so i responded to a date request.

"sorry, i'm kind of out of town until mid january.  so maybe we can pick things up then?"

"or, chat a bit online?  idk.  whatever."

i am best at dating.  my dating is 100% effective.




i hope therapy makes me not so <this> all the time.
:(

i’m guessing the answer is “i don’t actually care enough to comment on this, because you’re just a commodity store of a particular kind of curated porn.”

(this is me cross posting manually from tumblr.  where i have more followers.  this is not a shame thing about blogger.  i love all my people equally.  also brokenly.  let's get to the text.)

so, hey, hi.  i’m sammy.  i try to keep a constant steady stream of porn coming out on my blog because of reasons.  some fraction of you enjoy that, and so we work together in a symbiotic way.


except, more recently, i’ve been pushing things into the queue, and keeping the queue posting rate hourly so that the queue fills and fills.
it turns out there is more than 24 good porn posted to tumble everyday.

part of the reason is that i’m going on vacation for new years.  and don’t want to blog porn on christmas.  that’s just rude
the problem, of course, is that i’m a small fraction of the “porn jerks” on tumblr, so you’ve probably seen it before my queue gets around to it.  sorry.
so that’s kind of the main theme.  my blog is going to be delayed on new things for the holidays so i can kind of try to keep a constant stream of stuff going when i can’t actively add to it.
don’t worry, i think i can add new stuff if it’s super new and cool, but whatever.

so, what’s the point of this rant, here, sammy?

i’m going to start therapy in january.  this is therapy for me to try to get less anxious about everything, and in turn, try to make my constant depression not a thing i have to deal with.  my brain is just in an awful place, and if you look at what i post, you’ll get some of the picture.

not all of it, because you can’t see me crying when i see certain posts.  this is getting worse, and is a large part of why i’m going back to therapy;.

“wait, are you trying to be all ‘oh, microtransgressions via porn are injuring my psyche?’ you dumb cunt?”

a) no, b) stop following me you jackass, and c) things set me off in weird ways.  i saw a dog unlock a deadbolt to let his owners into their house and i cried for five minutes.  i watched a round of wheel of fortune and cried for half an hour.  wheel of fortune.  my brain is all off in this place where being told that ketchup is red might set it off in a grand despair.  this doesn’t make sense, this is stupid, this is why i’m going to therapy soon.  

here’s what i hope happens:

1) I stop hating myself so much, about everything, all the time.

2) I stop hating you and every other person on the planet for no good reason.

3) I can finish stories i’ve written that i can’t focus enough to get to the end of.

4) I can keep posting on tumblr the cute/gross/snug posts i enjoy.

5) I don’t end up killing myself quickly (jumping from lanai) or slowly (all alcohol all day).

6) I can learn how safe/stable/honest relationships work.

so.  let’s see what happens in the new year.  i’ll likely be out of contact a lot until then, but hopefully we all make it.

so i guess i'm going to try therapy again.

the panic attacks and intrusive thoughts got really too far up for me to ignore them.  so i took a very old ambien and called up the brain doctor receptionist to get me scheduled for next year.

"you general practitioner can give you all kinds of useful brain drugs.  have you talked to her about that?"

no?  that's an option?  "i would like more ambien, please.  also all the xanax.  please?"  doesn't that make me look like some sort of junky?

i mean, not that i'm super sober sammy all the time anyway.  just.  can you just ask for powerful mind altering drugs?

and if so, why don't we let everyone have these?  if i go from suicidally off to calm and normal after taking a pill, why is that something we prevent other people from having?

ok, sure, you're going to bring up the old opium cough syrup that made my mind explode in sinus clearing rapture.

how is that opium spawned peace any better than the peace i try to steal from alcohol?

this is a mess, and a good reason to not share blogs with therapists.

who will probably tell me unhappy things when I see her next year.

let's all cross our fingers that i can break through some shit and not be such a fucking waste all the time.

ugh

worked from home today.  figure out that i made a mistake more than a year ago, so now i have to fix junk for something that was supposed to be finished by the end of the year.

then i noticed that the sun had gone down.  part of the reason for working from home was that i would have time to call the mental health doctor people, and get an appointment set up.  great job, me.  fucked that up.

and then i'm brushing my teeth to go to bed, and a massive panic attack hits.  all about the shit i would have to admit if i was really serious about getting better, and how i'm not really sure i can do that, so what's even the point if i'm not really going to get better?

and that led to me coughing snot out of throat until i could push the panic down enough so that it's constant drone of "you're going to suffocate like this, and they'll find you in your filthy apartment!" wasn't so loud and then drink enough water to stop coughing.

did you know if you have really angry coughs that you can't really control, you eventually get bits of blood?

or maybe i just brushed something weird and the blood from from my gums.  both are pretty terrifying, when you think about it (and have underlying pre-established fear about everything and everyone).


except terrorists, funnily enough, because i may be crazy, but at least i'm not a republican.


here's to hoping 2016 works better for me.

ok, republished a bunch of stuff that didn't need to get memory holed.

hi everybody.  i hope you're doing well.  i'm doing...sammy-style well, i guess.

i visited my best friend for thanksgiving.  in doing so, i had a sequence of panic attacks that i guess to normal people seem like a massive warning sign.  so, she made me promise to talk to therapists some more.  which i haven't scheduled, because i'm pretty much the worst fuck up ever.  but i plan to get to it. i'm hoping i can kill the brain noise tomorrow and make it happen.

she also wants me to quit my job and move to where she lives.  "because even if you're crazy, you're the smartest fucking bitch i know, and i'm sure you can get a job here."

which is weird to hear.  i mostly fight the noise in my brain telling me how dumb i am, and having outside contradiction is weird.  i'm thinking about it.  move away somewhere where i have at least one friend, and so at least one person to do things with.

two people.  her daughter is thoroughly convinced that i'm her friend, not "mama's friend." which is cute, but little kids are just jerks, and the only thing you can do about that is to give them hugs so they can't be a jerk all over, just in your arms.

so, i think i wanted to put this into an assessment.  maybe an end of year thing, maybe just a "i haven't posted my thoughts in a long time." thing.

i'm less suicidal.  i'm not zero suicidal, just not so much.  i'm unclear how to explain this in therapy.

i'm far more anxious.  trivial things set me off into horrible cascades of panic.  on my trip, i got stuck in a car due to parking.  i was hyperventilating for ten minutes after the solution of "sammy can get out if i back the car up six feet" happened.  this is not fun, and i wish i had more xanax to deal with it.

or that vicodin cough syrup.  just saying.  because that was just liquid bliss.

so yeah.  i probably have addiction issues i should work on, too.

my plan, though, is this:

1. i feel like shit all the time, because i don't see how i'm not shit.
1. things that suggest i'm not shit are caused by stupid people, who can't see how shit i am.
2. besides, it doesn't matter too much, because a disturbing fraction of the country thinks that being a fascist is just A-ok to them.
1. and if you're a fascist, kill yourself, ok?  just take a knife, start up by your elbow, and then pull down hard and fast until you reach wrist.  repeat 3-7 times, until all your bright red juice is outside, where it belongs.
2. because omgwtfbbq? registering people by religion?  we all know religion is all made up fake shit, so why not acknowledge that?
3. also, it's great being a mentally unstable lesbian who can't form relationships, because that means i'm nicely guaranteed to not have to apologize to my kids when the world they grow up in is a contaminated mess that can no longer support life.  
1. in the mean time, i'm totally eating all the ahi and unagi i can.  they're doomed, we're doomed, i'm having a delicious lunch.
4. poop?  having my brain means occasionally forgetting the whole theme.
5. so "party".  this is going to happen someday.  it's all there, i have large chunks of dialogue, i just need to push it together and make it happen.  it's essential to the overall storyline, even if it contains approximately zero sex.  it's character development.  you learn about Annie so much that you see she's not some psycho, she's just someone who makes mistakes and then grows to love those mistakes.  you also see that Sammy is stunningly not the moron she's been portrayed as.  how do these realizations work in the future?  no clue.  i only have the very final end planned, and it's a depressing shit storm.
6. i just need to get "spa treatment" done.  there is nothing holding this up other than my unwillingness to sit and write and make it finished.  i think i've dragged this out like three years at this point.  it's been planned top to bottom since three days after i started.  why is this so so so so hard to do?
7. i love you.  not that we'll really meet ever, but you stop over to read this shit.  i love you.  i hope that the therapy can help me get to the point where i cn love me too, but just accept that this is the best i can do right now.

i wish tumblr would just say

"hey, this asshole stopped following you.  what an asshole, right?"

instead it's all like, "oh, magically, this number that probably shouldn't matter to you as much as it does is now one less.  huh.  wonder how that happened?"

i mean, sure, i should spend the time i waste reblogging shit writing my own stories, so i'm productive and not just "hey.  look at that.  cool."  but most of the time my brain is just junk, so that's not happening.

