Thursday, May 12, 2016

ugh i need to post more here

hopefully everyone found the tumblr, where i spit out the porn i enjoy as it cascades over me.  i could better use this time, but gaining support via blind clicking on cute things is easy, and doesn't set of my weirdness.

currently i have three unsorted threads in the "exhibition" story, and i should fucking sort those out.  i'm a jerk for not doing that, and i should try to pull some level of concentration to try to close some of these down.

so: state of sammy's mental state.

i stopped therapy again.  when you get the feeling your therapist wants you to craft a pinterest page about what you like, that's probably the point where you decide your therapist is pretty shitty.


also, she was just kind of awful at everything.  sorry my panic attacks don't live up to expectations.  Guess i'll just be cool when i puke out lunch into a plastic bag.  NOT A BIG DEAL, RIGHT?


i'm coasting again, on hopes and dreams.  which aren't super helpful when you look to them and get "THE VOID" and "HORRIBLE NIGHTMARES"

but i'm like 94% not likely to kill myself anymore, because sometimes you meet someone so super cute you can't not just want to push them forward as much as you can, and if that means you light on fire some day, hey, fire can be anywhere.

i can't imagine how people would explain my suicide to tiny R.  so.  that's not an option any more.

which unfortunately means

dealing with grown up shit.

who pulled 22 bags of garbage out of her apartment?
who awkwardly scheduled a dentist appointment to look at this clearly fucked up tooth?
who is actually keeping those 22 bags of garbage out of the apartment, so they can't pile up?

as of right now, today, may 12, i am kind of sanely managing my shit.
i aim to keep things less fucked up, but hey, it's hard when you kind of surf along on a muck of self hatred.

this is better than before, i think.  it's not great, obviously, but it's not angry panic.  there is anger, and there is panic, but they are consoling, not reinforcing.

Friday, April 29, 2016

i don't even know

It could only be death incarnate.

She looked at the thing, as her groceries clattered to the ground.  It turned to face her, and all she could do was run.  She dashed to the door, fumbling for her keys.  They slipped from her fingers, jangling as they hit the concrete.  She spun around, watching it approach slowly.

It didn't walk right, her mind tried to make sense of it's slow deliberate steps, picking each foot up higher than necessary, almost a strut.  It towered above her, casting spindly shadows of appendages.  Then it spoke.

"You are frightened," the voices said calmly.  There were dozens of individual tones, some male, some female.  "I.  I have frightened you."  It seemed confused by this.

She curled up into a ball, wishing the thing would kill her quickly, and not drag it out.  She found herself in it's shadow as it stood above her.  There were soft feather like touches on her body as it seemed to be inspecting her.  "I did not intend this," the voices whispered.  "I only desired to see things."

She squeezed as tight as possible and sobbed.  After nearly a minute, she opened her eyes to find herself alone, with her groceries sitting in the grass.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

i hate myself so fucking much.


so fucking much.

imagine have that fucking bitch from high school in your head, all day, every day, telling you how much she hates you.



Sunday, April 24, 2016

ok. thanks, blogger?

something about https.  the like, less open web thing, right?  i think the government can still see you reading porn, but like, exxon can't see you reading porn.  why is everyone always so against porn, am i right?

there was another thing.  i.  i didn't read the thing, it was a thing, about stuffs, and my blogger account and how people (maybe?) can view it (maybe?).  some stuffs.



if you're like "what's drunk with sammy?" and it's all "tell me your mother's name!"

that is an uncool monster robot, so don't do that.  "what animals does sammy like?"  no!

bears, dogs, penguins, REGULAR THINGS, MONSTER BOT!

"ok, so maybe sammy is a bit paranoid..."  NO!  just, hey, maybe robots aren't always going to  be friendly.  now i'm re reading this and feeling dumb, and then re-re-reading it and thinking about friendly sandwiches.

so.  summary:

"sandwiches are good"
"drunking while drunk is super hard"
"something about burgers"
"i outlined 'play' a bit, and just need to stop being so fucking awful so i can write it.  it'[s not great, but it dials in a lot of fetishes, so, sorry for being so diverse."



Saturday, April 2, 2016

i don't blog here enough

i do the tumblr, which is literally just "that's cool.  make other people see it."

and i guess social media is logarithmic?

like, my twitter has like three people, blogger like 50, and tumblr like 500.  so, if i open a facebook, do i get 9000?

probably not, because there's a limit to being a jerk.

i am working on new stories.

i have made three sentences of "spa treatment 2".  i have thought a lot about how to make spa treatment 2 not suck.  spa treatment 2 might not be super great if you're not me.  sorry.

i've spent a lot of time walking through my apartment complex thinking about exhibition: p.  i'm still not sure exhibition: p is a good story.  we might just all have to suffer through my anxiety on that one.


sorry everybody, everywhere.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

so i'm not going to therapy tomorrow.

"but, sammy, what about the crazy?"

honestly, i'd rather just try to cope as much as i can than go back there.  being told over and over that "maybe a bit of exercise would help" isn't helping.  i know i'm fat.  i know how fat i am pretty much everyday.  did you know most bathrooms have mirrors?  apparently my therapist doesn't!

"she's trying to help."

no.  i don't buy this.  honestly, if i'm being honest?  i think she's all "well, you went to a fancy school, but you're still messed up, so maybe you're just not that great."

duh.  i mean.  fuck you, bitch.

i know i'm not that great.  this is me, telling you how much i have panic attacks when i can't think of something to have for dinner.  my brain sucks, and i hate it, and i hate me, and you know what?  i hate you more than all that put together.

and it's not that fancy of a school.  i just didn't decide to start putting letters after my name because i paid $12000 to a "registrar".

registrar is a weird word.  why do we have it?


tl;dr: i'm going to try to treat my insanity with alcohol and probably more stories.  but, really, you have to understand how hard it is to write when you're crazy.  it's not fun.  just

lots of not fun.


Wednesday, February 24, 2016

i woke up from a dream this morning.

i was laughing while running a dull knife up and down my arm.  “it can’t do anything!  it's not even sharp!"  i looked down at the blade, and noticed it was weirdly pink.  i then looked at my arm, and saw that it was mauled beyond recognition.  "ha.  gross.  people are probably going to notice that."

then i woke up.