggling” (HA!) to sell ads for their shows because everyone has a DVR, Tivo, or digital cable nowadays (or no cable). But when they push back their programming by 1-2 weeks, guess who has two middle fingers and forgets to watch it? THIS GIRL. By the time I finally remember to watch a program that I lost touch with, the main character is pregnant and they are trapped on an Island and forced to play game shows against polar bears.

4. Vegetable farts –
Self explanatory. They’re super stinky and you can’t be stealth in public.

5. People that tell me how to do my job –
I’ve been here six years and have been observed by corporate to determine how I am so efficient. Tell me how to do my job and I will brain you with my telephone.

6. Sloppy Drunks –
Dude… I know. Everyone gets wasted every now and again. I guess that because (for the most part) I control my inebriation I get irritated when other people don’t. During my vacation I ended up drinking while I was skyping with a few friends. When I hung up the final call, I realized that I was super drunk. I couldn’t focus. I get paranoid when I’m drunk and terrified about trying to sleep and vomiting. Also? The spins are dumb. I ended up booting until about 1 in the morning and had to sleep sitting up. I. HATE. THAT. So seeing someone that has obviously had too many wear a stupid grin on their smashed faces makes me want to smash their face in. In my past I have had someone in my car that was so hammered, they took the bottom of the pant leg of their jeans, pulled it inside-out up to the knee, and then puked in it like it was a barf bag. Luckily, I’ve never gotten puke in my car.

7. People that treat me like I’m less intelligent than I am –
Yes… I swear like a trucker. I have verbal diarrhea in social situations (and on this blog) that would make your mother weep and has made my mother hit me with a rolled up newspaper. Although my language is muddled with profanity, my vocabulary is extensive and I don’t shy from larger words.

8. Bees –
Self explanatory

9. Procedural Crime Shows – In the Lab
One of the biggest pet peeves I have is the distinct lack of realistic time span in the lab. It would be better if they had a timer ticking off in the bottom right of the screen as they worked.

10. Obnoxious interstitials in hold music –
When I am angry enough to have to call a company, trying to sell me something while I wait for ten minutes makes it worse. I then take it out on the employee and they don’t deserve it. They’re not paid enough to deal with my wrath.

My Brain is Buffering

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Oh Moriarty, you clever bastard.

Yesterday was a rotten day.

I assume it felt like everything was piling up due to the fact that I had returned to work on Monday and was incredibly frustrated with what I came back to.

There was just something about yesterday that got to me. Maybe everything about yesterday got to me, I don’t know. What I do know is that I spent 4.5 hours in a noise reduction headset watching the latest reincarnation of Sherlock.

There is something about clever writing and intriguing plots and amazing twists that does wonders for bringing me out of a funk. It is ultimately one of my modes of escapism.

I don’t really have much more to say about yesterday as it’s still causing me discomfort today. I had words with several people regarding a myriad of issues, I returned to a metric buttload of snark at work (and not the cheeky adorable snark that I get from Benedict Cumberbatch), and I wanted to spend away my troubles by online shopping.

I didn’t. Instead, I nursed a half a beer (instead of giving myself something easy for me to drink in massive quantities – like scotch) and went to bed.

I wish I had something more to write about, but I am feeling uninspired. Feel free to leave a comment about what you’d like me to rant/discuss/story-tell and I will hopefully be back to my demented self very soon.

Rejected.

re·ject

tr.v. re·ject·edre·ject·ingre·jects

1 a : to refuse to accept, consider, submit to, take for some purpose, or use <rejected the suggestion> <reject a manuscript>b : to refuse to hear, receive, or admit : rebuff, repel<parents who reject their children>c : to refuse as lover or spouse

2 obsolete : to cast off

3: throw back, repulse

4: to spew out

5: to subject to immunological rejection

(cited from Merriam-Webster)

 

During the latest episode of Walking the Room (#93), Greg Behrendt shares a story about finding a possible publisher for his memoir. He is assured that he will have an offer in very little time and he was soaring and showering “golden awesome” (as Gryphons do) on the world. He then gets the call. THE call. The publisher passed on his proposal.