hey.  look at that.  cool.

also: am i drunk, or is there like a nine inch nails video that has a spider doing spider things?  i saw a spider today, and was like, "isn't that that one video?"

maybe i was just drunk.


sorry.

laysan keys:

finally finished.  i am sorry i am such a horrible reader.

i continue to worry about laysan, and i suspect will do so for the rest of forever.  this all worked out.  i worry about the three keys.  i worry about a lot of things.

surely one day the conflict will all be gone, right?  paty and laysan will be able to be happy together forever, with no interruptions or distractions.  right?

either way, you don't have to answer this to tell me.  i'll hope for the best, no matter what.

love
sammy

[but it never posted, so i'm putting it here so i can copy it later.]

ok, this is nonsense

but david bowie.

omg

how is he that sexy?  like,

all the girls ever are all, "let's do sex, sammy"

"nope"

"david bowie"

"oh, fuck, we lose to that dude!"

omg.

i mean, he's all super old and shit, and i go on youtube, and i'm just like, "whenever, whatever, no one cares"

i love you, mr david bowie.

also, you, key.  you knew i loved you.  i love you so much.

let's call this a spooky story, even though it isn't really.

mostly, i just want to put it down so i have some record of it.  it's weird though.

so, like super early tuesday morning, i woke up in my living room on my couch.  this isn't super unusual.  my couch is like ten feet away from my bed, so it's not like i was wandering around a lot in my sleep.  i assume that i got up to pee, and went to the wrong place due to, let's say, "chemical issues."

except when i woke up to go back to my bed, all i could think was "wow, this is an awful lot of pain."

when i actually woke up, my back super hurt, and when i looked at it, there's like a two inch long gash on my right side.  there was also a blood stain on my couch where that point on my back was.

and i have no idea how it got there.  like, nothing else had blood on it.

so i'm saying it was a ghost.  a ghost stabbed me in the back.  or like, lightly sliced by back enough that it bled on my couch.

spooky.

ambien analogy

imagine your body is like that inside out movie i didn't see.  but you have all these bits that work together to ensure you live your life right.

now, imagine ambien comes in, puts them all to sleep, but leaves their understudies to take over.

"i'm pretty sure we've got like 60% leg movement.  if you're sure you want a trip to the kitchen, go for it, but be prepared to grab on to keep steady."

"um, i think we're being poisoned with vodka, too.  can we just shut down balance entirely to prevent damage?"

"no, because if we do that, we lose "not throwing up," and this post-it note i just found indicates that this is a big deal for the day shift."

"fine, but i'm going to see if triggering a song to sing will keep the movements synchronized, since the only scheduler seems to be the one that sings."

"we have a stubbed toe!  repeat!  stubbed toe!  it should hurt like a motherfucker, but it's kind of just a dull ache.  initiate a massage mode to see if we can wake up the health team if it feels weird and broken."

"omg, and now the lights go out?  wtf?"


sorry, secondary conscious systems that have to run things when the main ones are incompacitated because they made a formal decision to end the day with a bunch of sleeping pills to shut things down.  i know they love you, too.

it's disappointing to sit down to write something before going to bed

and reading the last bit, and being so unhappy with it that i just close the file.

:(

does anyone know about this?

i had a spam message, and when i clicked, it was unlike my usual spam messages.  it's for some story page "peach club".  has anyone heard of it before?  is it actually spam, or is it a proper decent story site?

it's a bit odd that they say stuff like "You write great erotica, and we need great erotica to get this community off the ground."

also stuff like "As I said, it's 100% free to post your work to the site."  i mean, duh.  who would pay to post stuff?

might have made a mistake

i have to do doctor tests this week, so i decided "let's stop drinking this week, and try to eat better and stuff.  you know, lie for the tests."  i don't know what the effectiveness is going to be, or even if it's worth bothering. but, that's the plan.

but it's kind of been something that organizes my going to sleep routine, even if thta's "ill-advised" or "a big giant warning sign" or something.  but it helps me get to sleep without all the demons in my brain clawing at me for hours.

"they have therapy now, sammy.  have you looked into it?"

yeah, yeah.  i know.  i think it'll just be the same surface level junk that i did last time.  they were a bit helpful, but since i'm posting this on the same blog i put up my stories that involve..."socially underexplored relationship paradigms" i'm kind of sure that should be something to bring up.  since hiding a whole giant part of my inner personality from someone trying to get to know me to see how they can help seems like it's counterproductive.

also: this post just got super hard to continue, because the zolpidem is obviously kicking in.  that's the sleeping pill i took the night i woke up to my freezer sitting wide open because drug-me wanted a popsicle.  i don't have popsicles today, so i'm hoping that keeps me safe.

other than freezer ruining, this drug kind of unclips bits of your brain in a way that's not normal.  it's like you're pretty sure everything is real, but things seem to work wrong.  sitting up.  walking.  putting words in the right order.  thoughts.

so in any case, if i post tomorrow that "my kitchen smells like dead garbage because i went looking for popsicles" again, then this didn't work as well as i was hoping.  my best case scenario: the slow slowing of my brain to sleep will work better this time.

so hey!  let's play with drugs that i legally have a prescription for, and see if I can get the kind of results they claim on the bottle!



and i opened up two stories this weekend, and procrastinated myself enough to not write anymore.  i did come up with brain dialogue, so hopefully i can smooth these junky bits so i can get it done.












ok, time to see how hard standing up is going to be this time..

so. drunk. listening to 80s music. but:

did people in the 80s really just assume that we'd have a world war and kill everyone, so "no use planning stuff!"?

like, a lot of these songs are all "but then war, and we all die, so whatever."

is that why we have all this climate change shit? "yes, we're killing everything, but before we get there, we'll have actually literally killed everything.  so it's not like it matters or anything."

wow.  i never realized how much i hated my parent's generation.

also, if you're a republican, unfollow me, and then light yourself on fire.  for being a fucking jerkass.

this is going to be a dumb post.

i went to foodland today, because i needed body wash and water.  i didn't buy water, because i forgot that that was on the list entirely.  i checked a bunch of other things that i didn't need to buy, but not water.

this isn't about that.

last time i went to foodland, they had cinnamon raisin breadsticks at the checkout impulse buy section.  along with boxes of cereal for some reason.  i got some, and they were really good, and so they were gone in like a day.

so this time, i track down the cinnamon raisin breadsticks to their home with all the other breads, and specifically get some.  fine, impulse buy section, you got me.  but i assume i've outsmarted it.

today, what's sitting in the impulse buy section?  slabs of cornbread in those plastic cake slice thingies.  who impulse buys cornbread?


so now my tummy is rumbling, and i'm about to eat this slab of cornbread that i cut into more manageable sticks, and i'm kind of worried what the impulse buy section will have next time.

when was the last drunk sammy post? a long time ago, right?

so, imagine you've got a time machine.  and can do all the time machine stuff people usually talk about.

imagine going back in time and giving freddie mercury the anti-retroviral drugs we have now to cope with hiv.  i mean, we're not going to save him forever for everything.  but we'd get years of hope and music we don't have today.

sorry, apparently it's time to uncontrollably cry because the universe is shitty at everything.  sorry.  sorry shitty universe for hating you so hard.

sorry everybody coping with this shitty universe for not being as cool as i hope i could be.

sorry everybody everywhere.

:(

the news just said that a monk seal just died on laysan island.  i probably would have completely ignored it, but the name of the island jumped out at me.

i should read the latest chapter.

fuck being a grownup

i'm having cake for dinner.

can i just copy the tumblr post?

hey. hi.

i’m back.  i have like almost two weeks of stuff to look through, so the queue is probably going to be weird for a day or so, and then is going to be all “i saw this shit already, sammy” for a few days.

deals with it, ok?

i want waffles?

taking some time off

i'll be gone for a bit starting tomorrow.  nothing big, just travelling a bit.  the tumblr will probably run out, as i probably won't be able to get new stuff into it.

so if you're here because you were annoyed that the tumblr isn't tumblring, that's why.

if you're here because you're annoyed that i am bad at writing new things, i'm hoping i can relax some and get my brain into better shape.  go read old things so you'll be ready when new things show up.  i know i have to do that every time i sit down to write more.

hey, i know the answer is "no," but:

does anyone else watch that carmilla youtube show i mentioned at some point in the past?

did you watch this most recent episode 30 from season 2?

did i miss something somewhere?  i thought they were about to try and do something, but now the mean sister is dead?

what?

like, did i seriously miss five episodes or something?

i am so confused, and don't understand what's going on, and all sorts of other similar thoughts.

maybe all the bowie/queen/beatles i listened to as a kid broke me somehow, but

i kind of like the rick astley never going to give you up.

this is wrong, right?

