I thought I’d missed the mark. I really did.

“Fuck’a’doodle doo P!” Mouse yelled in my head, “You fuckin’ forgot your Bloggers for Movember post!”

“I didn’t forget Mouse! Ugh. I just had a lot of shit going on. What with the immigration, the surgery, the–”

“LIAR!”

I had nothing to say, no comeback.

****

I thought I’d grown my Movember mustache for nothing (see my mustache here).

I was so happy I’d finally managed a decent ‘stache, one that could rival Jen’s wispy whiskers–my arch enemies. Then I nearly cried realizing all the fun and games of Movember are over. All of the contestants had gone home with their prizes.

****

Then, last night, something MAGICAL happened. Mr. Penis’n’Balls–who I’d never met before–came to me in the middle of the night and whispered in Mouse’s ear: “MsMousie! Wake up! Mousie! You can still blog for Movember. Balls and I would appreciate it so much. I mean, $1200 or more or something like that have been raised for prostate cancer awareness and care. Spread the word. You got TWO MORE DAYS!”

“Holy shitballs! I do have TWO WHOLE DAYS to blog for Movember Mr. Penis’n’Balls!”

So I woke up, did a bunch of stuff like swimming only I couldn’t ’cause the pool was closed so I lifted three pound weights instead and, I fell in the bathtub, thought I’d broken all my bones, thank heavens I didn’t. So no broken bones and I think, “Right! I still haven’t written for Movember like Penis’n’Balls asked”

That’s when I realized I’d have to rush a post. So all I’m gonna say is, I think all of you Movember bloggers are awesome, especially these guys: Bloggers for Movember – A Final RecapFor the Love of Your Healthy Prostate, and Rockin’ it for Movember.

What is Movember anyway?!

For those of you still unfamiliar with this, it “is a moustache growing charity event held during November each year that raises funds and awareness for prostate and testicular cancer.”

That’s about all I know, so don’t ask me more questions.

Look, women tend to get it in the breasts, men tend to get it down below. I know for sure my dad had to get tested after he started having trouble down there in his older years. He’s clear fortunately, but his grandpa and my grandpa as well as many men aren’t.

Prostate cancer grows in the prostate gland, just between the urethra, seminal vesicle, rectum and anus. It’s literally a PAIN IN THE ASS TO HAVE, and it is a pain that kills.

I would draw a mouse sketch of a prostate for you, but I’m late enough to the party as it is. So I gots nothing to bring except a Google search of pictures of prostates (no hairy balls this time, I promise).

So hats down to those Movember bloggers, particularly those I’ve mentioned. And LE CLOWN for being a champion of the cause!

For more info visit

Movember.com

There’s still time to donate and help out! At least I think there is. Is there?

TWO DAYS YALL!

If not, at least take a look at your balls to make sure they’re okay and enjoy the the Mouse. I worked VERY hard on those sketches (not really, kinda though).

Mouse love

********

ALL SKETCHES ARE CopyRighted by PAZ 2012

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Biometrics Are IN!

November 27, 2012

BOOYAH!

They are in!

My fuckin’ FABULOUS finger prints are in! My hand prints, finger prints and a picture of my geeky face in a blue long-sleeve, corduroy, polo-style shirt have been submitted into the gubernatorial vortex.

WHEW! It. Is. Done.

********

I haven’t been updating much on the immigration situation because my focus was on getting stable enough to function and get all the paperwork in. In case you’re new and are just now reading, I am an immigrant, an undocumented immigrant to say the very least. I’ve lived in Texas since I was five years old, roughly twenty-two years, but who’s counting right? *cough*

Back in June, President Obama made a sly move to get a head start in the 2012 elections–he signed an executive order for DACA (deferred action for childhood arrivals) meaning that, a) undocumented aka “illegal” immigrants who came to the U.S. prior to the age of sixteen would be deferred/protected by law from deportation proceedings and, b) they would, by discretionary case, receive a work permit so they (I) can work legally in the United States.

