Light and Darkness

When Others Fail You....When You Fail Yourself

Just finished reading the latest post by No Milk. I hate that innocent people die. I also hate that this girl felt desparate enough to want to die. It doesn't excuse her actions. Nothing does. When you take another person's life because of your own, that's not right. I'm sorry for Paul and all the people left devastated by a loved one's death.

I'm angry at people who don't understand though. What it feels like to want to destroy your breath. To disappear. It's desparation and loneliness and a void of everything including darkness. Dying...to kill oneself...is generally not for selfish reasons.

I want to die more times than wanting to live. The errors in my life. The recoveries. The desparate attempts to fix what I seem to break. The futile moves to be better. I haven't gone quietly into this world. I haven't sat around and just given up. I've kicked and screamed. I've taken immeasurable steps to avoid failure. I keep going. And with each day, after convincing myself that I'm doing ok, I feel I've failed. And in that failure that brings others down, I feel tremendously guilty for not trying harder or doing more.

I fear that God will finally hear me and take me. I fear that I'll get what I want. I fear this because I fear what my child would do next. And so I don't actively try to kill myself anymore. But I want to. I want to because she's along for the ride of what a miserable person that I am. I hate what I expose her to...this wreck that we call Naomi; and so I stick, stuck where I am. I can't die. Yet, I'm not living.

I've said this before here. People who kill themselves are generally tired. Tired of fighting. And who out of any of you will give up so much to spare me from my own desparation? I ask none of you to do this for me because you have this nagging thing called self-preservation. I understand this. But don't call me selfish if I kill myself. I'm just tired.

Orange, You Glad I Didn't Say....

I received an eviction notice printed on bright orange paper yesterday. I really don't know what I'm to do. I really suck at this thing called life. I take leaps of faith to improve myself and make better lives for my kid and me and they turn into death defying acts that Evel Kneivel would be frightened to perform. Guess I've not sacrificed enough in my life.

Prayer? Done it. I've done the selfish praying, asking God to just give me money. I've done the praying where I ask God to lead me to a place where I help myself. I've prayed that I just accept what happens and that we will be taken care of. So, what do I do when the landlord is beating at your door and the only money you have won't cover November's rent and December's rent is due tomorrow?

I've asked my mother for help already. She's help with moving. She's helped buying Emma's uniforms. She's helped with paying rent while I've been here. She can't help anymore. I can't even tell her about this because of what that means. And I don't want lectures about how I shouldn't have moved here. I get those already.

I moved here to move up and to become more stabilized in my life. To advance myself and remove myself from the dregs of my life...to believe in myself. And there just never seems to be improvement. Why the fuck, do I try?

GODDAMNIT! I just want to hate and hurt and forget and disappear. GOD, I'M FUCKING TRYING! WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? PLEASE JUST TELL ME!

Bed and Yawns Beckon

Tomorrow (today, rather) is my last day in my current place of employment. Friday, I start anew. Still nervous and excited. Just want to do a great job. Confidence. Need some of that. Do they offer it as injection like a vitamin B shot?

In life...I've been talking to Frost quite a bit. The relationship between us is far better than it had ever been. I feel quite comfortable with being his friend. Kudos to friendship! Always a good thing.

The ol' fat goose, Christmas will be here very shortly. Damn bastard! Such a struggle. Taxmas is a much better holiday. Love me some Taxmas. My mother is going to the Philippines again this year for Christmas. I am jealous. Would love to go before the Islands or I get swallowed by a massive fish that decides to evolve and walk upon the land, just so it can eat chick peas (Yes. I'm tired.) One day.

Very tired. Need sleep. Love to all of you.

A Promotion

I've been promoted...sort of. On Friday, I begin at a new theater. It's one of our busiest locations in the company. It's managed by the SGM that I spoke of weeks ago. It's getting me more money. I am excited. Nervous,  yet excited. I'm still with the same title but the building is different in many ways.

Hoping to build more confidence in my abilities here.  So scared of effing up. But still wanting to prove myself and what I can do. This will be my third building I've worked in for the company. Let me tell you....applying for a job with them in Pensacola was probably one of the best decisions of my life. It really has turned out well for me.