it's that "making plans for nigel", "enjoy the silence", "mad world" feel.

like, "we're going to nuclear bomb shit hardcore, so listen to this robot make music at you, and if we survive, we're just going to stop shaving for a few years so you get the pearl jam shit."

right?

and maybe my parents should have had better than records.

awkward sigh.

i don't get history.

so. remember how i'm still going crazy, but no one i see in real life notices anything?

guess who's getting a promotion at work?

like "we really appreciate everything you've been doing, sammy, so i'm trying to push through a good raise, and you'll have to do all the paperwork and stuff, but since i'm the one who makes the decision, i think you've got a pretty good chance."

so this is the point where i think i just shrug my shoulders, and accept that the entire world is fucking crazy, and i'm just one of the few people who can see the kuroko shuffling shit around.

i don't know.  yesterday i was planning on if i could just eat fried chicken until that killed me.  maybe i should eat a salad tomorrow?

random thoughts, plus another short play.

if you tell me i'm fat, i'm probably going to cry when i get home.  i know i'm fat.  i know i should eat better and exercise and stop buying mcdonalds when i have a hole i need to fill inside.  that's this whole thing.  but you coming out and being all, "you need to lose weight, because you're fat."  that fucking hurts.  no amount of fat is going to cushion that punch to my tummy.


why do people go to the drive-thru and order like 19 meals?  just go inside!  there's an inside there, and you can all eat together and sit on uncomfortable chairs while you eat your shit-food.  some of us need to go home, so no one can see us eat shit food day after day while hoping the stupid organic engines just clog up and kill us.


i've been thinking about suicide a lot more than is probably healthy.  i should go to therapy.  my friend wants me to visit for a vacation, but isn't going to take time off so we can hang out together.  i think she wants me to goad her lazy husband into doing stuff, but i don't think i can deal with that expectation the way i am.  and i don't know if i can just beg out on this without alienating the only person who tries to talk to me ever.

i wish i could just not wake up and let everyone else deal with the messes i've made.


in case that happens:  "exhibition" ends on a super depressing point, but in a way that if you're me, you accept as a stunning redemption.

"spa treatment" will never end, because i will never get to the point where they re-commit themselves for more shit.  because i'm lazy.

the short play:

A: This week ended, all fears begone for us;
let those who tarry, yet enjoy their rest,
this work goes on eternally, go forth,
enjoy this long weekend for all to love.

S: Shall we write a story grand?  Late have we
forgotten our last goals, to live and love,
and spread such love to all that share our view,
that in love, may all that is weird, be free.

But wait!  I spy our water sadly low,
still yet just this bottle found, dry our home:
let us go forth and buy bottles a-new,
bottles to drink and share and love, I pray.

A: Shall we postpone the stories? Let them all
gather formless and grey?  Sit unloved now,
to await a glorious day?  How then,
shall we answer our friends?  Their love awaits?

S: Fuck them, fuck all, fuck all in the ass, shall
we dwell upon their goals, upon their schemes?
Or shall our stories breathe the life we give,
and soar into the sky we light with stars?



ok, that's enough of that.  seriously.  fake shakespeare is harder than i thought it.

so much counting.

the third-to-last sentence only works with one pronunciation of "seriously"

so suddenly this thought:

how, if you close your eyes, and think of yourself, you can kind of envision a universe of "you," where you have these slices of reality shooting out from you, where you recognize that this slice is this one thing that makes the you you are the you you are.

"fucking christ, sammy.  you said you were going to stop drinking, because you've again fucked up your liver!"

yes.  i did.  and i'm trying.  but trying involves diluting vodka with tea.  tea apparently is full of caffeine.  i'm bad at everything i do.

but that bad is this "mostly square, but has these weird blocky juts that stick out" shape that's colored black and is down there.  like, imagine you're flying.  and all of you is colored differently, and takes up different bits of the sky.  that shitty bit is down there, and it's this big square because it's slowly consuming my me.  and it's black, because it's not a healthy thing.

and that music i heard is that tiny zig-zag shape that i remember from long ago.  it's over to the left and up a bit.

new title:  "sorry.  i think i'm going crazy.  like, losing connection with reality crazy.  sorry.  i'll try to hold my ducks together better."

fucking christ, people

wake up, check mail, flood of annoying bullshit.

dude who keeps pestering me to "blackmail" him somehow?  check.  dude, i don't care about you, and i'm not sure "reads my shitty porn blog" is something i can blackmail you with.  i'd have to find your friends and family, and research shit, and fuck it.  i have neither the time nor the motivation to set up the stupidest hobby in the world.  

another random marketing jerk wanting me to promote a product on my blog?  check.  these i just don't understand.  if i want to get people interested in my shitty "screen capture software" ('P.S. Don't change text in the link. It should be "Screen Capture Software"', fuck you jenny.  fuck you and fuck your capital letters.), i'd probably find someone who had ever in their life mentioned screen capture software.  and if i do put in the link, i get a free copy?  woo!  according to the review i found, "I think that it is just a Russian scam."  but just imagine all the things i could do with "screen capture software".  i could put up videos of me typing out my next story, only to end the video with me deleting everything because i don't like it.  wouldn't that be fun?

another notice from that one twitter bot that keeps following and unfollowing me so they can follow me again?  check.  this seems like if they added a feature to my fridge that would have it periodically beep sadly until i went over and pet it.  you're not a real person, so stop being so needy.

i hate it when

i have to not drink so i can pass the tests my doctor insists on making me do, "because your liver level is elevated."

i'm so much happier when i don't have to think about sleep, he just sits down on the bed next to my insensate self.  you know, "just pick me up if you're in the neighborhood," kind of stuff.

not this dull ache of loneliness and despair at 1:30 in the morning.  i don't like it when existential boredom just shows up on my couch, and is just like, "i'll just watch some infomercials with the volume turned down really low and wait.  i know how this ends."

so. hey. here's me again, on this side of drunk.

the side you expect i'm on.  if you're over here too, then, hey, cool.  thanks for your support.

tonight i was working late.  my boss stopped by, "goodnight, sammy"

"gnight"

the screech of shoes on the floor.

"oh, did you get the email about the telecon at 9pm tonight?"

"what?  no?"

"yeah.  we're doing a telecon tonight at 9.  on skype"

"i don't have a skype."

"so send me your skype when you login."

"what?"

so, too long stupid short, fuck you, boss.

i'm not going to fuck up my evening to call in to some shit ass telecon you couldn't be bothered to tell me about until two hours before it happens.  just

omg

fuck you so fucking hard.


christ, why are you such a fucking jackass?

a short (drunk) one act play.

Scene: Sammy's place, where she has been cleaning up trash in anticipation of an undesired visit from contracted cleaners who are going to clean vents.

The bugs:

Dear Samantha fair, who lives above us,
Tell us what sin we hath perpetrated,
Such that on these days you tear down our houses,
Anguish our children, and cast out your friends?

Samantha:

Dude, wait, what?  When last have you paid me rent?
Or fucking tidied up the tiniest,
Of this apartment in which we do dwell,
I mean, you're kind of just fucking slackers.

The bugs:

But Samantha, we had a deal set fast
In stone,

Samantha:

                 What no?  Since when did we deal such?

The bugs:

Since we have forgiven you many sins?

Samantha:

What sins do you lie at my feet tonight?

The bugs:

Do you remember the one named Bob?

Samantha:

Bob?  What name is that, that I should recall?

The bugs:

Do you remember the candle you lit,
All aglow with its shining luminence?

Samantha:

Many candles have I lit.  Many more
Have I extinguished.  You speak of one though?

The bugs:

Do you recall the tweezers?  Gripping strong?

Samantha:

And the candle?  Shall I forget that now?

The bugs:

Bob was slack that day.  You caught him up fast.

Samantha:

Did I then?  To what purpose this action?

The bugs:

To carry him, struggling, to the fire's maw.

Samantha:

Alight, then, I set him?  To burn for sins?

The bugs:

What sins, awful tyrant?  What have we done?

