It’s really hard to type on a laptop with the screen down.

I’m just sayin’.

It’s like that everywhere.

I have been contemplating leaving the Internet world for a few days. Maybe because I had the screen down. Go with me here.

I, like many others, like affirmation on the things that I say write and do. And if, God forbid, no one picks up on my literary genius then eff it. I quit.

And it shouldn’t be like that. It’s so much harder to type with the screen down. I need to write less for you and more for me.

Things are crazy around my head. If it’s not changes at work, it’s missed deadlines, weekends spent in the offices or entertaining around my tiny flat.

And when it’s not all those external things, its the internal junk. You know, the extreme longings for people to UNDERSTAND me. *Suddenly once Hubs and I got married, he no longer counts as some one who needs to understand. It’s a given. Poor guy.*

As I said, things are crazy inside my mind. And this weird spillage of my heart and soul to strangers makes me feel better. And what the freak. Why not continue? Not for you. But for me. And my marriage. Because I am sure that if I spend one more night crying my little heart out on Hubs shoulder because I have nothing better to do than eat and eatin makes me fat, he will fire me from wifelyhood and go a little mental himself.

So I continue. Not with great amazing awesomeness, but with my ordinary stories, told in an ordinary way, to some other ordinary people, in hopes that someone out there can relate.

Waiting Schmaiting – 20SB style.

“This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers!” (I was totally told to say that. But Ice cream is on the line and thus I will reduce myself to copycatting. So there.)

All I’ve gotta to in order to stand a chance is re-post a post from the first two months of my blog.

Believe it or not, I’ve been blogging off and on for almost three years. The posts at the begining weren’t really meant for reading. I had typed them purely as a way to express the mish mash of things that were happening. It wasn’t so much a reflection of my personal journey but an explination of the things I knew in a time period where I knew very little.

This post was written during a time period of waiting. I had just started dating Hubs and things were going exceedingly well for a serial heartbreaker like myself and I had just quit my job at the cocktail place and was awaiting a new opportunity. In addition, my application to Uni was held up by red tape and my life ambitions were doing that strange pre-shatter waver. I didn’t know much. But this is what I did know:

Instant Gratification August 30th 2007

This morning on my way for my morning cup of coffee I noticed an open box of Lindt chocolate. I have never been one to pass up an unattended open box of chocolates- so I took a tiny little sliver of this seemingly decadent rich chocolate and popped it in my watering mouth. To my surprise my expectant taste buds were met not with a smooth sensual ‘party in the mouth’ but a powdery, thick, chalky and overall disgusting sensation of pure unsweetened cocoa. Since it dissolved so quickly, I had to experience this feeling of dirt crammed down my oesophagus. I marched into the room of the owner of the chocolate and demanded an explanation…

I like my chocolate to be instantaneously gratifying. I don’t care about the health benefits of that disgusting chocolate, nor does it matter that its what all those skinny people in France enjoy. No, I want to shove it into my mouth and have it taste good now.

I never liked Target stores for one reason. When you wanted to return an item, the customer care system involved taking a number. I HATE TAKING NUMBERS! I would rather stand in a line and wait with the others in full view of how much longer I have. Maybe its the logic of the insane, but since I can see the woman with her cart stuffed with things to return and the man with only a blender to take back, I can somehow prepare myself for the wait. But if you tell me to take a number and to take a seat I somehow can’t tell how long I must wait. I can’t nudge the slowpoke to take the next teller. I must just be patient.

Telling me to be patient rips my insides like vulture ripping open its prey. It hurts. Because I am working on it. I try breathing. I try focusing on something else. I try to practice my ’stop him with a single glance’ smile. But I like instant gratification too much if I am perfectly honest and so I’ll lose the patience I once claimed…

I wish I could dump all these words

onto a slip of paper.

To hide them away from my heart.

As much as I want to remember, I want to forget.