I currently cannot work “legally”. It is a difficult situation to be in as I mentioned in my posts “P Is in SHOCK! UTTER FUCKIN’ SHOCK!” and “P Is in SHOCK! UTTER FUCKIN’ SHOCK! …. But then remembers…”

Most of my friends and acquaintances who are in the same boat either work as waiters, house keepers (like my mother did), janitors (like my father did), construction or farm worker etc.–all jobs I cannot do in a wheelchair. My only options, out of desperation, were to try and freelance. But being mental and having severe anxiety on top of transportation issues makes freelancing extremely difficult. Besides, I needed more discipline.

Since I graduated college in May of 2011, my freelance jobs have added to nearly nothing. I tried websites like e-lance and all this other shit I can’t remember. I spend hours on those sites, touching up my resumé, putting up samples of my work, only to find that at the end of the process, I was always asked for a Social Security number which I obviously do not have.

It became another brick added to the weight of the depression that eventually knocked me down in May. But then, alas, June came with the news of Obama’s signature. I’m not an Obamacrat, I’ll tell you straight up. I’m with the rebel alliance and Jedi nights, not the empire. Besides, Obama had promised several activist groups (some of which I was part of) that he would sign this YEARS ago, but as a true politician, he did not until this election year.

Anywho, I’m not goin’ into my political or social ideals in detail since that is not the focus of my blog. I established at least that from the beginningWhat I do want to share is MY STORY.

********

In mid-October I received such wonderful birthday presents!

I got some stretchy pants from my mama, a poem from Angel; I got to see Fiona Apple LIVE with my bro who bought the tickets last-minute; I got a beautiful painting of Mermaid P mailed to moi from Le Sailor–LOOK HERE and I got the DACA application completed and mailed out. That to me was a wonderful gift. They all were.

In April, just before my suck-ass and shameful death attempt, when I thought I couldn’t fall further into depression, I got hooked up with a “job” and felt excitement followed by failure crushing me with the culmination of the second day of work, the day I got fired. I was only an intern, hence the legalities not being clear up and therefore they were not strict in mu application. That’s why I wasn’t asked for my SSI number. Plus, Mansie practically got me that job, a job that only lasted two days.

****

Sixty days after Obama’s June executive order, the DACA law went into effect. To cut my rambling a little short, I have had a long process applying for DACA since September, but I finally had my biometrics appointment today!

The biometrics proceeding is basically when USCIS, the Immigration and Citizenship Services department calls you in to take a photo of you, mark your fingerprints and so on, you know, Big Brother type shit . The dude who fingerprinted me was wearing blue latex gloves like he was about to give me an enema. I ranted on my MsMouse Facebook as follows (note the terrible grammar ’cause I was on a not-so-smartphone that kept auto-correcting me in my agitated state):

My rant for today: It’s so hard having to depend on my dad for SO much! I’m grateful that he’s here, but he’s extremely overbearing and has become more stubborn with age (he’s nearly 70). The biometrics appointment went well even though my dad and I got into an arguedment on the way to the US immigration dept office. It went super fast. Yaaaay!

But fuck anyone who thinks I, or anyone like me should be deported. Twenty two ducking years for this and I’ll still as a non-legal resident, only in immigrant with DACA and work permit. At least ill have that thought. And I can’t wait to finally have a job and a little more freedom! Wooohoo.Fuck you govt for playing with our lives! For controlling my live like a piece in a board game!End rant.