Samantha:

Sins of contamination.  Sins of greed.
You have made my home your nest, and ruled there;
Set yourself as a rapacious lord there,
And smuggled my bounty for your gain,
                                                                     Where,
Should I have been better at management,
Your children would have starv-ed in the womb,
And your wives widowed and barren till death,
And all your works burned and broken forever,
Your lives wasted in the pursuit of death.

i should probably stop this

this constant "write a post" "make post a draft" "read post again later and decide it's cool to publish" "pull down post again".

sorry.

there's this constant noise in my head telling me to do things.  some of them are "take out the trash" and "do you have clean clothes for tomorrow?"

some of them are "write gross porn" and "watch gross porn."

still others are "are you sure you've got that red blood?  maybe it's worth checking it out.  you know, just to be safe" or "huh.  breathing is just this constant thing, you know?  like a chore you have to do all the damn time.  plastic seems like it could help us here.  let's check out what plastic's got going on, right?"

i guess it's called "intrusive thoughts"?  like, you know you can't just stab the waitress who just gave you a sharp knife for your food, but your brain still tells you that, like, you know, it's an option if you're up to it.

it certainly doesn't help that i get drunk.  a lot.  sorry.  but drinking dulls that noise.  the that part is all "whatevs" and the other is all, "do what you want" and the amethyst is "or just nap all day, it's cool."

so again, sorry.  i have work shit to do tomorrow, and i have people coming to my apartment this week, so i have to hide all my trash and alcoholism for that.

but i so want to get this part done.  the tender parts i wrote while drunk are kind of good.  i think i need to just stop trying to get a "writing mood" and just write.  just make the words come out.  i can fix them later if they're not good.  but getting the ideas down in some form seems like the most important bit.

honestly, what is up with my space bar?

fine. i'll admit it.

it's taken me years to accept it, but i can't deny it anymore.

takenoko no sato are superior to kinoko no yama.

they're simply better.

what's wrong, sammy?

this.

like.

all this is all wrong.  you need to be that far away.  but you're not.  so.  get back a bit?

is this  a style change on blogger?

i think i might have gone crazy this week.  like "things don't work right now, because my brain model of things doesn't match the reality model" kind of crazy.

so.

i've actually been (kind of) doing ok for the past few weeks.  coping with the usual sanity-deficient parts of my life.

and these constant shit-ass hurricanes.  like, ok.  if you're going to try to do a thing, don't be like, "hah, i gasped at the barricade before me and died a hero!"  bitch, this is taco bell, and you didn't fucking pull up from the menu board to the order board.  i hate you so much, i hope you light on fire so i can just pull around and be like, "dunno.  bitch lit on fire.  number 8 please.  no lettuce.  that shit gross."

so i guess regular stuff.  i finished the super stressful shit at work, and today my boss was all, "hey, you haven't done this shit, but why don't you look at it a  bit too.  because your coworker is a hot fucking mess."

he didn't say that.  but she's such a fucking mess.  and this is me.  sammy "drunk till tuesday" worker-chan.  honestly.




anyway, i neededed to vent a bit, so thanks for being ventable.  i thought i'd have to pause my tumblr queue, but i reblogged enough.

also, hey!  Mr. Christopher!  if i reblog at you a thing, and you look at it, any chance you could tell me how hard such a thing would be?  it's this face mask/gag/hood that is so super wonderful.  just a, hey, i know people who know stuff about things! ask the questions!

sorry.

druknk sorry.

i will stay offline until less so now.

love,
sammy

good on me for rectifying the video

and then watching like an hour of my grandfather's youtube.

and then taunting particular views into the trash.

sorry.

wow.  so sorry.

i do what i can in the reference i can handle.  i'm sorry that's not perfect.

32

32 bottles.

just

fyi.

so. yay. psychological revelations that come up when you listen to 80s new wave.

you won't understand this.

because the backstory i'd have to provide is far longer than my currently drunk mind can provide.

here's the shortest version i can come up with.

this song played a lot when i did things i regret, and that shame has stuck with the opening piano in the back of my brain for years.

if you can sort out reasons why, just keep your damn mouth shut.  i know my reasons.

hey there. first up, i really want no one to panic about this. just, calm everything down, and don't get too worked up about it. let's all take a step back, ok?

i'm suicidal again.

whoa, whoa, whoa, read that title again.  i'm drunk. and i'm super slow about everything, so this isn't an imminent threat.

but honestly.  suicidal thoughts are back in full strength.

i've been kind of coasting on a wave of panic and anxiety that made me feel like if i killed myself, then i'm just pushing burdens onto other people.

but that's kind of been relieved.  i could totally kill myself today, and it'd probably annoy a bunch of people, but they wouldn't be super burdened.

so, wow.  this is fucked up.  "if i'm stressed beyond comprehension, i can push that into a balloon that represents my sanity, but if that stress depletes, the balloon deflates, and only death awaits."

"you should go to therapy, sammy.  this can be fixed".  thanks, my brain.  telling me the things that are true.  jerk.

so, hey,


think about things.  i write some more cool porn.  you like it.  but then, six decades later, we're dead, and just a disgrace to your descendants.  and then think a million years from then.  no one cares.  i'm not like some sort of porno-jesus.  i've been forgotten for a million years.


and then like a billion years from then, the sun is going to ignite everything into a burnt cinder anyway.


so why does anything matter?  if i killed myself, why is that some sort of tragedy, when after everything, we all end up as ash under an angry sun?

"but we could help people, sammy!"

yes.  we could.  but a major political party is suggesting that "mexicans should probably just die" and "or blacks.  pretty much anyone not white"  and "like, literally, anyone not white.  they can just get shot if you feel the desire."  also, "gay people are demons who need to be expelled."

we could help people.

if any cared.

understand the first sentence of this post now?  if not, try reading again.

i know i'm a baby, baby

wanna know what's fun?

playing disney roulette.

it's super simple.

listen to disney song videos on youtube until you break out in super gross ugly crying.

challenge: start with frozen videos.

"fuck you, i can 'let it go' forever!"

sure, whatever.  can you "first time in forever (reprise)" it?

yeah

didn't think so.

so i'm going to wipe out a bunch of gross tears that are all over right now, and give an update that i totally wrote some stuff last night while drunk.  it's pretty good, actually, and that's my assessment from not now, but when i was not drunk.  the next part is literally the bit of the story that is the story and isn't this stupid awful prologue i had to write formyself.

11671 characters

so it's slightly bigger than "food".

i think i'm ready to go back to following the notes.  i had a big excursion of "write this now, sammy, because otherwise you'll forget it!"

and also, this is still out of place, chronologically.

i'll try to fix it later.

i kind of want to write the end piece.  probably because i'm a jerk.

i often

wish the Annie from my stories was a real Annie in real life, so i could have some sanctuary from the thoughts that constantly fight me.

"oh, pop-tarts!"

"i haven't had pop-tarts in a long time.  i'd kind of forgotten about them," said checkout dude.

"yeah.  huh," replied sammy, realizing suddenly that her shopping list was nothing but junk food, vodka, and grocery store sushi.

"did you see they make carmel combos now?  those are a bit weird," he continues, as she tries hard to find something to add to the belt to fix the situation.

"get some reese's cups!" shouts her brain, and she grabs them from the candy rack and puts the package on top of the sushi.

"yeah, i saw those, but yeah...weird," sammy stumbles out as she faces the fact that adding candy doesn't fix the junk food balance on display.

==

this has been a barely fictionalized version of the horror that happened this evening.

"what have you done this weekend, sammy?"

mostly masturbate.  a lot.  because i'm totally got things in order in my life.

last year, i mentioned sumomodou, with a link to a post that i took down during the porn purge at blogger that didn't happen.  the stories in that post are this one, and the sequel.

and i think i linked to this before, but here it is again.


so yeah.  a lot of terrible garbage porn, all weekend long.

this is like the same story, told three times.

time one.

time two.

time three.

original pixiv source.

it doesn't really have an ending.  in none of the three parts.  i guess that's the point, though.

at the grocery store today

me: "what else do i need to buy?"
cart: "i have this stuff in me.  i don't seem to have any soap.  do you need soap?"
me: "tooth paste!"

surprise! the correct answer was deodorant. :-/

hey. odd question i have today.

i went to talk with my boss today, about deadline stuff.  boring shit.

and the end of the conversation was like:

boss: "do i have an insurance policy on you?  yeah, i think so.  maybe i should increase that."

me:  "....so i'm going to go back to work now...."

duh, i don't think my boss is going to kill me.

question:

wtf?
do you think this means my boss is really worried i might kill myself?
or like, whoa, i know i'm fucked up, but i thought i've been hiding this pretty decently, so maybe i should work on hiding better?
or like, maybe, he's worried i might die and fuck shit up and he has to deal with it, so money?
or like, he's probably thinking about murder stabbing me, and i should avoid situations where i could get murder stabbed.

i hate myself, and this is a reason why.

last time i visited my parents, we went to get groceries.

"no, sammy, what?  get this meat, it cheaper."

that's the meat from the discount bin.  like, "hey, this rots like tomorrow, so buy it cheap today and use it or freeze it."

and today, i was at the store, buying stupid shit to eat when i'm drunk.  "no, sammy, what?  get this chips, it cheaper."

because then i save 39 cents.

"what do you do with your money, sammy?"

mostly?  i just waste it on shit i never eat, or clothes i throw out because i don't like how they look, or on gas to drive around the island and avoid my brain by making it not crash the car into people who aren't awful wastes of space.


i don't even know how to describe this feeling.  "i make more money than i need, but waste pretty much all the excess on stupid shit to dull the pain i feel from living my life."  ennui?  "sure, sammy, if you're some sort of fancy-pants from 1927".

so.