I don’t exactly know how he felt, but after receiving several dozen rejection letters I can explain how I felt when they happened.

When I received the first rejection letter, it was like someone had taken a hearty dump on my soul then decided to break up the pieces with a meat tenderizer. It was as if my inner asshole was shouting “I fucking told you that you weren’t good enough.” Instinctively, I wanted to hurt myself. I went through my brain rolodex (my noggin hasn’t been upgraded to digital) with all of the possibilities – booze, meds, cutting, popping open a jar of cookie butter to devour, and angry hate sex came to mind.

When I’m not talking out loud or singing, that shit is going on in my head. My inner soundtrack queued up a steady playlist of depressing music. I remember that my vision actually blurred because I had stopped breathing for a moment and my body was screaming for me to focus on oxygen.

It all sounds melodramatic, but you all know the tired expression about feeling a pit in your stomach? When it’s happening it feels like a fucking chasm.

People react to rejection differently. Sometimes they say “fuck you” and keep going. Sometimes they think “well that was totally not worth my time” and just file it away in their Things to Furiously Masturbate to With Tearlube folder (everyone has one of those… right?). I eventually have a tendency to power down. I don’t want to do a damn thing. I don’t look for someone to share my problems with and that is incredibly stupid on my part.

My first instinct is to laugh. My first reaction to tragedy and pain is to laugh. When it finally sinks in I have to slide under the covers, go fetal, and stare at my desk. Everything happens internally. Even though my physical reaction is to do nothing, my brain spends all of that time berating me. If I had telekinesis, I would have destroyed everything around me.

But after that wore off, I went about my life. I did what I needed to do to ensure that I had a roof over my head and nourishment in my belly. Then the second rejection letter arrived. Lather, rinse and repeat. There were a good two weeks where my emotional roller coaster had essentially fallen so far off of the rails it has skidded into a nearby playground, exploded, and there were hypothetical people threatening to sue.

You would think that a girl who had so much experience as a child would react better to something like this. But here is the difference – when I was being rejected in my youth it was all surface. This hurt so much because I had put myself out there about something that I LOVED to do. I loved telling stories. I loved thinking about characters and situations and trying to explain things that I didn’t even understand myself. Writing was my safety net.

To be told that my safety net wasn’t useful was a pain that was so intense I wanted to hide. But… Wait… My place to hide wasn’t good enough (according to people that probably hadn’t even read my proposal)?

I vowed that I would never write fiction again. I didn’t ever want to experience it again.

After making that vow, I just blogged. I vented about my anger about things. When a character popped in my head I mentally eviscerated it. It took awhile for me to realize that was why I had become so miserable. My brain was so full of ideas, my subconscious would try to flesh out stories during dreams. Unfortunately, my imagination is fucked up so I would wake up in the middle of the night terrified and wouldn’t sleep.

For a total of five weeks, I averaged about seven hours of sleep each week. I became a husk of a person. My reaction to rejection became ME.

Then one day I laughed. Actual, full bodied shaking laughter that brought tears to my eyes not from sadness but from pure mirth. It had been so long since the last time I had laughed.

What was it that made me laugh? A rejection letter.

For weeks I spent my life not living. Not doing what I loved. I slipped into the mundane and wanted to cry every day because I didn’t want my life to just be that. I don’t think anyone ever aspired to be mediocre at best, but that was what I had become.

As I wiped the delighted tears from my eyes, I succumbed to the seduction of the keyboard. My fingers danced like they knew every letter that needed to be expelled from my body. As I continued to type I let out a sigh and looked up at the clock. I had written for three hours.

It was a triumph. But most important of all? I was EXHAUSTED. I slept uninterrupted for seven hours. I got up in the morning, stretched, kissed the top of my slumbering laptop and hopped in the shower. I went to work and my palms itched. I wanted to write again.

During my lunch breaks I have taken to opening up a word document and writing that one story for an hour.

I have 48 pages.

I have realized that the only thing that has been constant in my life is rejection. Originally, I thought that was bad. Now I think “at least it’s not herpes”.