********
And that is that! I’m on my way to being more of an adult. I feel as though my entire life I haven’t been given room to grow, to spread out and show my inner beauty. This is why I feel so child-like. It’s not a “bad” thing to be child-like, but what I mean is, I’ve always felt restricted like a child. I’ve felt things that should be entitled to me weren’t. I’m an angry little mouse on a tiny, albeit heavy, leash and the cheese is only a foot away. (Godamn I love cheese!)
****
Hopefully in a month’s time, I’ll be receiving a social security number along with my work permit! Nope guys, no green card or “legal status” yet. I’ll still technically be an “illegal,” only an “illegal” who can work “legally” (I prefer undocumented).
And ain’t that an oxymoron? That’s politics for ya…
Here’s a little sketch I did on my not-so-smart-smartphone that my bro’s sweet girlfriend gave me before my surgery!
Anyone know of any good and cheap/free sketching apps for Andriod? This one isn’t too great. But I like that you can’t be precise; it makes me less perfectionistic  less critical and quicker. heheh. The scribble at the right surrounding the MsMouse is supposed to say “ILLEGAL”. Try and figure out which part of the tail is the letter G and/or A.
Mouse love

ILLEGAL MsMouse
2012 (c) paz
I am still undocumented aka “illegal”

Edit 5:53pm 11.22.2011:

This is my introduction to the blogosphere.

There are a total of what, twenty billion blogs out there? Twenty eight trillion maybe, to be sure? And most of these are far from being hot, hardly lukewarm. And the world doesn’t need any more lukewarm bloggers popping out like malnourished crack babies. I’ve never really even enjoyed being lukewarm and though I’ve never been a malnourished, lukewarm crack baby, I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy that either. But to you, and often times to me, it doesn’t really matter what I do or don’t enjoy.

Phew.

So I begin my blogging journey. I begin by wondering if I may as well continue writing like a madman—lost to the world in my nonsensical, ranting and raving–battering my poor, hapless notebooks.

A part of me rebels though. I get tired of that lonely rambling. I get tired of putting it aside as hogwash.

****

I want this to have a clear purpose, a focus. And I think what better focus than to share my whacked-out thoughts on the WORLD WIDE WEB!

THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW THESE WACKY THOUGHTS!

Plus, I can stick my timid, mutant turtle neck out just a little from under the shell of anonymity. It would be good for my crawling self-esteem.

But the true motivator here is the fear that I’m at a breaking point again. And maybe I have something of value to share? If not, then at least I’ll be writing again.

Now that I finally decided to open this account, my self talk went a little like this:

“Well, it’s done. You’re signed in now. What hell are you going to make this about? Yourself? Fuck no. There’s lots of shit in this world you wanna talk about. No? Well, what do you think to get out of it? What’s the point in it? To fuel your narcissism, yes? Come on, you know you want to. You know you do. No really though, I don’t. Yeah really though. Are you really that self-absorbed, you punk ass? Yes. Yes I am”

****

Most writers find an intimate experience in the process of laying words to rest–to rest in the world, the solitude, the page– all transmitting and transcending the inner being to the unknown, endless landscape that is this universe, the mind, the infinite particles of thought.

But the truth is, despite this intimacy, I suspect most people who write also have a deep need to speak and be heard; that somewhere deep down (even if they refuse to admit it) they want to drag people into their world. They too are narcissistic. In kinder words though, people who enjoy writing want to share that intimate experience with others.

****

“Maybe I’ll really enjoy it”, I thought. And since I’m in desperate need of an unchained creative outlet (seriously, this blog may become my only outlet for maintaining sanity) I figured, “Eh fuck it, I’ma do this shit! I’m gonna write to my heart’s content“.

The dilemma is, I’m a very private person. Any kind of personal exposure is terrifying for me, even with Facebook occasionally tempting me to whip out my dirty (I mean splattered with virally infectious verbal diarrhea dirty) drawers. And if I ever did secretly want to start a blog, which I’m pretty sure I did, I always ran from the idea in fear that it would become a spiraling vortex into my strange little world, into my swirling mind.

I would be giving others a ticket to enter my thoughts, to judge me from every angle until my longed-for-death. I’d end up having to wear an anti-mind-reading helmet made of aluminum foil and toothpaste.

So, I told myself: Write, but the personal is forbidden!

HA!

To make things worse, I’ve been encouraged to write about myself in the last few years. Two years ago, my brother’s co-worker told him to tell me that I should write a memoir. For all she knows, I could be illiterate. She’s never even met me!