Yay for me!

Martina Looks Like Pam Anderson in Comparison

Found Men Who Look Like Old Lesbians by blog hopping again. The title says it old. Who you find on the list may suprise you though. Probably not some of their better photo-ops.

In your youth...

...did your imaginations run wild? Do they still in your adulthood?

Jan Von Holleben's does.

The End of a Day

I hate that I missed a second day for NaBloPoMo. DAMN YOU, SCOOBY DOO! I don't even know how it escaped me this time.

I was in a much better mood today. Convinced myself that it was my choice to either be a curmudgeon at work or the sprite we all know and love. Just a choice. That crap is still all here inside. Things I focus on during the quiets of the day, but I've chances galore to make some little bit better.

I drove to work with the windows rolled down in my car. My hair was wild with freedom in the wind. The day was getting nice and cozy as the sun was beginning to set. Words to the music was barely discernible. Just felt good.

I did stay a bit hidden throughout the night. I had some emotional rough spots on Friday night especially with the young teenagers....sometimes those kids just chafe my ass! Overall, it was simply a nice night.

Off tomorrow. Maybe some movies with Emma after some housework. Sleeping in sounds pleasant as well. I want to play with my jewelry tomorrow. I have most of it packed away and I just want to see some of my bobs and bits (doesn't that almost look like boobs and tits?).  May also write.

Another Opportunity Lost

I am a child of the eighties and like almost every teenage girl of that era, I am a Duranie. For years and years I've been wanting to go to a concert. Then they did that long term separation. Then they reunited when all 80s bands were reuniting. And I didn't care for their sound as much as I did when I was a young impressionable girl. Now, they're back in full force sounding great. And I still have not seen them in concert. Perhaps it's just trying recapture my youth or fulfill lost hopes and dreams but....

Guess who is coming to Texas in a couple of weeks? And guess who wants to go? But Christmas is around the corner and I'm already poor. Em and her holiday cheer is far more important than seeing the Fab Five.

Stupid poverty!

shell of a Naomi

I walk thru life so numb most of the time. How does someone so huge and conspicuous like me feel always unnoticed and unwanted? Most of the time I change the subject when I talk about my life. I crave so desparately to release it all. I begin, am embarrassed by the gush of whatever emotion I'm wrapped in, and stop all rambling. I appear always an emotional unknown.

I don't trust others to take care of me. I don't rely wholly that even my closest friends will abandon their lives in my time of need. I just don't. I stay always aloof, even if by a microscopic filament of a distance. Do I do this because I'm afraid of rejection? Or am I distrustful? Childhood abuse and emotional neglect? Adult relationships born out of desparation with people as unhealthy as me? Or was I just broken from the very moment of my existence?

Physically, I'm this fat, 35 year old woman that is called "Fat Bitch" at least every other weekend by someone in a public forum. Emotionally, I'm a wisp of ghost that barely passes for a child. I want to be saved by someone because I honestly don't know what I'm doing in my life. I try every day to improve myself and find no success. I hate my outward displays of weakness, which make me recoil from people more and more. I try to be self-relient, but I'm bad at it. I never learned how to do it.

Day to day. I live day to day and I hate it. There has to be more substance to life than just floundering about during twenty-fours. I live to see the next day because I think, "Tomorrow will be better. Today is already a lost. Just need to wait until this day is over." It's no way to go. I miss everything.

I am lonely. My mother tells me that I have my kid. And her. I don't need anyone else.

It's not true. I want someone to desire me. To want me. To fight everyone to protect me. I want to go home at night knowing I can cry to someone and show my suffocating weaknesses, and he'll still love me. I don't want him to be someone else's love. I don't want him to want me because it's not good at home.

I thought I had him. He knows all my frailties. He knew the desparation that was always seems to linger within me. He heard my sobs, my fears, my true self. And he told me he loved me over and over. He called me beautiful. His Nae. I thought...I knew I could trust and believe in everything when he told me he loved me. I knew I could try to make it thru everything because I had him and Emma. I am broken and yet he said he loved me.