Get Glue Let Me Down (and other nonsensical things that happen in my head)

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This past weekend was chock full of sauce (of the awesome variety) and I’m currently powering through with a minimal amount of sleep, but it’s been awhile since I’ve done an update (that is not of the “click here linky link” variety). I’d apologize for the picture, but I was angry that Get Glue wouldn’t let me add that since that is indeed what I am thinking of.

Friday was fun. I got to hang out with the Record Club crew for a lovely dinner.

Saturday I got up and went to my parents house to do an enormous amount of laundry (because I was going there and figured I could save $8). Mom and I hung out for a little bit and watched the Seven Year Itch. My aunt had come up to do some paperwork so she joined us when she had finished. My brother arrived and we had a lovely dinner and conversation.

During it, my father made a comment that was mildly apologetic for our dinner conversation. We may have been talking about computer networking, embalming, farts, marijuana or all of the above. I honestly don’t remember. The conversations go quickly, like we’ve got an hour to get rid of $100 in a penny machine at a casino.

That’s the way all of our family dinners have been for as long as I could remember. We were never censored with media and we were always encouraged to ask questions, so our conversations can pass many boundaries, but that’s why I still go to family dinners. No matter what people say, there is an incredibly selfish part of conversation.

If you’re not interested, you are further in your head than you are when you’re by yourself. My family keeps me on my toes. I dig that.

Saturday night I got to meet up with some friends from home and we played board games and carried on conversations and such. I had a fantastic time with them. I forget (often) that human interaction is essential to keeping sane. Even skyping with a friend that is so far away is human interaction, but a computer won’t hug you back and if it does that means it has arms (which also means you should never hug it because it will break your spine).

I got home and slept well. I got up, showered and made an impromptu trip to Boston to visit Matt, Ryan and Richard. You may remember them from my posts about my trip to Boston last April for the Nerdist weekend. This is my first trip to Boston since then so I was really happy to make it. Of course, I have a tendency of leaving there late when I visit with them (because I really don’t want to go) so I didn’t get home until 1:30 in the morning.

Totally worth it. Completely worth it.

How was your weekend?

Battling Rage

Let’s face it. Some days are worse than others. Today I have found that it has taken every ounce of my being to not tear into someone at the slightest provocation.

In my past, I would have moments where I would be tempted to lash out and would gladly give into it. I reveled in influencing someone else with my negativity. I was that real life troll that would love seeing the reaction of hurt on someone’s face and then I would consider it a challenge to make everything okay again. However, the people that don’t have to love you shouldn’t have to put up with that.

BUT… I really want to do that today. My brain is telling me to tap into my über bitch and unleash all of this pent up rage. It’ll be healthier if you do, my anger-goblin has been whispering in my ear. Making someone feel bad will probably prevent you from getting cancer.

My inner goblin monologue is stupid. But I believe that it is motivated by primitive instincts. I think that’s the part of the brain where it’s located. Also, it’s a goblin so it’s adorable and illustrated by Brian Froud and brought to life by Henson studios.

It’s been awhile since I have really been as angry about nothing as I am at this moment. The slightest provocation would be horrible right now. Logically I don’t want to make anyone cry because of something I’ve said. But instinctively I really want to tell someone something incredibly hurtful about their personality and make them suffer like I feel like I am right now.

Instead, I am trying to distract my brain by online shopping. The best part about it is that I just add a bunch of things to wish lists because I’m moving and really don’t want to pay more money to move a bunch of shit that hasn’t made me happy. So even though my fury is encouraging me to BUY BUY BUY, I at least have a bit of logic controlling my trigger finger on the mouse.

It is a bit boring populating a hypothetical domicle though so I might switch to google imaging “cats in hats” or spend a few hours trying to find something to take my mind off of it. Maybe some stupid video game that doesn’t require thought because intelli-Ali is MIA right now.

