Can’t say it’s much of an improvement.
But then again, I just woke up all hungry and horny and miserable, so I might not be the best judge of things at the moment.
I am eating my leftovers from last night’s Lamb Rogan Josh from Tandoori King Cafe as I am typing away at you nice folks. It’s spicy and delicious.
Maybe a little too spicy. And I ordered it Mild, as always. They also have Very Mild, but I will die from chemical burns to the soft palate before I order THAT.
I know that refusing to let aging give me blank tastes seems like a weirdhill to choose to die on, but I have refused to be boring for my entire life and I am told old and cranky and set in my ways to stop now.
I refuse to order the food equivalent of an Easy Listening radio station.
Spicy food does help clear out the sinuses, though, and mine pretty much always need it. It’s annoying the keep having to blow my nose, but I will feel better afterward.
My birthday FRED will be at 7 pm tonight at the White Spot at 3 Road and Ackroyd. I guess I am looking forward to it. It’s nice to have a time, one day a year, when I am allowed to want to be the center of attention.
Bit worried that I haven’t gotten a card from my Mom yet. She’s usually quite punctual with that kind of thing. I hope everything is okay.
Experimenting with this feeling of crankiness and irritability. I have to admit, on one level, it’s actually kind of fun.
Grr, world. I am cranky and cross and quite put out. Cross me at your peril, for I know many angry, cutting words and have a rapier wit!
Rapier than what, I don’t know.
Honestly, what I want for my birthday right at the moment is sleep. I am running on like three hours of sleep right now and it ain’t enough. Once I am done eating and have my 500 words for this session, I am going to get my laundry started then go the fuck back to bed and to hell with everything else.
Yesterday’s experiment in voiding my buitterness and pain seems to have done me some good, which is nice. There is still a lot of that in me, but it felt good to get rid of a ton of it in all those “I hate” statements.
And I stand by all of them. I hate my stupid fucking life and all its pointless bullshit and unwarranted pain and deep down agony and confusion.
PRetend happy just isn’t cutting it any more. For decades, I have limped along pretending to be okay well enough to fool even myself.
But I am not okay. I am a deeply unhappy, unsatisfied , unfulfilled person and it high time I face this fact and maybe even do something about it.
Or at least put a name to my suffering.
Part 2 of My Birthday Blog is brough to you by the letters X and Z and the number 5.
I’ve had a little sleep and I feel a little better. But I still feel cranky and depressed.
I will do my best to straighten out my mood enough to behave myself at my own damn birthday party, at least. I know that my emotions are very close to the surface and that I am in the middle of an exceptionally long and productive emotional expectorations and so the risk of inappropriate responses is high.
So I am watching myself like a hawk, so to speak.
I am always very emotional on and near my birthday. I guess that’s my response to being “solarized” in the astrological sense, meaning the Sun is in my Sun sign and that means I am in a somewhat overcharged state.
In a perfect world, this would actually make me super happy as I would be able to use all that energy to buoy my mood and I would be flying high.
Instead, I just feel moody and pissed off at the world. Wonderful.
Oh well, at least I am finally feeling like a teenager. Next I will be telling my roomies that they don’t understand me before slamming my bedroom door behind me, turning my music up super loud, and flopping down on my bed in tears, my teen heart breaking.
I know how this works. I’ve seen TV.
Been pretty horny lately. but without the motivation to do much about it. My low success rate re : actually getting to ejaculate has me down.
Maybe a partner would help. Maybe not. Lately, when I imagine myself in a realstic sexual situation (as in, me and an adult human male), I imagine myself panicking and switching into “performance mode” where I simply stop thinking about my own needs and use my considerable gifts to rock my partner’s world.
Sex can be really hard for me, as I have mentioned before. No matter how much my body wants it, I also experience a very strong panic attack type reaction and it’s like my mind goes blank and….
I’m sorry. I can’t continue that line of reasoning because I just got off the phone with my mother and now it feels weird.
Audience : Oh right, NOW it’s weird.
I always love hearing from my mother. She is such a sweet and gentle soul and I love her boundlessly and with great joy.
Damn, I should have asked her if she has an email address yet. I would love to be able to email her. Phoning her is not really an option because reasons.
Being cuckoo in the coconut reasons.
Mental health reasons.
But email I could totally do. Unlike a phone call, email doesn’t barge into people’s live and demand you pay attention to it RIGHT NOW.
Also, it’s just text, so it’s not as socially stimulating as a phone call either.
I hate that my mental illness makes it so hard to stay in contact with people.
On the other hand, they could always contact me too, and they never do. So I guess they don’t want to stay in contact with me all that bad.
What a happy thought to end on.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.