The following is result of Operation Blog Recovery (Of what I could retrieve): The following content is collected from a platform that is no longer operational. Gaps and spaces in the formatted text could be the result of broken and/or expired emoticons, links or web-hosted pictures. You can be assured that the opinions and thoughts expressed are from the original writing. Hell, I’m not even going to correct spelling or grammar. Enjoy! Or not.
Originally posted on Nov 11, 2010
Current mood:weird
Negative Nancy's Wordy
WeirdnessI haven't written lately because I've been in another one of my funks, the extended edition. I don't know about you but one of my biggest pet peeves are people who constantly complain. Nonstop negativity makes my nut-sack hurt...that is, if I had one. Everyone knows someone like that (or that someone is you). Whenever I hear (or read) a constant barrage of bitchin', my first thought is to look for escape routes. You see their dreaded e-mail address in the new, unread messages and you avoid opening it for as long as humanly possible or "accidentally" hit delete. Oops. (A claim you'll make when you're confronted by the constant complainer later.) You see their user name show active on your favorite social networking site, so you suddenly go stealth, invisible or just log out altogether. You see their incoming call on your phone and rejoice that some clever person invented Caller ID. Let's not even get into the game of one-person hide-and-seek you play when you see them out somewhere and are lucky enough to see them before they see you. You're not trying to be mean, it's just that sometimes you have to avoid (constant complaining) contact for the sake of your own sanity. Well, I've been a nightmarish Negative Nancy lately but I thought to myself; blog-reading is optional, an elective exercise, right? I'm not forcibly shoving my negativity down anyone's throat am I? Hell, someone somewhere may even get something out of this pointless entry, though I can't imagine who or what. (The negativity continues)
Last week I struggled with feeling a combined sense of illness, insecurity and invincibility. See, though I have my moments of inconsolable despair, I also consider myself to be just as strong as I present myself to the world, generally speaking. Clearly, I'm referring to the majority of my personal life experiences, not all of them. Nobody's strong ALL the time, no one, not anywhere, not on any planet...with the exception of [planet] Krypton of course. To me, true strength starts with understanding, which is a paradoxical pickle for me because I'm not always understood. My eccentricities set me apart but they also tend to alienate me. Weirdness can be a virtue but not always. You don't think I'm that strange? Oh sister, you don't know the half of it. I must confess that I'm not nearly as open in regular life as I am here, in my sacred blog. Even so, I occasionally hold back here if I think my eccentric nature could be taken the wrong way. The problem with being a bit outside the box is the possibility of being misinterpreted, misquoted and misunderstood. I really, really hate that too. It makes me sad. (Oh, boo-fuckin-hoo.)
Aside from my occasional bouts of uncontrollable crying and advanced-level pouting, my insecurity sometime manifests itself in unorthodox ways, like paranoia. Case in point, I'd been feeling really under-the-weather for the last few days, so I thought it would be prudent to go ahead and get my flu shot. I wasn't feeling great before I took it but brother, afterwards? I was a stone-cold stuttering mess. I never really get sick or have serious adverse reactions to flu shots but this year, the flu/H1N1 combo vaccine released The Kraken on my azz. I got teeth-chattering chills, prolonged numbness in my fingertips and achy muscles, especially the ones holding my eyeballs in their sockets. I was convinced that the nurse hadn't given me "the good stuff" and most likely injected me with an experimental substance that a top secret government program was testing in secret. I'm not joking. If the government had been using me for their top level alien intelligence experiment since birth, that would satisfactorily explain to me the strange way I see, feel & express myself. Right? Just hours after my experimental secret government injection I had another spontaneous bout of paranoia. Because of my prolonged flu-like illness, I thought I should drink hot tea to hydrate and super-dose myself with the healthy properties of green tea. On about my 5th cup the other day, I pulled out one of my unopened, convenience-stored swiped Splenda™ packets to find that there was already white powder pouring out through a poorly sealed seam. Do you think I logically concluded that the irregular packet was a simple coincidental design flaw in that one packet compared to millions of perfectly sealed packets? Noooooo. My first thought was that somebody laced it with Anthrax and had been following me for months waiting for the moment I'd use that one tainted packet. I mean how'd I get the "coincidental" design flawed packet in a sea of perfectly sealed ones anyway? Maybe it was alien-enhanced Anthrax designed to make me appear more mortal & weak, like Kryptonite does to Superman. If they were watching as closely as I thought they were, they'd know their moment to strike would come soon since they'd already been digging through my trash to see what medicines I've been taking. Well, the trash thing and that FBI file they'd been tracking and recording my every daily move in.
While the previous examples have never actually been disproven, the paranoia has since subsided, somewhat. However, my lingering illness, insecurity and invincibility has been challenging in other ways too. I NEVER (usually) whine about being sick...I just take it like a lady. Unfortunately however, all the coughing I'd been doing had apparently made me light-headed and as a result, I periodically took leave of my senses. The other day I stupidly tried to stop a falling wooden desktop with my leg and thought I broke my ankle after the mishap. I winced, bit my fist, hobbled into my room and collapsed on my bed until the urge to scream, then cry, passed. I laid there, still as a corpse, until I was able to complete a sentence without sounding like some Medieval torturer was slowly chiseling a metal skewer into my ankle. I laid there quietly for about 15 minutes and ultimately lived out the rest of my week with a knot on my ankle that looked like it was sprouting another foot. Sick, gimpy, government-tested, the last several days have been rough but I got through them. In essence, I try to handle business even if I have to do it slumped over in the corner drooling like a lobotomized mental patient in the backroom of a secret government testing facility. I hate being a broken bird, it's just so fuckin' lame!
Today, it isn't my illness, insecurity or invincibility giving me problems, it's my sappy sentimentality. I'm not sure I can accurately describe what I'm feeling right now but I'll try. I guess I'm having one of those unproductive day-dreamy days when I think about what could've been if I'd just...(insert action here). "Damn, if I just would've..." Woulda, coulda, shoulda, three of English language's most useless words (from The Most Commonly Made-Up Words Edition). Learning from the past is great but getting caught up in it can get you into real trouble. I'm slowing snapping out of it. As a whole, I've had far more GREAT times than bad but there are times when I approach the past with a certain sense of self-imposed ignorance. I sometimes fantasize, romanticize and glamorize the past when I should just ground myself with the harsh realities of the here-and-now. How can I effect positive change if I don't? There is no greater gift than the present 💝 and no better time to spend planning the future. Did I just type that? Hot damn I'm good! There seem to be some clear intellectual advantages to being a government experiment.
The moral is: Always look on the bright side, even if you turn green, sprout a tail and start using a loud, screechy language that breaks windows.
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