I even had a complete stranger say this to me: “Hey you! Yeah YOU. YOU, you. You should write about YOU!” 

Ugh, I’m guessing all this is because I’m somehow “special”. Trust me, I’m not that special, please don’t inflate my ears with such nonsense. I did find out I was in SPECIAL ED in tenth grade and it confirmed my suspicions that I am mentally retarded. But this is another kind of special.

Anyway, here I am writing about myself.

But I don’t want to take myself too seriously. I really don’t. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m a joker. I enjoy kicking back my child-sized shoes and laughing at the absurdities of this world, and most of all, the absurdities of my creation.

I’m REALLY not THAT special. Subtract the special-ed part from school and I get pretty close to not being special at all.

One thing I do know is that I plan to enjoy myself and hopefully learn from this. If this dies here, however, it dies. If it lives as a serious, boring or humorous, self-deprecating facet of me, then it lives.

In any case, without further ado, I present to you my…

********

2011 (c) paz
My very first sketch/version of the Mouse before I’d even named the blog. Butt-crack chinned guy in the bottom right (yeah the creepy one) is one of my first PLDs (Pretty Little Demons). They’ve been altered since.

So, what the hell is this?! The paragraphs above were written in November of 2011.

This was my very first post, an introduction of sorts. I never even published it then, but it’s been saved here, an ENTIRE YEAR!

When I sat in front of the glaring blue light of the computer screen a year ago, I was covered in darkness. The only thing lighting me was the screen. The depression had hit again and I was falling deep into my little mouse hole. I was reading an awesome illustration blog then called My Medicated Cartoon LifeIt’s written (or was written) by an animator of children’s T.V. programming. He dealt with deep depression for many years, most of his life actually. I could relate to so much of what he wrote.

That blog inspired me to open up my own blog here on WordPress. I didn’t do anything with it for days. It just sat here all lonely–an abandoned dumpster baby. It became a malnourished little baby, the very thing I didn’t want.

BUT, here I am a year later. My baby has grown. Over ten-thousand views! I can’t believe I’ve written for this long. I hardly ever stick to something for this long. One thing I didn’t mention in the original post was that at the time, I had recently finished reading Marjane Satrapi’s graphic/illustrated memoir, Percepolis which, along with Allie Brosh’s hilarious blog, had also given me inspiration for my blog.

Here’s to writing, blogging, sharing and loving!

More than “lukewarm” blogs, I found a ton of really talented, amazing writers, photographers, illustrators, artists, humorists and like-minded mental-brainiacs. I’ve made some really wonderful friends I didn’t expect to gain! I also got the chance to write as a Canvas author and be part of their wonderful mental health community.

And of course, I appreciate everyone who’s passed through this little year-old blog.

Melancholically Manic Mouse, born November 22, 2011. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE GUY! I’m thankful that you came to life here.

****

Maaan, that was saccharin! I don’t like tears… I better go stuff myself with more stuffing.

Mouse love

********

And to review my year in blogging, here is a list of the blog’s categories. CLICK DAMN YOU:

Humor | Memoirs |Mental Health Files | The Immigrant Files | Disability & Chronic Illness | Comicy & Doodly | Poetry Photos

Thank You Bloggies!

November 22, 2012

I’m thankful to still be alive, despite all the hell I was in this year. I’m thankful for regaining some semblance of mental stability and for my lifelines–little Luna and swimming, this blog, and yes, even my wonderful wacky family who have all been my support as of late. I’m thankful for their unlimited love. I’m thankful that I have a relationship with my brother again. I’m thankful that he has a great girlfriend.

I’m thankful the operation finally went well.

I’m thankful that there was FINALLY a cease fire in Gaza!

I’m thankful for Monkey Man’s ukulele, the best memento I have left from him. Rest in peace my lovely man. I’m thankful I got to know you, to know your love, and I’m thankful that you were in my life you crazy, crazy borderline bastard!

I’m thankful for having had the chance to meet all the amazing people here in bloggie land!

