Today I feel whiny. I have had a headache for three days and our lives are in chaos and disorder and I have not gotten the first edit back from Odd Stuff and all of it has made me feel like a complete and total...
Whiny little brat.
I want to curl into a corner somewhere and cry and snarl at any and everyone who dares come near my little dark cave. I want to scratch and bite and claw the world into red ribbons. I want to run away and hide from the world. I want to sob.
I hate these moods. Instead, however, as I am me, no one knows (other than those who read my bloggy) that I am even in this mood. I mean, I have a headache and this I have mentioned. That the headache has lasted three days and has caused a blasted grey spot in my left eye (the same eye that caused the stroke fits previously... blech) is also known. That I am in a moody, bitchy, crabby ass cranky mood... well, nobody knows this. I am hiding it. I figure it this way. I am an artist. I write. I draw. I paint on cars. I am an artistic right brain kind of girl. I know I am moody. I know this is all me and that by being an artistic, moody, broody girl that it makes it hard enough to be around a flaky, head-in-the-clouds person all the time.
Why make it worse for everyone by being a CRABBY right brained artistic soul on top of everything else? So while internally I am screaming and wanting to hide or yell or pout, instead today I am trying to maintain functionality. I am trying to keep up the facade of what I am supposed to be, supposed to do. I am supposed to help everyone. I am supposed to fill certain roles. Just about everyday I wake up and fill those roles, whether I want to or not. Today is one of those days though, with the headache tearing at my eye sockets, with my eyes wanting to tear, that I just wish I could hide somewhere dark. Some where preferably a bit dank. Somewhere where it would be just me and my safe words.
Words never expect a thing of you. They lie calmly on the page. Characters do what you will them to. If you get sick of them you close the book. If the scene is too smelly, too painful, too angry, too scary or too hard you can turn the page. Life is not so easy. You just have to trudge on. There is no place to hide in the dark. There is no time to whine. If you whine, you only annoy or hurt the feelings of those you love, so shut up. If you worry, well, what exactly does that fix? But on days like today I wish I could be a selfish little brat. I wish I could. However I cannot. But I can write about it. While I smile and continue to pretend it is all okay.
Whiny little brat.
I want to curl into a corner somewhere and cry and snarl at any and everyone who dares come near my little dark cave. I want to scratch and bite and claw the world into red ribbons. I want to run away and hide from the world. I want to sob.
I hate these moods. Instead, however, as I am me, no one knows (other than those who read my bloggy) that I am even in this mood. I mean, I have a headache and this I have mentioned. That the headache has lasted three days and has caused a blasted grey spot in my left eye (the same eye that caused the stroke fits previously... blech) is also known. That I am in a moody, bitchy, crabby ass cranky mood... well, nobody knows this. I am hiding it. I figure it this way. I am an artist. I write. I draw. I paint on cars. I am an artistic right brain kind of girl. I know I am moody. I know this is all me and that by being an artistic, moody, broody girl that it makes it hard enough to be around a flaky, head-in-the-clouds person all the time.
Why make it worse for everyone by being a CRABBY right brained artistic soul on top of everything else? So while internally I am screaming and wanting to hide or yell or pout, instead today I am trying to maintain functionality. I am trying to keep up the facade of what I am supposed to be, supposed to do. I am supposed to help everyone. I am supposed to fill certain roles. Just about everyday I wake up and fill those roles, whether I want to or not. Today is one of those days though, with the headache tearing at my eye sockets, with my eyes wanting to tear, that I just wish I could hide somewhere dark. Some where preferably a bit dank. Somewhere where it would be just me and my safe words.
Words never expect a thing of you. They lie calmly on the page. Characters do what you will them to. If you get sick of them you close the book. If the scene is too smelly, too painful, too angry, too scary or too hard you can turn the page. Life is not so easy. You just have to trudge on. There is no place to hide in the dark. There is no time to whine. If you whine, you only annoy or hurt the feelings of those you love, so shut up. If you worry, well, what exactly does that fix? But on days like today I wish I could be a selfish little brat. I wish I could. However I cannot. But I can write about it. While I smile and continue to pretend it is all okay.
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