"stop being such a selfish stupid cunt, you fucking horrible selfish cunt!"


brb.

going to drink enough to kill this feeling.

--


dear this feeling,

if i could hold you under water, i would hold you down until you stopped making bubbles, until you turned a delightful shade of blue.  i hope i find some way to set you on fire, just so i can make smores while you roast away into glorious heat.

i fucking hate you forever,
sammy

but seriously, this is fucked up shit.

sammy sees something that triggers one of those random things that make her furious.

sammy realizes a few minutes later that maybe that was super aggressive, and dials back a bit.

sammy points out that this probably wasn't the best venue for such random anger.

fuck james hinks.

this is going to be the all-time champion of "seriously, no one fucking cares, sammy, just shut up"

ok.  toothbrushes.

a while ago, i was grumpy that my toothbrush sucked, and i was like, "tell me how i can get like a dentist toothbrush," and Mr. Christopher was all, "sonic care is pretty cool and clean-y" and then i looked it up and those are like a bajillion dollars and the replacement heads are like $10 a pop.

so, i continued on, using my shitty toothbrush that i hated everyday and silently wished would just die.

or.

inanimate objects can't die.  so.  um.  explode.  but like, where it doesn't break my bathroom mirror.  i'm already not getting my apartment deposit back.  "sorry, my toothbrush exploded," is just going to sound like a lame excuse.

but then:  i went to longs, and was like, "fuck it, let's get a fancy toothbrush."  and i looked, and saw this like $20 thing from somebody name brand.  oral-b or tooth-police or i-made-up-my-second-name-so-why-did-i-think-i-had-a-third.  but there was a cvs version next to it for like $11.

cvs is what long's is called everywhere else.  they bought long's a few years ago, but since everyone here has been going to long's since forever, they keep all the stores here long's.

also, this was for two toothbrushes.

that's important on the cost-benefit analysis thing.

so previously, i'd brush my teeth in the morning because i'm not like an actual monster.  but this new vibrating super brush.

that's also important.  this is some vibrating super brush shit.  not like "wtf is up with this toothbrush that makes it $5.50?"  it has a left and a right side, and they strapped them both to a vibrator, so you push the button, and it's like you're masturbating your teeth.

and it's wonderful.

now i'm doing the whole "brush at night too, gross-face" and thinking about how i can justify just always having this purple vibrating stick in my mouth all the time.


yes, in case you were wondering, i'm feeling a bit weird today.  but my teeth are super clean.

also you can bold-italic-underline text.

The Exhibition: Interlude

Impromptu.

dear me,

maybe our hurricane preparedness kit should contain more than two bottles of vodka, a case of water, and four boxes of pop-tarts, two of which you've already opened and started eating.

just saying.

love,
me.  you.  you know who i am.  you are.

ps. fuck this whole brain.

actual conversation from work today

her: "yeah, i think i've been working too hard."
me: "yeah, me too."
her: "no, but like, see, it's making me crazy."
me: "i kind of am beyond that point now."
her: "no, yesterday, somebody asked if i was having suicidal thoughts."
me: "oh."
her: "i mean, of course not, but they really were worried.  it's not like anyone has asked you something like that."
me: "..."


so go me for

1. apparently holding it all together at work
2. not having any friends who would notice things and ask questions like that
3. whining about everything on my blog

also time to fucking bawl my eyes out

wow.  i'm totally keeping my mental illness together today!

just banging through this depression and suicidal thoughts!

wheeeeee!


i'm like a whirlwind of DEATH AND PAIN AND HATRED THAT WILL CONSUME EVERYONE!

wheeeeee!

fuck

today's thursday, not friday.

shit.

time to mop up blood.

woo.

go me!

ok, but

have you ever looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror while you're washing your hands?

and made weird shapes with your lips while you do so?  maybe add a bit of tongue in there.

now imagine like an octopus or a snake or a slug making that shape.  that's fucking gross.

but not when you do it with your lips.  that's weird.

"ok, seriously, sammy, maybe you need to not be drunk so so much."

no.

i need to be drunk this much all of the time.


here's a link.

yes, ok.  i'm ugly and gross.  and i go out of my way to not make friends.  and i'm pretty sure i'm a fuck up at work.

but

read through that whole thing.  it looks like the comments went a bit crazy, but that is so much how i feel every day.

"nice job being awful, sammy.  did you write anything?  did you do work stuff good?  did you figure out how to take out your trash like every fucking normal person can do?

"nice job, sammy.  great job at life.

"worthless bitch."

so yeah.  welcome to how my brain works everyday.

sorry.

sorry everyone.

ok, so:

"European Union laws require you to give European Union visitors information about cookies used on your blog. In many cases, these laws also require you to obtain consent.

As a courtesy, we have added a notice on your blog to explain Google's use of certain Blogger and Google cookies, including use of Google Analytics and AdSense cookies.

You are responsible for confirming this notice actually works for your blog, and that it displays. If you employ other cookies, for example by adding third party features, this notice may not work for you. Learn more about this notice and your responsibilities.

"

i mean, ok.  if you're an "European Union visitors", i guess this is for you?  i guess there's a notice?

like, i'm not trying to give you cookies or anything.  i mean.  if you want cookies, you should have them.

but not my cookies.  those are mine, and if you take them, i might just cut you.  cookies + sammy 4 ever.

anyway, some sort of political computer shit.  i don't care.  probably no one cares.

stuff.

dear drunk sammy from last night,

are you doing well?  i hope you're having a great evening.

just wanted to let you know that i received your gift.  "one bite of chocolate cookie, mushed in a ziplock bag, and then rolled over in the night so that it's all melted and crushed" was right where you left it, underneath the pillow.

maybe in the future, you can leave more than a single bite, or, alternatively, just eat the whole cookie and be done with it.  just suggestions for you to mull over.

anyway, i need to get to sleep at some point, so i'll let you get on with being in the past.

love,
right now sammy who kind of wanted to eat that whole cookie herself

wwwhhhiiinnne!

shopping for jeans sucks.

"ok, those look fine."

NOPE.

"maybe these?"

NOPE.

"maybe just a size bigger?"

NOPE.

"are you stretchy enough?"

NOT FOR YOU, BITCH.

shopping for jeans fucking sucks.

party dream

we're all outside, and having this giant picnic.  i know no one there, but am offered enough drinks that i eventually get to a stable point where it's not just a giant panic attack.

"hey, we're going to go watch the movie!" so we all start heading inside.

she walks up, holding a garbage bag.  "is that empty?" she asks, pointing at the champagne bottle sitting next to me in the grass.  i pick it up, and swirl it, and we both see that it's still about half full.  "seems like a waste.  pop it open."  just from the swirling, it's become agitated and the cork pops out (ok, so it hits the wall, so we're inside now?  dream scenery is hard).

she takes the bottle, and takes a long drink before passing it back to me to finish.  she then takes my hand and we go off to watch the movie.


which is a documentary about tax collection in england.  because why not.  it's a dream, so you can watch anything at all.

ok, also?

if you're going to have a pet dog, and then tell that dog that they can't go into a room, don't be a fucking jerk about it.

like...

here:

this dog is like, "i want to get this thing back, but you told me not to go in there, but i can't get this thing without going in there! bark bark i am frustrated!"

you have to let that be ok.  i mean.  sure, dogs aren't super smart about everything, since they're dogs.

but, like, they're fucking dogs.  they're not super smart.  if you say "never can go in here," that's like a big fucking deal to them.  they can't like, "oh, but i'll just pop in and get that thing and it's ok."  it's like "MURDER WILL GET YOU IF YOU GO IN THERE FOR ANY REASON!  MURDER MURDER DEATH DEATH DEATH!"



i guess today's point is: reassure your pets.  make sure that your pets know you love them a lot, and that if they make a mistake, you're still totally going to love them, because they're fucking awesome.

nightmare

i had a dream this morning where i was sitting on my couch getting ready to go to work.  "wait, isn't it the weekend yet?"

"no," said "mother" (not my mom, that's just the name the giant not-human thing sitting next to me had in the dream).  "it's monday."

i woke up in a panic that after working all week, it was actually the start of another work week, and had to check my phone to confirm that it was really friday.

ok, it took a month for me to actually sit down and watch the rest.

carmilla.


this is pretty good.  and honestly, it took a big binge watch to come around, but you should go watch if you take recommendations from drunk jerks with blogs.

yes, yes, it's slow, but you get to like episode 15, and then it kind of takes off.  maybe episode 18.  22?  i'm not clear where the take off point was.  it was blah then not blah.  i'm vaguely scribbling on a chalkboard that doesn't exist.  this probably doesn't help anyone.]

yes, i'm drunk.  yes, i'm a jerk.  yes, i have a blog.  christ, it's like you're new here.

so, everybody, go watch season 1, and i'll try to catch up with season 2 when i can.

and write things.

i'll try to do the thing i claim is the thing that i do that is totally the thing i don't ever do because i have a lazy deep down in my heart where the motivation lives.