You have all been my lifeline too, more than you know. But…

The true meaning of Thanksgiving.

I kid. I know, I always have to throw in something ironic, cynical and vulgar. But it’s just me and my PLDs (Pretty Little Demons for those of you that don’t know).

Mouse love

Sexy Surgery Gone RIGHT!

November 18, 2012

Oh yes, it was a successful surgery and very sexy indeed.

The lovely Sara Draws brought this sexiness to my attention. This was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of the not-so-sexy surgery gone wrong two years ago.

****

Tomorrow will complete a week since my jaw surgery. I have therapy with Brunet Young at eleven then have to go to the hospital, which is fortunately nearby, for my follow-up on the surgery.

Maaaan, I just can’t believe how well it went! I keep gloating about it. In fact, on Wednesday I believe it was, I started crying uncontrollably in the shower. I realized the tears were tears of relief–purifying tears as a dear friend says.

****

It went something like this:

I panicked Thursday and called my therapist, Brunet Young. Cried Sunday. Woke up Monday to face what I had to face on my face. I had to pee in a cup for a pregnancy test, put on robes that were four times my length and three times my width and put on my cap. All I could think of was how horrible it was last time. How I woke up with lips so swollen that they blocked my nostrils; how they told me my jaw had split in two; how I’d had a plate inserted to hold it together, a plate which was later found misplaced, sticking out of my skin; how my mouth was wired shut for four months, and how it hurt so much for the last two years, ugh… It all came back and I tried my best not to panic.

One of the docs slipped an IV into my vein and I got drowsy. But I guess I was so nervous that I didn’t fall asleep. They rolled me  into the operating room and there, with the oxygen mask, I finally closed my eyes.

*****

Young male doctors caressed my face then made a small incision in my outer cheek and a larger one inside my jaw. They then unscrewed the screwed-up screws.

“P, P” a voice near my ear said, “Everything went fine.”

I faintly smiled and with hazy eyes and blurred vision, I moaned, “Man, I had the strangest dream.”

“Really? A lot of patients get that from anesthesia. What was it about?”

“I have no idea.”

And I fell back into sleep.

I lied with blood on my hair and dried flakes of blood on my neck while a cute bearded nurse-boy asked if I wanted a suction tube in my mouth.

“Oh yes, yes, please” I replied in short breathless mumbles as he inserted it in my mouth and I sucked.

Yep. The surgery was soooo hot!

I now have hopes that my face will go back the way it was two and a half years ago, before all this mess. Or that the pain will go away at least. I know that the Bell’s Palsy has affected my left side which never fully recovered, but I’m okay with that now, really. I’m ok with my face not being symmetrical now.

My face looks good as new. And it’s been less than a week! It still hurts, but surprisingly this pain is much, much more tolerable than the pain I had with the plate BEFORE the surgery (this second operation, not the first).

I know it will heal this time because there’s no broken bone, no obstruction, no metal sticking out the skin to prevent the wound from closing properly.

I just have hope.

********

Hope is the thing with feathers,

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
~Emily Dickinson

Sometime in early summer when my bro, V, and I became friends again, he said to me, “P, I want you to listen to this chick. I think you’ll like her. She a bit off, like you. I know you like that kind of shit.”

He took me over to his computer and showed me a Lana del Rey video, “Born to Die”. I wasn’t very impressed, but I nodded my head and said, “yeah, yeah, she sounds good. Not bad.”

Turns out I’m really diggin’ her now. Not nose deep diggin’, just knee-high diggin’, ya dig?

****

Yeah, I admit that I like her music ok! There I said it. She’d probably be a cool chick to hang out with too. Yeah, sometimes she sounds like she’s having a seizure when she sings live, but I honestly think she’s just, you know, off. And I kind of like that. She’s not all jumping up and down the stage singing about partying. I think she has a pretty powerful voice actually; she just doesn’t control it well when she’s up in front of the mic live. I mean, shit, I’d probably sing like a dying baby goat if I went up in front of a stage. And I sing fairly good, mind you–good as in mediocre and taking into account my halfway deafness. ha.