I know it's wrong to rely on another to love you and make you feel good about yourself. At least that's what we're told. But why? Why is it so wrong to know that someone so beautiful has seen the scars of your past and still loves you? He validates that your worth. You feel filled and capable of every possibility.

And then he's gone. Like that. My fault. My insanity and insecurity and desparate need to want him more.

My child pushes me away more and more. Her ever burgeoning search for independence. I take it personally, though I try not. I try not to rely on her because of her age and her role in life. She's the child. I'm the parent. My sadness with life comes out more and more as audible sighs. She asks me what's wrong. I feign ignorance.

This confession is nothing new for me. My quiet, daily despair is incessant. I choose to ignore it. I refuse medications, psychotherapy, and interactions with friends. Often, I fail and then, explode in streams of tears and pleads. Embarrassed, I apologize and move on. I am a horrible friend. Selfish.

My life is not going well here in Texas. I was trying to repair some damage to my financial life while Pensacola. It was looking positive but I've found myself strapped once again. I've isolated myself, which is bad enough but my daughter is sad and angry and without the close proximity of those she considered her peers and her friends. I moved here in hopes to be a better person. To earn what I worked to deserve. I've found myself terribly depressed and focusing on wounds that I haphazardly tried to repress.

What do I do? Who will save me especially from myself? Emptying out. I'm just emptying out.

Think I'm joking about driving in Texas.

This happened on the interstate right in front of the theater and the restaurants next to us. MY GOD!

Oil Tanker Explodes

I'm not a doctor. But there's some holes in his stomach.

Horrorfest is going on at my theater right now. It's great. Little mini horror film festival that started last year. The films are campy but so fantastic. Surprisingly, there are some big stars in these films; noone like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, but still some names you would recognize....if your name isn't like the person who is dead to me because he doesn't know who the hell Robert Rodriguez is.

Monday night, Emmaline and I watched Tooth and Nail, which is set in Philadelphia after civilization ends as we know it. Without even watching it, you'd probably guess the premise of the film, although that's not where the title comes into play in the movie. We had fun watching this because it's entirely predictable. The characters are exactly like every character you would expect in a survival of man sort of film especially when you have them living together in a post-apocalyptic world. PREDICTABLE. What I find head-scratching about the film are the death scenes. These mountainous, Viking-like band with men the size of 300 pound bears make these earth shattering blows on tiny wimpy folks. The wimpies crawl and drag themselves away from these huge beasts in a futile attempt to get away. Several more fatal blows and then death. HOWEVER, when the wimpies fight back and get to kill their antagonists, it takes very little to fell a Giganto!

The best line of the whole film is the title of this post. I will be using it. Going around quoting it as often as I can because it' a line with that denotes sarcasm, fun, and disbelief. It's just as much fun as my favorite line...which is all me, by the way....."DAMN YOU, SCOOBY DOO!" (note: to get the full effect must have closed fist, which is shaken towards sky as to indicate being trumped by those pesky kids).

We're off to see a second film in just a moment, Unearthed. Hopefully, it will be just as awful and fun as Tooth. Laughter is so good for the soul.

Knot

Walking Jolie this morning before work and I found this tree with many branches coming from its main trunk. Poor thing lost a branch to the pruners because it's growing on a small strip of land between two car parks. It's a beautiful knot though.

Taken with my phone so forgive the lack of focus. 

Not much for talking

I'm depressed. I'm not in the mood for talking. Despite my one missed day, I want to post every day. Hopefully more tomorrow.

sigh.......

Why NGeo is the best!

If you haven't subscribed to National Geographic in your reader, you should. Wish I could embed the video but you'll just have to go and watch it for yourself.

The architect of the sea organ won an award for his design. Simple and beautiful.

TWO HOURS TOO LATE

I told myself to post before going to work. I told myself that I had to do that. AND YET! I forget. I didn't post for the tenth. FUCK!

I bought a game for my birthday and was caught up in it until I had to go to work. GOD DAMN IT!

Failure fucking sucks!

Folks, it's that one post when this blog's focus is on Me.

That title amuses me so.