This message contains feedback for:

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Comments:

1) how did the cheerleader and naked girl deal with their urine over the twelve hours.
2) how about a further vacuum bag exhibition where sammy is diorothy of the wizard of oz with her dress swirled (from the tornado) and also in the bag is a male whose body is sprayed tan to look like Toto and there is a ring around his genitals and left leg lifted as if urinating into a hollow plastic tree


um, how am i supposed to respond if you don't give me a way to contact you?  so here are the answers:

1) not peeing for 12 hours isn't super hard.  haven't you gone to sleep and slept a really long time?  besides, i checked, and they are only in the bags for like ten hours.  that's two easier.

2) no.  there are many reasons why, but the answer is no.  write your own stories if you have ideas.  that will always be better than trying to make someone else write the story you want to read.  also: isn't toto grey?  that's not a spray-tan-able color, is it?  so so many reasons why "no".

poop

all over the place!

why are you talking about poop?

poop!

POOOOOOP!

poop.



poop at you.

i want a bagel

a cinnamon raisin bagel, toasted, with honey (or even better: maple syrup), then covered with peanut butter.


i'm pretty sure i have most of that in my fridge and my counter.


but both are super gross with old rotten shit.

i am awful at life.

oh no, not me, i never lost control, you're face to face, with the man who sold the world.

i'm drunk.

as-i-do.

sorry.

i left and shook his hand.  i searched for form and land.

for years and years i roamed.

[redacted]

we must have died a long, long, long time ago.


key:  sorry for taunt prompting you.  feel free to ignore this.  also the next bit is for you, too.

everyone else: sorry for having to get drunk a lot to make a post that i don't immediately delete when i can.  i hate my shitty life.  i'm sorry i've dragged you in to this nonsense.

some cat.

i should stop listening to music put out two decades before i was born.

this is totally just being a jerk.

"cause he knows it's all worth it."

or

i might have fucked htat up.








all the children boogie?



honestly.  five years, people.  sorry for being the crazy jerk you read about.  just.  five years..


i'll send gross cunt pics if we're all ok in five years.

ok, going to see what i get next, but in private. sorry.


also, which post do you think sober sammy is going to pull down?

vote in the comments!

edit to add: drunk again!  woo.  go me.  getting drunk, posting crazy shit.  way to live your fucking life.

yep.

way to live my fucking life.

i've been having a panic attack since 9am this morning.

i do not like that.

i wrote some of the new part last night.  i wanted to write more tonight, but i can't.

it is already longer than other parts, and i haven't even gotten to the main story point.  i continues to have very little sex or kinky stuff.

sorry.

accomplishments!

things i wanted to do today:

1. laundry.
2. buy new jeans.
3. write more stories.
4. change bed sheets.
5. be an for-realsies grown up.

things i did today:

1. be lazy in bed.
2. drive around and see things.
1. dead bird.
2. dead cat.
3. homeless lady pushing all of her belongings on a wheelchair (the belongings were on the chair, not the lady).
4. cool clouds.
5. a super cute chicken, with like a red head and neck, but then it was a black/brown mottle for the rest of the body.  
3. sing song to my food before realizing other people can hear me because i'm in a restaurant.
4. change bed sheets!

i actually did a thing on the list!

things i had to move while changing bed sheets/things that live in my bed:

1. laptop charger
2. phone charger
3. kleenex box.
4. second old empty kleenex box to put the used tissues in.
5. floss.
6. nail clipper.
7. crappy paper file that needs to be replaced.
8. headphones.
9. bag of nuts.

huh.

ever get super drunk, make a blog post, realize the next day you made a blog post, make it "draft", get super drunk again, and then read it and realize it's just fucking perfect?

so you repost that shit because wow, yesterday drunk sammy, you're just fucking killing it here.

just like, wow.

this was totally a point where sammy passed out and annie took over.  i shouldn't personify my mental illness like this.  but whoa.  i love you annie.

wow.

so much love.

hey.

um.

this is weird.

usually i get drunk, choose a point to fight over, do a big blog post about how like, squirrels are fucking people now.

and then wake up sober and make it all go away because that's pretty much nonsense.

and we don't even fucking have squirrels here.  are they really just like super fluffy tail cats?

so today i got all drunk like usual.

as-you-do.

and then forgot the point i was going to fight about.

like.  no clue.  squirrels are cute though.  fluffy tails and all that.

i have the beatles playing, so maybe that was the thing?  not as good as mr. david bowie?  they're pretty great, though, so this is a weak point.

so hey.  sammy here.  drunk up as i do.

without a point.

let's look at the news?

ok.  that's bad, that's good, that's also bad, that's cool, that's just kind of fucking horrible.

80 fucking percent.

christ.

"Laws in many states allow the police to arrest girls as young as 13 on prostitution charges, even when they are victims of sex trafficking."  omg.


dear prosecutors (i guess?),

what the absolute fuck?  "oh, congrats on getting raped a bunch!  your reward is going to jail!  you slut!"

diaf,
love,
sammy!


so, you know, if you're confused about how much i'm kind of going with the gay side of bi, read that last bit, and tell me how you feel.  seriously.  i was going to talk about the animal thing i saw today, but this is so much more fucking depressing, it makes a rhino potentially dying of gross infections due to humans ripping off a shitty horn seem like someone dropped a popsicle.


seriously.  i've read stories about cats playing with something for a bit, then killing it and eating it.  why is that so fucking less horrifying than what people do in like a day-to-day thing?

here comes the sun?

fuck you, the 60's.

good job fucking everything up in your adult-hood.  thanks for making me and my cohort so fucked up.


i can only forgive you so much for the chords used in "because".

and now you know how to turn me on.


ok.  time to drink enough that i don't care to update this post anymore.  just.

just think about things.  think about how much you might have helped, and didn't.

i'm doing the same, so don't get all upset.  i could have murdered old people, but instead i voted for the democrats.

TOTES KIDDING!

except the democrat thing.  i mean, i don't want to murder people in their sleep.

like the republicans.

#socialism_forever

i was going to change my sheets today too, but i forgot.

i wrote some.  not nearly as much as i was hoping to ("i can just write the whole thing in one go! it's all plotted out, and the new things are why i want to get it down before i forget them!"), but it's more than zero, and is pretty much all of the first act.  this one is another no sex chapter, and it's also out of place in the story line, so i edited the story page to have place holders so if someone is looking, they'll see that i didn't have a stroke and forget what was going on, i'm just moving forward a bit so i can get this story done.

but it's not coming out as easily as i hoped, but the tumblr post that i need published before i can publish the story seem to have gone out (thanks, tumblr queue), and that sorted out a plot point i wasn't happy with.  so hopefully everyone will like it when i get it done.

i'm pretty sure i had another point, but i don't remember what it was.

morning porn dream

we're in the garage.  on the couch.  in the garage.  that is there.

but we met on the plane.  "i'm going around the world."

"i'm going home."

"can i visit?"

"sure?"

we're there, on the couch, i'm closer to the house, she's toward the street.

"i don't even know you're name."

"samantha, you surely do?"

"no?"

"katja" she says, the german accent explicit to my ear.

"katja."  i repeat.  remembering something from somewhere.

she sits up, twists, falls down.

i'm buried under her, and i feel her arms wrap around my body, pulling me closer.  "what was that?"

the garage door slides down.  the guy who does...stuff?  rests a bike under the door to prop it open a few feet from the floor.  "something's happened."

a bunch of cats flood into the garage.

katja slinks up onto a perch next to the couch, back arched against the gunshots we're aware of outside.

i gasp, and feel her paw at my face from behind me.

--

and then i wake up, worried about my dear katja.  i hope we share a dream again, as i think we've done in the past.

hah.

sorry for being dumb.  a lot of sorries on that front.

sorry if i send a drunk email that is super weird and super out of the blue.  not sure if it was a drunk email?  here's the flow chart:

1. did you get an email from me?
1. it was a drunk email.  probably should throw it away.

"no, but sammy, it's all ok, you're not dumb!"

yes i am.  i am super dumb, and i paste over my insecurities with a lot of alcohol.  which is stupid, because you can't fucking paste shit with alcohol.  

"hey, let's stick these things together!"  

"great idea! let's use a liquid that actively resists sticky shit!"  