How do you deal with the rage-goblin inside you? Do you stab the homeless? Do you tickle the elderly? Do you have shout time inside your car during your morning commute (and do the people in your carpool cry?)? Do you listen to a bunch of podcasts where people will rant about things that will make you feel better? Do you watch countless youtube videos of kittens filmed in Japan (because somehow Japanese kittens are TOTALLY cuter)?

Leave a message in the comments!

Childhood Memories: When I Needed a Tauntaun

Whenever there was something introduced to my spongy brain that emotion deemed hazardous, I would shove my nose in a book or a movie. I would color. I would build something. I would pretend to be a dragon in the backyard. THAT was where I sussed out a lot of my pain. Luckily I had kids my own age that were just as creative as I was and we would have epic fanciful adventures.
In the winter, we would pile snow into massive mountains to climb. Our mini Caradhras would entertain us until someone else brought a new tool and it magically changed. We were then tasked to break through the Deeping Wall of Helm’s Deep. Winter was spent doing snow related things, what with being raised in a New England town. Sledding, snowball fights and shoveling were a definite part of every child’s routine.

In my head however, the sled was my spaceship. Even though it felt like I was going down, I was going up with great speed and breaking through the atmosphere to float along the universe.

We used to always go to the same sledding spot. It was a hill relatively close to home, but mom would drive the van out and sit and wait, listening to music and reading. My brother and I would meet with our friends and run up the hill and careen down at lightning speeds, trusting gravity.

 

Imagine our surprise one day when we found that there was a frozen pond at the base of our hill. After stepping on it and hearing it slightly crack, someone confirmed that it was frozen completely. As an adult I realize how incredibly stupid that reasoning is. There needed to be something less dense underneath it in order for the cracking to even occur. At nine? It was perfect logic. Plus it meant I could still go sledding.

Blissfully ignorant to that concept, we all rushed up the hill, snow tubes and sleds in hand. I remember having this heavy plastic inner tube for pools that my parents had us double for sledding. It was solid purple on the bottom half and the top half was white with purple accented lines. The handles were thick and not wide enough to accept both my hand and my mitten when holding on to it. So I took off the mittens.

As any child figures out after their first time sledding, I knew that if you get a running start you go faster. I ran as fast as I could before hopping unto the donut shaped propulsion device. The moments down the hill can only be described as pure exhilaration laced with joy. You have very little to do with control and you have to accept that to truly enjoy yourself.

I enjoyed the hell out of it… Until I hit the pond at the bottom. I had seen several kids just slide completely over it. Apparently, the introduction of a chubby girl on an inner tube resulted in me reaching a dead stop at the very bottom of the hill. I couldn’t get out of the donut as I was wrapped up in forty-seven snowsuits.

The sound of cracking ice is terrifying, even if you know that it’s not that deep. Your brain knows exactly what is going to happen before it does and it goes through several different scenarios to send a bunch of fear through every inch of your body. You tense and brace for impact.

I assumed that I would be flung from my inner tube. I expected to be flung from my inner tube. What my brain failed to expect was that the pond was deeper than I anticipated. My tube cracked the ice, my weight shifted to one side, and I capsized. My face hit the frozen ground and the icy, dirty water kept me from passing out. I pushed myself out of the water and inhaled a bunch of chilled air.

Everyone shouted from above, asking if I was okay. I nodded and shook them off as I was coughed and sputtered. I had every intention of going again until I realized that lifting my arms was difficult and I was starting to feel really tired. So I started the trudge back to the van and realized that my head was starting to feel crunchy.

 

I pulled off my hat and winced as stands of my hair were frozen to it. I removed my gloves as they were so saturated they weren’t keeping me warm at all. I imagined that I was Luke Skywalker on Hoth, struggling to make it until Han rode in on a Tauntaun. Even though I spent a lot of time in my own little fantasy world, I knew that Harrison Ford was NOWHERE near me and I definitely needed to get to the van.

 

When it was finally in view I started screaming for my mom, but saw that she was engrossed in a book and most likely had music playing in the background. She’s also deaf in her left ear, so instead I thought about how warm it would be when I finally got there. It was so cold I was terrified that I would be walking and accidentally step on and shatter a toe. Yes, it most likely wouldn’t have happened. My head has a tendency of playing things out in grand fashion.