Yes, it's that annual time of year. Time for reflection and thankfulness. No, it's not Thanksgiving but some would be saying it is because it is my birthday! So far I've received birthday wishes from TK101 and the Coca Cola Company. How thoughtful of them to think of me. It pays to sign up for newsletters and crap. At least once a year, the computer generated emails are far more personalized.

I'm thirty-five today. Fucking hell! When did that happen? At times I feel the creak of middle age in my back, neck, hips, wrists, and hands. I see my body in the mirror or in pictures and I'm ashamed. Other times, I hear myself speak or giggle at the silliest things and think that I must be lying about my age...I'm just a spry, young thing.

Birthdays in your youth come so slowly and then they start speeding along like a bullet train in Japan. At three and four, you count your half-birthdays. You use your fingers to physically claim your age to any adult who asks, "How old are you?" At ten, you look at body parts wondering when they'll change or grow and are both proud and embarrassed when they do. At sixteen, you hate the world for underestimating your adultness and spend the year contemplating revenge on the masses. At eighteen, you do what you think a person of twenty-one would do. At twenty-one, your cockiness is only matched by your stupidity; and both will show up in pictures that later in life will serve as giddy reminders of how youth is wasted on the young. At twenty-five, the fear starts to set in as you see that youth does escape you and now it's time to make grown-up decisions before you're behind the  pack. At thirty, there's suddenly a peace. You don't know where it came from or that it's well-earned. It's just there. Perhaps it's the realization that thirty is not an age to mess around or take lightly. You are an adult. There's no ifs, ands, or buts.

Then thirty-five comes. Perhaps its those between the decade ages that hits you hard. The regret before the leap into a new age bracket but I'm a little pissed. I may well be at the middle point of my life. If I live another thirty-five years, I'll be seventy years old, which is around the age that most people see the maker of all this spectacular life. I'm pissed because I don't feel like I should be at this milestone yet. No one thinks I look like a woman in her thirties. That's a good thing but hell, I AM.

In five years, I'll be forty years old. My daughter will be seventeen. Five years. I remember when my mother turned forty. I was twenty. That was fifteen years ago. Huh?! Seriously? I'm still trying to get past putting my age up in fingers. I ain't got enough fingers or toes to do that anymore. I have to use that old person's method: Three fingers up on the left hand. Hand forward in purposeful pulse of three. Pull back while fingers prostrate. Five fingers up on the right hand. Hand forward in purposeful pulse of five. Pull back while these fingers bow towards the palm.

I just don't want to be this far along yet because I have so much I haven't accomplished. With age, though comes wisdom. Things on my list to accomplish have changed from those years of mine of frog hunting, hide and seek and chasing little girls with big black ants when they had designs on the boys I liked. I know my talents. I know my strengths. I know the reality of accomplishment. I'm hoping that young of heart feeling inside me will give me the insane bravado that only comes with your younger years. Imagine the partnering of wisdom that is only achieved with age and that damn sprightly living that comes with youth?! Makes for the fear of the approaching forties not so overwhelming.

But still.....

Stupid youth...wasted on the young.

Anyway. In celebration of Nae Day, I hope you all have the youthful courage to accomplish something silly today. Fear not the reprimand of others. Live boldly today and give yourself a shot of your younger years. And always....I wish you all the best as I celebrate my day!

35

Tomorrow.

Bad day at work? Bet it's nothing compared to theirs.

Seriously, I never want to bitch about work again.

Salt Mining in Uganda

Cook Children('s)

Isn't that a great name for a pediatric practice? Of course, it's not really a title for some place so ominous but still....Hansel and Gretel, here we come.

Had to take the Pie to the doctor today. She's been feeling ill for the last few days. Figured it was just her sinuses especially with the sudden change in the season. Her red, scratchy throat did not have the look of strep. She had no fever. No diarrhea. No flu like symptoms. But she did feel bad so I've let her stay home sick; and boy, did she just stay home and be sick. This kid has only slept and slept and slept. She's done very little in the activity department. After her third day home, I figured her sinus issue may be more than I thought. Dr. Naomi wrong? How?! Nope. Strep is negative. Only her sinuses but they've drained her of all energy.