"brilliant!"

i wish i could try harder than i do, but trying hard is hard, and failing at something hard doesn't hurt any less than failing at something simple.  it's way easier to be like "hey, let's drink less" and then fuck that up.  you get that feeling in your brain telling you how "gorss" you are, and that you're such a "dumb bich".

ha ha ha, anxiety!  you've fallen into my trap of "get anxiety so fucking drunk she pees herself, because it's super hard to make me feel bad when you've got wet underwear"!

but not really, because anxiety is still me, and when anxiety is all "gots to pee," i make sure we both get there in time.  mostly because i have no clue how you fix a pee soaked bed.

so, what i think i'm saying is "i'm drunk again, as usual" and "i'm sorry that i've pulled you in to my crazy world."  i am going to try super hard to get stories out this long weekend.  i might fuck it up and fail, but i am going to try.

carmilla.

carmilla

i did carmilla.

and this new one.

i was all "fuck all this shit.  fuck it all.  this shit? fuck it!" until chapter 11.  out of like 38 or something.  i hope they figure out how much they're fucking it up.

but i'm kind of getting it, so i'm not so so hard "fuck it" as i was.  i'm going to go watch episodes 12-38+, so i might totally change this around, but right now, i'm giving it a weak "go see this".

if you care.

if not, i'm going to give you a super sweaty hug!

*gross!*

omg i am dying

there won't be any stories up in the near future.  it is fucking a billion degrees, and doing anything more than "sweating to death" is too much effort.  you said the trades would be back last week, kanoe.  there were no trades.  today you're like, "whoops!  honolulu didn't have a record, but the other islands did!"  make the sky suck less, kanoe.

i'm also thinking (once it cools down and i can catch up some) that i should start making story "traps."  the idea is that once i have the outline finished, i schedule that as a blog post for a year in the future.  then, if i slack off and don't write the story in that year, the outline just goes up and i admit that i'm bad at this.  i think that provides a bit more incentive to actually sit my butt down and write some.

which i would have today during the hours of nothing to do that i spent dying from the heat.  i'm going to blame the heat for why this morning's dream stories were all horror when i intentionally went back to snooze expecting sexy-fun dreams.

and i was dumb on friday night and logged in to a dating site i haven't used in years, and immediately got a message that i've been ignoring.  i should really have a pre-written "i'm sorry that i'm terrible at being a human being" note to send when that happens.

six early morning half asleep horror dreams

"nightmares" i guess is the word.  then two links.

1.  "61:12"

i'm leaving a meeting at work, and turn the corner in the hallway, only to be stopped by someone from high school.  i haven't seen her since then.  "they're having sex!" she maniacally cackles at me.

"what?"

she points down at a pile of three pink throw pillows next to the wall.  "they're having sex!"

i wander away, and try to find my office.  i open a door, and inside is a brightly decorated place, with all sorts of plants and photos and filled in calendars.  "whoops, wrong office," i think to myself.  "good thing no one was naked inside."  i go down a few more doors, and open my office.  it's completely empty except for my desk and a cardboard box.  it's a drab grey color, and it seems to suck all the color out of everything.  i go in and sit down.

i wake up with a start, realizing that i must have fallen asleep at work.  i look around, but the office door is closed, so no one would have seen me sleeping.  i look at the clock, and it tells me it's 61:12 o'clock.  i get up to look at it, and i see outside the window that the sky is the color of fire, and everything else is a ashy grey color.

2.  "eyes"

i'm at home, watching stuff on youtube.  my laptop screen flashes, and then goes black.  i jab at the keyboard to make it come back, and it shows like three different half illuminated scenes all at once.  the video i was watching, words typing, and some other video.  they're overlaid and mixed together, like it's trying to display all of them at the same time.  i close and open the screen to make it reset, and it eventually switches back to the youtube video.  but it's all wrong.  the tv show or whatever it's from doesn't work right.  characters stop mid sentence and turn to look at me.  it then switches to a different scene, but they all degenerate the same way.

3.  "eyes 2"

i've just gotten out of the shower, and i'm using the one towel that's just slightly smaller than my other towels, so it's hard to pull around and keep closed.  but i'm also at work, and two people from another department have stopped by.  "we need you to do this thing for us," they start.  it doesn't matter that they're not my boss, and that i have no idea how to do what they want because it's not something i know how to do, they keep insisting that i have to do this for them.  while i'm trying very hard to not be completely naked at work.

more people stop by, and set up a conference around my desk.  at least while i'm sitting, i only need to keep one side totally covered.  there are like seven other people talking, and i kind of fade back, letting them all shout over each other about this project they want me to do.  i look up, and they're all staring at me.  not talking, not doing anything else, just staring.  they way they're doing it, it's no longer like they're seven people, but just one mind with seven appendages.

this is the point where i realize that i know it's a dream, and that i can do things.  i'm the thing they're attached to.  i make them all flail their heads around and gibber.  i look away and look back, and they're staring again, but they have no eyes.  i look away and look back, and all their faces are scrambled.  a mouth is added to replace an eye.  eyes replace noses.  but due to some reason, the eyes are identical, as are the mouths.  i can only replace things if everything is the same across all of the people.

4. "car"

i have some friends at my house.  we're going to go somewhere.  i'm going to drive, but my car is filled with trash.  "give me a minute, and i'll clear this out."  i start throwing empty water bottles and fast food napkins into a trash bag, but things don't seem to get better.  by the time i have the front seat done, it's been like an hour of work.  no one else seems to be helping, so i try to see what they've been doing.

i get out of the car, and there is a table and chairs set up in the parking space next to mine.  "where did that come from?"

"your trunk"

"i don't have that.  put that back, because my neighbor might come home and get angry that she can't park in her space."  i start to work on the back seat, but they keep taking more furniture out of my trunk, cluttering up the entire garage.  i walk around, and one of the friends is closing the trunk lid.  "stop that!  i want to see inside!"  she stares at me while she closes the trunk, but before it shuts, i see that there's just a black nothing inside it.

5.  "return flight"

i'm coming home after visiting friends, and i'm trying to check in at the airport.  but there aren't any regular check in lines, just a maze like room filled with different machines.  there are workers standing around, but none of them are helping people find a machine or anything.  they're all labeled like "only for GZYP!"  and "MMM users!"  none of that makes any sense.  i finally stop at one labeled "for YM" and try to check in.  i fumble for a card, and it beeps, and shows my name.  the screen turns on, but it's facing the ceiling, so it's at a weird angle for me.  i see it's hinged, so i pull it up so i can see it better.  however, instead of just being flat, it's showing me like a 3d projection of the plane, with my seat highlighted.  as i move the screen, everything overlaps because they just rotate with the screen.  "it's for taller people," i say to myself.

i keep trying to check in, and i notice that the plane is too short.  those tiny planes don't fly to hawaii.  i click on something, and it shows that i'm flying from san francisco to oakland, then to boston, london, and tokyo.  i start to panic, because it's like all the places i've ever looked at to fly to are in this one ticket.  i look around to see who i can talk to to change it so i can just go home, but no one seems to care.  my breathing speeds up, and i can feel the panic attack hit.

i slump over the machine, and look up to see a group of people walk up to an old lady.  "let us help you get this all sorted out," they say to her.  i wave wildly at them, struggling to not choke as my panicked breathing flutters in and out.  one of the workers looks over at me, frowns, and then continues to ignore me.

6. "ghosts"

i've somehow got some gunk on my fingers, and need to wash it off.  i walk to the "bathroom" in the apartment building (that isn't mine, and i'm not sure what it is).  i see someone who helps me get the door open, and i walk in and turn on the light.  it's not a real bathroom, but a long hallway that turns to the right.  in the corner, there's a sink though.  i walk down to the sink, and glance down past the corner, seeing two or three people going into their rooms.

i wash my hands, keeping my back to the wall because something feels weird.  i look back down the hallway, and there are now clearly two people going into their room.  one is a very old man, and he walks in a halting stumble.  just as he gets to the door, the woman further down the hallway glides to her door.  i look over to get some paper towels, and i look back the way i came.  a short pregnant lady is walking towards me, then turns, and goes to her room.

i look back behind me, and the old man and woman have reset, and are returning to their rooms again.  i start to walk back to the doorway, pausing slightly to avoid the pregnant woman, and then dashing past as she reaches her door.