Anyway, I was listening to her the other night, ON MY NEW-OLD phone that my bro’s sweet girlfriend gave me! Yep, I now have a smartphone! BOOYAH!

****

“Ride” is one of the songs that really got me liking this Lana girl—obviously a pseudo name ’cause girl is whiter than YouTube sensation Krispi Kreme. Lana is a beauty. In this song, she expresses some of the core “borderline” characteristics. And I mean the version that’s in this video specifically when she says, “mama said I always had a chameleon soul” and “no fixed personality”. Also the whole being a poet thing and “to seek safety in other people” really rings with me. I mean she’s running around with a whole bunch of older men.

This seems a bit pretentious, but it is good nonetheless. I have good taste so it’s GOOD CAUSE I SAY IT IS DAMMIT. I kid. Whatever never mind.

Note: The direction/cinematography/editing of the video is pretty damn good too!

****

Oh right the surgery?! The surgery went splendidly. I no longer have a metal rod stuck in my jaw, poking out on the back of my mouth. YAY! I’m in pain now and a bit high on Norco and don’t want to take more ’cause I know how quickly I can get out of hand– being impulsive and all, so I’ll go on the sewing machine for a bit.

Mouse love (the PLDs are off on vacation but they send their love too).

JAW(S)urgery! AAAAAAaah

November 11, 2012

Insert Jaws theme song.

********

I find it funny (in a dark kind of way) that a few months ago I tried to snuff myself. Today that seems remote. BUT… I’m having surgery tomorrow. It’s one of those, “oh, I’ll make a long blog post about it some day” but then never get to it kind of things.

****

I think I’m going to die, not because of the surgery, but rather because I fear my rage will exceed the capacity of my heart and I will thus have a cardiac arrest, or an aneurysm or some kind of… Ugh, I will not indulge these thoughts.

Tomorrow, a plate will be removed from my lower jaw. It has five screws. See.

****

my jaw

Yep, that’s my jaw. See the plate on the left (your right) lower mandible? It has five fuckin’ screws. See them? And see my nose ring!?

This is partly the reason why I’ve been having so much pain in my face/jaw for the last two years. That and the nerve damage ’cause by the procedure, oh and the fact that it is still sticking out in the back of my throat–they didn’t seal it properly. Yep. Also, I had the worst episode of Bell’s Palsy on that side.

Turns out that when I –it’s a long story. Trust me, I’ll get to it someday, a day that is not today.

Turns out that when I had a cyst and the back-most molar tooth removed, my jaw was fractured. I have brittle bones/Osteogenesis or OI as I’ve mentioned before. They knew this but probably had no experience working on someone like me.

****

It was supposed to be a simple day surgery. You know, minor operation, go home same day. But nope, I woke up in the ICU (intensive care unit). And I woke up looking like THIS GUY:

Alright, I didn’t look EXACTLY like ‘ole Sloth here, but I did look like his sister–if he had one. It sucked. My mouth was wired shut for four months. I had what they call “poor man’s braces” to keep the wires on and they tore at my gums. I only ate liquids and soups my dad made for me. I couldn’t look at my face in the mirror for nearly six months. And well, the pain. The pain. The pain.

Hopefully tomorrow much of this pain will be relieved once the damn titanium plate is out of my jaw.

I know you’re probably wondering, “But P, why didn’t you tell us before?!” And I know I’ve been neglecting this blog and your blogs, but that’s because so many things are changing. It is what it is. This blog has meant so much to me and your support has kept me through this year.

I barely found out about the surgery on Thursday when I had my doc appointment (that’s when I took the photos above). I had hoped to schedule it ASAP but I didn’t expect for them to schedule so soon. MONDAY! I’ve put this off long enough though and I’m going through with it!

My therapist Brunet Young has helped me prepare for this. I had a panic attack on Thursday and earlier today but I’m good now. And I’ll most def’ appreciate the support!