But that's the name of the practice. Great name! Only thing better would be that the building's facade was in the shape of a mountainous clown. Families with their sick wee ones would have to walk up the sidewalk into a gigantic gaping clown mouth. Frightened and ill. Poor things. But it did make for some great laughing. Only thing funnier was when Emma said, "Wouldn't be great if there was a soup kitchen next to it?"

My wicked little child and her soylent green dreams! She IS my daughter. By the way, see my new author photo? Isn't my kid beautiful?!

What a Cockup!

I really don't want to go into details about the events of today at work because such details are very....well, detailed....that people from work will find me; and then I won't work again. Please note that it was a horrific day. And the last few days have been COD specials, which I will try to be more forthcoming on another post. At the moment, I'm tired. I'm hungry. And I think I'm getting sick. How dare my body decide three days before my birthday to get sick. Bitch!

Passing this on? Then pass me by!

Received a forward from a friend. I hate these with a passion. Namely the ones that tell me that I'm going to hell because I don't believe in Jesus or that I'm not patriotic because I don't wipe my ass with the right brand of toilet paper. Please don't forward these to me. I get angry with this bullshit.

How  ironic is this??!! They don't even believe in Christ and they're getting  their own Christmas stamp, but don't dream of posting the ten commandments  on federal property?

USPS  New Stamp
This  one is impossible to believe. Scroll down for the text.   
If  there is only one thing you forward today.....let it be  this!

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of Pan Am Flight 103! 

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993! 

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the Marine Barracks in  Lebanon! 

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the military Barracks in  Saudi  Arabia! 

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the American Embassies in  Africa! 

REMEMBER the MUSLIM bombing of the USS COLE!

REMEMBER the  MUSLIM attack on 9/11/2001!

REMEMBER all the AMERICAN lives that  were lost in those vicious MUSLIM attacks! 

Now  the United  States Postal Service REMEMBERS and HONORS the EID MUSLIM holiday season with a commemorative first class  Holiday postage stamp. Bull! 

REMEMBER  to adamantly and vocally BOYCOTT this stamp. When purchasing your stamps at the post  office. To use this stamp would be a slap in the face to all those  AMERICANS who died at the hands of those whom this stamp honors. 

REMEMBER  to pass this along to every patriotic AMERICAN you  know.

A couple things I'm going to say on this. First some questions:

I'm not going to answer any of these because the figures are insanse and inaccurate. However, in the name of Christian doctrine or at the hands of Christians, of all kinds, how many people suffered and died in the name of Jesus? The Crusades. Spanish Inquisition. Holocaust. Salem Witch Trials. Abortion bombings.

Next point: Timothy McVeigh was raised a Christian. Serial killers Jeffrey Dahmer, John Gacy, Robert L Yates, Jr and Ted Bundy were all Christians. Have you looked into the religions of our most famous criminals?

Let's go even further into dissecting this. What's the main religion of the KKK? What was the main religion of the American settlers that committed the Native American genocide during the founding of this great nation of ours? What was the main religion of the Americans that went through Vietnam and napalmed the hell out of the innocents including Phan Ti Kim Phuc? What has been the religion of every United States President that has allowed a genocide of the human race based upon political decisions they make every day?

Now, tell me that these people are the norm. Tell me that they represent Christianity and the different denominations of them. Tell me that I shouldn't be afraid of a Bible-carrying, Jesus-loving Christian. Tell me that I should ban every Christian based organization, friend, and event because of these people.

They're extremists. They're zealots. They're untrue representations of beliefs. As were all the damn extremists that committed those horrendous acts described in that moronic email. Throughout the history of humankind, there are those fanatics that destroy the lives of others. If it wasn't religion that was behind these acts, it was something else like politics or just plain ol' survival.  Like I don't believe that every southerner is going to string up a black man from a tree because that southerner is a racist murderer, I don't believe that acts committed in the name of any religious leader, creator, or founder is the doctrine of said religion.

GROW A BRAIN, PEOPLE! You're perpetuating hate! You're passing on ignorant thoughts and behaviours. You're a lemming and it's sickening. Don't include me. I want no invitation to what you consider logical thinking and moral responsibility.

