I am stumped today. I keep thinking of something to do with vice and I come up blank. So when I get writers block I tend to babble… you have been warned.
The advice was nice for the mice who wanted ice, but the price for the vice was too high.
Ta-da! I wrote something about vice… sorry folks but I am in a mood. I want to shut down for the night and the wheels are just spinning way to fast to relax. I have two appointments tomorrow and I am certain I will over sleep so of course I am wired now and don’t feel like sleep will be any time soon.
Usually when I am suffering from insomnia I try to write. If I can get the wandering words out it makes my head a little more quiet. Unfortunately the thoughts are really jumping too fast to make a lot of sense tonight. BUT … I promised myself I would stick with these one word prompts and keep writing. I really think it has helped my depression and anxiety some. I know it has helped my self-confidence a little to know there are a few of you following my ramblings out there. I am far from a great writer, but if I can somehow connect with even just one person I feel it makes a difference.
I write in times of dark depression best usually. The evil words just seem to flow better than those rare moments of happiness… my writing then always seems cheesy to me. But being alone, scared, frustrated, defeated and so on are some of the times the words just seem to click better. Right now I am just almost manic and can not keep a flow going in any one direction. Does anyone else ever get that way?
I am also kind of dreading tomorrow morning. My Dad (who is now 80) has to take a driving test to renew his driver’s license. I love him to pieces, but his driving scares me. He recently had to have surgery and his license came due during the recovery… now he waited long enough he has to take a test. I am glad the decision to drive or not to does not fall into my hands or my sister’s. I know he will be devastated if he does not get his license. I just hope if it is a no, they are polite about the denial.
I think I will stop babbling at the keyboard now. I have you all confused by now I am sure. I am not even sure of which direction I am going… LOL! I hope you all get a good nights rest. Until the next time… (((HUGS)))
He actually accused me of cheating. We sat in the car battling tears over a separation I had to have to save my sanity and he said I was having an affair. I did not cheat. I still to this day think he did though.
We were married for twenty years and over half of that time was a struggle with his alcoholism. I worked so hard to keep the image of the happy family in everyone’s eyes. But there were two people I always wondered if he was untrue with. Both he worked with at one time and he just talked about them too much. The stories about work seemed to revolve around them. Even one of them well after she stopped working there.
I know the one woman tried to be friends with me but seemed so fake, like she was trying to cover something up. She always laughed far too much at his stories when we would meet in public. I know she was involved with a married man at one time so it was not out of the ordinary to think she would have been with my then husband.
The second woman I could never really come up with anything other than a feeling, but I know she was the center of his conversations for a long time. He even talked once of letting her stay with us on a night of a snow storm, but said she declined. I was horrified at the thought and glad I did not have to face the possible reality.
I will never know the truth. My ex-husband died far too young from the abuse the alcohol caused his body. Does it really matter? It would not have changed things any. His drinking was the heart of our problems and he seemed unsure that he needed to stop, even after our divorce. So in a way he cheated on me for many years with his mistress alcohol.
Often I ask myself about some of the things in my past and wonder if I could change things would I? Was it a mistake to date someone who ultimately was not Mr Right? Was it a mistake to get married since it ended in divorce? Was it a mistake I only had one child? Was it a mistake in how I lived so that I had breast cancer? … all of the questions are valid, but most often I find the answers surprisingly to be no.
All those experiences led me to where I am and who I am now. The wrong men led me to the right one. The marriage was wonderful until the alcohol took over…and even though we divorced a part of me loved him to his dying day. And as wonderful as my daughter is, I can’t imagine not having that special bond with only her if I would have had more than one child.
Now the cancer has its own set of circumstances. There are no clear ideas on why or who gets it, so maybe it was my lifestyle that did it, but in some ways it made me much stronger. I had a bunch of choices through my treatments too, but if I had gone a different route I may not have been so lucky to have made it past year 13 of survival.
I guess what I am trying to say is that not all “bad” things in your life are mistakes. Each obstacle makes you stronger and wiser. That doesn’t mean there are not regrets from time to time, but at least the way I see it there are no true mistakes.
I am having a really rough night. Lots of pain both physically and emotionally. I can’t sleep and that is causing more anxiety since I have to be awake in 4 1/2 hours. I tried to turn to a friend tonight and got brushed off before I had a chance to ask for help… it hurt. I hate nights like this.
I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow, but that is still over 14 hours away. I looked to a depression group for another place to find “a friend” and an hour now with no response. I feel invisible.
I know this is not the nice blog I can write, my mind is all over the place and I feel very lost in the dark of this night. Money problems, relationship problems and the vanishing friends all do nothing but fuel the fire. It is a roaring inferno now.
I know I have depression and I have nights like this, and I have gotten through them before…. but that doesn’t make them any less scary. Some of my thoughts are out right cruel, some make me want to scream and others just whimper in the background. I’m sorry but I fucking hate depression and anxiety!!!!
If I could just get off this vicious cycle of, okay, then bad, then better, than much worse, then alright, then livable, then… No one to talk to at 1:30 am. And if there was I would only be a bother anyway. I hope I have not bothered you too much with my ramblings. Sometimes it helps if I try to get the poisonous words out… sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe there is someone else out there suffering tonight… it is better if we don’t suffer alone. So pull up a chair and let’s face the demons in the dark together.
I feel like my babbling fingertips have no destination in mind tonight, no focus, no goal – you have been warned. All I know is I want to be a part of my great grandmother’s miniature world. She made these perfect little worlds out of any supplies she could find. The first work of hers that I saw was a winter wonderland village that she created and gave to my grandmother. A lot of cardboard, paint, wood and imagination went into her creation. It was beautiful and every year I would study it in detail when we would visit for Christmas.
In later years she made two different rooms and did use a few store-bought doll house supplies but in her eighties this was still incredible detailed delicate work she did to create the scenes. I always admired her talents and inspiration. She could see so many possibilities in what people though of as insignificant scraps. Her worlds were perfect in my mind.
If I could just be a part of that living room where the woman was sitting in a rocking chair as happy as could be with her magazine pictures on the wall and knitting supplies in a bowl next to her… wouldn’t I be happy then. Everything decorated just right and kept tidy. The woman’s face forever with a smile.
My last smile seems days away. Not enough sleep (nothing out of the ordinary there) and too many problems. Bills keep rolling in but there is no money when you can’t work. I have been flaring with my fibromyalgia and hurt a lot. In that miniature world there is no sickness and pain… maybe only a little dust to disturb the perfect scene. I know life is not meant to be perfect but, just for a short time at least, can it be as beautiful as a miniature doll house room? Pretty please?