 

I finally got to the door and tried opening the side door and my fingers just stopped cooperating with me. Mr. Press was in the car next to us and jumped out and assessed the issue. He yanked my coat over my head and pulled the door open and shouted for my mom’s jacket. My mother practically vaulted over the seat and started stripping me out of my clothing. I was so cold and so tired I didn’t care that I was getting naked in front of my friend’s father.

 

I was burritoed up in my mom’s jacket and thrown into the passenger side and all vents were redirected to me. My mom asked Fred to drop my brother off when they were done and then sped back home.

 

You know those moments in movies where they try to speed up the parts of the story that are inconsequential but they show you that time has progressed? I’m referring to the “fade to black and then fade in to a new moment” effect. That was pretty much what was happening every time I closed my eyes.

 

My lids would droop and then I would open them and I was being held under a warm shower. I’d blink and then I was putting on pajamas. I’d blink and then I opened my eyes and I was sleeping on the side of my parents waterbed where the heater was and my mother informed me she had turned it to the max and I should just rest. She and my dad then woke me up every few hours.

 

Looking back, I’m pretty sure it could have been a lot worse.

About Humor

Humor is a weird thing to think about. I consider myself a connoisseur of comedy and anything relating to it. I like to laugh. I have learned to laugh about completely inappropriate things as a survival mechanism.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking about friendships and conversations about comedy.

I guess it all started with a Christmas present. For Christmas, my brother and sister-in-law got tickets for us to go see Stephen Lynch at Foxwoods.

Tangent – I love a live comedy show. I’m not that big a fan of a concert because there is that nasty habit of people around you singing along loudly to the songs that you’ve heard a thousand times. The thing is… I didn’t pay to hear them sing it. I paid to hear the artist sing it. If I wanted to hear someone next to me belt out Bruce Springsteen, I wouldn’t have spent $160 to do so. I would’ve spent $7 for a drink at a karaoke night.

I was absolutely tickled when Stephen announced that he was working on new music and he played EIGHT NEW SONGS! People were assholes shouting titles of old songs. I got so fed up I ending up shouting “SING SOMETHING NEW!” and when he did, I felt like a wizard.

Here’s where I get to the actual reason why I’m posting.

Over the last few years, a friend rediscovered her love of her faith. I didn’t have a problem with it… except that I didn’t get to see her as much. That’s not to say it’s her fault that we don’t hang out regularly. I tend to forget that there are people that like to hang out with me.

Let’s not talk about those issues (I can touch upon those later if need be). The reason that is relevant to the conversation is that one of Lynch’s new songs was a comedy bit about a friend being “born again”. As he was singing it, I listened and smiled to at the words. As it concluded, I clapped until I realized that my friend didn’t look amused.

Immediately I worried that I had offended her by finding humor in the bit. Since the show I have been thinking about how I approach comedic appreciation with many of my friends. In an era of hypersensitive flowerchild mentalities, it turns out that I unconsciously had been filtering my humor with her.

I don’t believe that I am intentionally stereotyping someone by doing this because other times, I’m completely freaking oblivious.

I’ve been listening to Marc Maron’s podcast WTF? I listened to some of the back catalog and settled on the Patrice O’Neill episode. I laughed my ass off and thought “man… I know my buddy is gonna get a kick outta this.” So I queued it up and started to play it for him. He was silent during parts that I thought were really funny and I found my head cocking to the side. After awhile I asked him what the issue was.

He told me that he kept saying the word “fag” or “gay” and it started to bother him. He actually got a bit angry with me for introducing him to a comedian that obviously rubbed him the wrong way. He asked why I would’ve played something like that for him as he’s been out and proud for many years now.

I thoroughly apologized and turned it off. I didn’t think of him as my homosexual friend. He’s just… him. It’s never been a character definition when referring to him. “This is my gay friend. Ask him about your pants.”