Oh and my family was such a HUGE support today. Bro came with his girlfriend and we watched Children of Men (one of Monkey Man’s favorite films). Bro’s girlfriend, N, brought me donuts and some soft slippers! So that has eased much of the anxiety. That and the fact that I took a Clonazepam and Tramadol earlier.

I gotta be up at 5am. Night.

Mouse Love

I’ve had a good week though I’m having a shitty night. I really want to drink and pass out, but I won’t. Or at least I’m trying not to. I was gonna post another song, but this one’s been in my head all week and I’m feeling lonely at the moment.

I like being by myself much of the time, but I can’t stand being alone– that empty feeling– and especially that feeling of being abandoned. Alone has nothing to do with being with one’s self. It, like many things in life, is just a state of mind. I can and have been surrounded by hundreds of people and felt completely alone–empty, devoid of human warmth, of connection.

But I haven’t been feeling “alone” or lonely lately, which is almost strange for me–to NOT feel alone. I’ve spent most of my life feeling alone, distant, cut off from the world as if an opposing magnetic force shielded me from humanity.

Tonight I do feel very, very lonesome. That shield has been placed over me again. See, I had plans today to go to a Halloween party. I was so anxious. The anxiety had been building up. I haven’t even properly worn a costume since I was probably thirteen years old. I don’t even think I’ve been invited to Halloween parties since I was a small child (maybe a few exceptions). Anyway, I even talked to the therapist about this Halloween party and how anxious I get despite the fact that I’ve been more social lately. I love Warrior D, so I was looking forward to going and seeing her. She’s the one throwing the party, only her home is waaaay far up north Houston. She’s also the only person I’ve told about my overdose in May.

****

Well, all my plans for tonight went down the fuckin’ drain (I don’t get plans, making them and all). It makes it harder when you don’t drive in a city that is built on nothing but highways and SUVs. It doesn’t make it easy when everyone bails on you last minute. And it doesn’t help that one of the “borderline” characteristics is having a deep-seeded fear of abandonment. I’m just coming to terms with it. But I can’t help to feel abandoned (albeit momentarily) by any little insignificant thing like this. They couldn’t get me to where I wanted to go, so now it means they don’t care and I shouldn’t give a fuck about anyone. I depended on them; I hate not being able to have that sense of freedom independence grants you, hence, I suck and so does my existence. That’s the twisted way my mind interprets the situation. However, I’m intelligent, I’m calmer these days than I have been all year. And I’m aware. I’m working on using more balanced/adaptive cognitive restructuring here… I won’t see things in black and white and I definitely understand why the others couldn’t make it out to give me a ride. I understand their side.

Wish I had some weed though.

********

So now I’m chillin’ with the dogs trying to use self-sooth by cuddling with them, keeping busy and using the distracting coping mechanism taught in DBT; I’m writing this and maybe watching a movie later or taking them for a walk. I thought about reading some blogs or some poems from this book I got at the university, but I’ve been having the reading spasms. I just can’t seem to read much these days.

Guess it hasn’t been a COMPLETELY bad day. Nah, it was a nice, pleasant afternoon. Houston decided to finally feel like fall; the chill brushed in to our coast.

I don’t even like to use the words ‘good’ and ‘bad’ to describe most things. That’s why I won’t say tonight is bad. There have been a few disappointments, but it happens. Though days like this are when I miss Monkey Man the most. I felt alone with him much of the time (especially when he was high and drunk out of his mind), but at least I got some comfort of a warm body and of knowing he was filled with me and I could be filled with his lovin’. I did (and still do) love him.

Well, I’m out my magnificent mofo’ bloggies and MFFs.

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Oh, and here’s the lovely Amy

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“Got so sick of cryin’, so just lately, when I catch myself, I do a 180”  ~Amy Winehouse

I’m catchin’ myself. Catchin’ the Mouse. Catching the Pretty Little Demons and tuckin’ their sleepy thorny heads in to bed.

Mouse love