And I will buy that stamp. I am an American. If anyone can tell you that they're American, it's me. My ass came here from a country that sits in poverty every day. I come from that era where AMERICAN GIs chose to use their wang in a land that they thought no responsibility came from fucking an Asian during their overseas orders. I come from an extreme issue that should have me hating every bloody American. But I don't. Just ignorant ones. Because I was also introduce to another kind of America. Where a true freedom rings. Where people can have hate filled hearts and spew their garbage all over immigrants like me. They can live next door to me and my family who CHOSE to be Americans. An American like me who doesn't tell you that you're untrue because you're a different race or creed or religious nut. I'm that American. THAT HUMAN of the world....that knows that Islam didn't perform that violence. People with hate and ignorance did and they just happen to be Muslim, and they wanted everyone in the world to know they were.

Quick post before bed and that strange made up time thing attacks my senses

Wanted to share the following because the pages are funny. It's a lazy post because I have just arrived home from work. My body says it's 330a whereas the clock says it's 231a. In either case, I have to work at  noon (until 9p) and I'm unsure I'll be coherent enough after work to remember a NaBloPoMo post. So....let the lazy post begin.

Demonbaby: The Second Annual MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards. Check out the first one as well. I know the post is over a year old but the topic is still timely.

Have fun and I'll chat with you later.

when the oddest songs are on repeat in your head

I kid you not. This is what I woke up singing. Could there be a subliminal message in there?

By the way, I'm crushing on the guy singing. That's Jermaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords.

staring at mounds of laundry and deciding sleeping in sounds nicer

This last week I've been getting up early and going to work in the morning like a regular 95er does...at least what a movie industry person considers regular. Let me be your Rosetta Stone for a moment in regards to what I've encountered as said movie industry person. Regular equates hours into the wee morning. Finishing a day and closing business and finally getting home for me is about 3-330 am after having started my day around 5pm. On an opening shift day, I get to work at 10am and go home anywhere between 7p-10p.

This job of my mine, if nothing else, has been perfect for my sleeping patterns: chaotic, intermittant, and short. Unfortunately, nothing gets done in my house. More unfortunately, I'm lying and using my work habits as reason to explain the lack of household chores and the discipline in performing them. Ha Ha....read into this as my being a lazy slob. The shame of it all.

I think I will rest for a brief moment, which translated means until I have to get ready for work at 3p. NO NO NO...today, I will accomplish something on the list of things I have to do in the apartment. I'll let you know how it goes.

All Saints Day

Whether you're Catholic or art lover or not, this site is good mind food. The Last Supper is deteroriating and with all the attention from The DaVinci Code, you now have the chance to get nose-close (hell, it's closer than that) to Leonardo's masterpiece. See if you can see details that the person on Jesus' right is his wife. If anything, it's an opportunity to see the state of that famous wall's mural.

My secret identity is so good that I didn’t know I was a superhero.

What if depression is my superhero power? The negative spiral into blue darkness stops criminals in their tracks. Stifling, crippling depression swallows the joyful zeal of world domination and maleficent rule. It makes sense now. All these years of debilitating depression and mania have been my superhero psyche battling crime across the globe. I've been sending out psychic signals to all ne'er-do-wells and their minions. Interrupting their nefarious plans and making the world a safer place with my lightening fast sadness, I have.

Imagine, somewhere in the underbelly of a gothically dark metropolis is a criminal genius with his finger on the detonation button to release toxic fumes upon his unsuspecting foes. With my preternatural agility and unconscious gift to rule human emotion, I've disabled him. Instead of destroying the lives of thousands of innocents, he's sealing himself into his hyperbaric chamber. He has drawn all the shades, unplugged all his electronic devices, pulled on his pajamas and crawled into his bed. Cradled against his chest, beneath the layers of blankets is his Mr. Woo Woo, a stuffed porcupine he received on his eighth birthday from his favorite aunt Sue. Once a lively evil doer, hell bent on taking over the world he's suddenly immobilized by the overwhelming urge to cry. My arch nemesis has dropped all plans for conquest and just wants to know why no one loves him.

All because of me, folks. You sleep soundly tonight because of me and my superhuman emotional strength. Now, for my superhero name.