Tangent – Those are words that will NEVER come out of my mouth when doing a first time introduction. Yes, it’s a part of him but it’s not the only part of him. I love that part of him, but that’s not why we’re friends. I’m not filling a quota. I’m pretty sure that if someone introduced me as their “often mental friend” I would shake someone’s hand and then burst into tears and make them hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay.

So I shouldn’t have introduced him to Patrice O’Neill through a conversational interview with Maron. I found it absolutely fascinating, but now I fear that he won’t watch any of Patrice’s comedy specials… and I feel like he’ll be missing out.

One of the benefits of comedy is that it is entirely subjective. It’s also a detriment.

I have a completely warped sense of humor and when I try to share it with some people their reaction shows me that they are not appreciative of it. That’s fine. However, I think that I limit many of potentially warped conversations with people that I have thrown into a “relatively virtuous” stereotype.

Without realizing what it is I’ve been doing, if I am having a conversation with someone I don’t necessarily hold back but I do try to gauge someone’s comedy/pain threshold. Some people may consider me disingenuous when my humor runs the gamut. I think it has a lot to do with being raised in a political family.

You’d think that would have taught me NOT to judge someone’s humor from a person’s façade. My family puts up with a lot of stuff that I do and say, and most of the time it’s with a laugh and a positive response.

Some people in my family love dick jokes

Saying Goodbye to Young Adult Things and Hello to Childish Things

I am almost positive that I am going to get some flack for this, but I used to be a Dane Cook fan. That is not indicating that I hate him now or anything, I just don’t follow his career anymore. I can still listen to his old albums and giggle occasionally. I don’t despise his current standup (I don’t think). I’ve heard about the issues with one of his recent sessions on the stage. His comments on getting over a girlfriend, to me, are less offensive than Teefury deciding to make a “female artist week” when they don’t make a habit of singling out a specific gender.

I digress. When I was younger, I thought it would be super cool to get a SUFI tattoo. So I did.

Me this morning

One of my biggest issues with looking at this tattoo and seeing it wasn’t regret. It was more apathy than anything else. It was a fun while it lasted, but I didn’t feel anything towards it anymore.

This will probably piss off my parents, but I decided to take a small chunk of my tax return (State, and I didn’t use it all so it was a very cheap present to myself) and get a tattoo. I just wanted to cover the tattoo with something that I have loved since childhood. My body has changed so much in the past few years, I thoroughly enjoy decorating it with lovely things. Also it was getting super faded and I didn’t want to get it freshened when I didn’t really care about it as much.

So I got something to remind me of both my love for the macabre, and the car I used to have that I named after one of my favorite characters.

I walked into a parlor today and after talking to Dustin and taking a look at his portfolio, it was set in motion. As the needles vibrated against my skin I knew that I was doing the right thing (for me). As he inked over the scar tissue of the old tattoo I winced, because tattooing over scars is ridiculously painful. But I soldiered through. Pain is something that I am used to. It’s something that I used to revel in.

I saw the tattoo slowly fill in and couldn’t stop smiling.

So here it is, the newest addition to my body. I couldn’t be happier.

I am the shadow on the moon at night.

Today I Wrote

Today I wrote 1500 words. I have been sitting on this story idea for over a year and countless days of self deprecation and laziness has kept me from moving forward in the story. This was the first story that I had ever outlined completely. I thought that having all of the essential answers at the beginning would have made it easier.

In actuality, it made it harder. I kept writing and rewriting the protagonist. I cursed myself for not being able to find their voice. After all, I knew the antagonist inside and out. Wickedness and what propels it has always fascinated me. Getting into that mindset is rarely difficult for me and at some points, the darkness that I can imagine frightens me.

But I digress. Today I felt my fingers run over the keyboard and had the wonderful rush of realizing that I had busted past a self-imposed block. I didn’t stick to the skeleton that I had built. Instead I followed the character as they would have continued their day. What happened were two pages that I didn’t intend on writing, but it felt fantastic.

Sometimes, you have to embrace some of the minutia of your character’s day to help better understand what they will do after something cataclysmic.

No, I didn’t write a lot, but two pages of new material came out of me today. I’m going to call that a win.