===

maybe not the best, or even properly scary if you don't have the half-asleep brain state, but since they all piled up this morning, i felt i either had to write them down or proper wake up to flush them out of my head.  i'd forgotten the car one until i started writing, and went back to add that back in.

anyway, link 1.  i think i've linked to this before, but hopefully everyone is reading the sunstone stuff at deviant art.  it's really good stuff.  bondage, sex, realistically misunderstood feelings and relationship stuff.  this one was particularly funny to me.

link 2.  i saw it this morning and it made me giggle, so i'm sharing it here for you too.  i hope pswkua does more short story stuff.

i'll probably have more to say about it later, but

today was a good day.

yesterday was good too, when they said that just because of a typo, millions of people won't get kicked off their insurance.  reading the news, it sounded like a lot of people were angry, because they wanted people to suffer.

but hearing today that they also decided that just because some people are stupid, doesn't mean everyone doesn't deserve to be treated the same.  like, first off, duh.  but to have it set into the law that no matter where you go in the country, you get to be treated the same.  i'm crying now, but it's a good cry.

on the radio driving home, they had people arguing that "now gay people are going to be discriminating against the people who didn't want them to get married!  they're the bad guys now!  religion!"  what?

no?

what?

if i (suddenly got sufficiently less crazy to form a proper relationship, find someone who didn't mind the remaining crazy, and decided that i) wanted to get married, i'm not going to go into like, "snake-handling speaking-in-tongues it's-your-own-fault-you-were-raped" church, and be all, "hah!  i got you now, intolerant jerks!  you've got to marry me now!  rules! laws!  boom!  where's your god now?"

like, in what world do people do that?

i'd probably skip the church thing, or we'd find one that was cool with the whole thing.  why would you want to do something like that with jerks around?

see, that's why this has been dumb since the beginning.  it's never been "gay people against religion."  it's just that so many people think that if everyone is treated the same, somehow they don't win as many religion points or whatever.  "i can only do my religion if i make sure you know that i don't like you in the most public way possible."  right.  great.  go be awful someplace else.


anyway, i'm going to get drunk and try not to cry anymore tonight.

remember when i bought underwear and toilet paper?

i think something's weird with the toilet paper.  like they changed it to be softer or something.  more on that when i sit down and compare the new stuff against the last roll of the old stuff.

EXCITING!

but this post is about different stuff.

--

me, watching cashier scan things, and swiping my card to pay, since target is one of those places you can just swipe, and then it sorts itself out without shitting itself at the end.  you know how that works, Longs?  no.  no you fucking don't.  jerk: ""

cashier: "oh these are great, i love how they're just the right size for a meal"

me, looking at the hot pockets i'm buying: ""

cashier: "or, like you can have a quick lunch before you head out!"

me, remembering when i waited for the frozen aisle to clear so i could hastily grab two boxes of hot pockets and stuff them in my cart when no one could see me: ""

cashier: "sometimes, i like to have them for a snack in the afternoon, when i'm feeling a bit peckish!"

me, trying not to think about how i'm totally eating two of them for dinner, because i kind of just want a bunch of fat and enough protein that i don't feel hungry when i go to bed: ""

people next in line: "wow that girl is buying just like underwear, toilet paper, hot pockets, and vodka.  she totally has her life in order."


no, not really on that last part, but the rest is pretty much all true.  i have never not felt weird buying hot pockets, and i have never had anyone call me out like i was buying some sort of super fancy green "health juice".

it was super weird.

ugh

i'm supposed to be putting together a stupid presentation for work, because i didn't finish it last week.

instead i just spent like two hours reading comics by the guy who did nana to kaoru.  not the actual chapters of that that i haven't read yet ("you're supposed to be working, and you're like 8 chapters behind") so instead i read 25 volumes of other stories.

and the one i was kind of enjoying ends, and they're not together anymore, and now i'm grumpy due to not having a satisfying happy ending.  :(

i know it probably all works out in the end, and the comic ends with them happy and everything's wonderful, and that i have to be patient because someone has to get the japanese version, translate it, stick in the english words instead of the japanese words, and then upload it somewhere so i can read it, and that's not automatic, but i'm still grumpy.

grump.

this is a post

telling you that i'm mostly ok, but like "sammy ok", so you know.  like that.

i'm not sure about making that one post come back, because i really didn't remember writing it until i got the comment notice.  i don't like admitting dumb stuff, and i did some there.  i'll try to be less dumb.  sorry.

and i might randomly post a story that's an "exhibition" story, but is like five parts in the future.  mostly because it kind of all tumbled out of my brain on tuesday night, and it might be good to get it out while i have the ideas all together.  plus, i'm kind of stuck on part "the next parts that i had the idea for, planned out about half of, and then had my brain go dumb."

also i had a big thing on racism and stuff, but i couldn't put it together in a way that didn't sound stupid.  so.  um.  don't be racist.  it's bad.  i sound stupid, but maybe don't be racist.  if you are.  you're probably not.  so.  hey.  awkward.

good news that i tried to make a post for today sober, but then didn't because i couldn't:

i went to target and bought toilet paper and underwear!

*crickets*

no, see, this was a big deal.  back when my brain was junk, but not like super junk, i would often go to target after work, buy stuff that i needed, and then go home, ignoring the time that i got home.

but then super-junky-brain, and i couldn't work up energy to go anywhere that wasn't directly between work and home to get stuff.  so you then buy toilet paper at longs, where it's like $11 for a roll.

"you should get a costco membership, sammy.  they're cheaper than target, too"

ok, no, because costco that way is fucking crazy all the time, and costco the other way is like the other side of the island.

so blah.  i wanted to share, without really having much to share.

have a cookie.

i liked this story.

"Its all about socks".  unfinished versions of unfinished pages.

you should probably check the labels to see if this is the kind of story you want to read too.  i've been in an off mood recently, and this clicked with me.

that was fun.

it's always great to have tears running down your face in the movie theater.

even more so when you have to suppress a sob because you know it'll  be loud and obvious if you don't.  then a quick walk back to my car and a drive home, firmly holding together a frown to keep everything in.

then some regret that you got the medium soda, because theater medium is huge, even if it's still too small for being $5.75, because now you super have to pee when you get home.

finally, there's the point where you realize you need to wipe now, because a new sob is coming, and you probably shouldn't bawl on the toilet.

crawl into bed, hug body pillow, stuff kleenex at face, cry for ten minutes straight.


i guess what i'm saying is that if you can (it's not in a really wide release, and never will), you should go see "when marnie was there."

wow it's super late, how drunk are you, sammy?

not enough?  or not normal drunk?  turns out if i don't take sleepy pills, i don't get sufficiently sleepy.

which means i'm in that weird place between "not drunk enough to be incoherent" and "too panicked to say anything".

"somewhere in that zone"

part of it is that i have a day off tomorrow, because hawaii is great, and we had a king, and he did a bunch of stuff, and so now i get a thursday off.

not friday though.  so back to work for a totally productive day on friday.  hawaii doesn't slide holidays around.


since i'm so wonderful at writing stuff, and totally not waiting a year to write things i've planned out, i'm thinking about doing a new story.

but like, not really porn.

just romance, i guess.  also maybe horror.  i have a weird brain, and nothing can ever be not not wonderful if not also tragic.

the idea would be to actually plan an entire story from start to finish, and then start writing, instead of my random incremental stuff.  i have not done much of that planning at all, so i'll have to put some effort into not being stupid about this.

so, you know, we'll all see how it goes.  maybe i write more, and people read it and like it.

maybe i don't.

i really just wanted the first frame, where elsa is doing a shruggy pose, but google image search only had this, which has words.  and is also a gif, so it's way more positive and empowering than i was hoping for.  mostly just that one shrug, ok?

"I love your stories because they are about love."

ok, so everyone follows key/hollow well/best writer around currently, right?  go do that now.

key is wonderful, and accepts that i'm not, and coalesces a brilliant story around the characters.

but i'm not.

because i have so much crazy in my head.  there's a lot of nonsense that pecks at my brain all the time.

so i drink a lot, and freak out a lot, and try to make people not like me, because they like me for a reason, and i can't handle that emotion pointed at me.

i wish i wasn't so fucked up.  sorry.

but then i switched over to the secondary story that i've been ignoring for a year because it didn't work for me, but then my brain started being shit again, and that level of humiliation worked for me.

"I love your stories because they are about love."

no it's not, it's about this crazy humiliation hospital where people get trapped and have a bunch of forced enemas, and it's all weird and creepy and totally not legal in the real world because we have consent in reality.

"I love your stories because they are about love."

nope!

"I love your stories because they are about love."

from my notes: 

"are you a couple?"
nicole starts to shake head, sammy reaches over to her and nods.

i wrote that almost a year ago.  even then, the point of the story really wasn't the humiliation.  it was the acceptance of the love from nicole to sammy.


my stories actually are about love.

huh.

like, i wasn't fucking expecting this.  this is like  being punched in the face and discovering that you have teeth that work better.

why?

my computer crashed, and it took way longer than usual to reboot, and i think it's dying.

my grandfather actually is dying.  i've been avoiding going to visit, because it's always hard to see someone who you remember being so big and jolly being super thin and cranky.

i'm more afraid of the computer dying, though, because it doesn't suffer from going on and on.

this is why i'm a bad person.


i only have two states now.  full bore panic attack about everything.  i spent three hours this afternoon trying to figure out what i wanted for lunch.  at the point when i decided i was actually trying to figure out what i wanted for dinner is when the panic hit.  how do i fight that?  i have food at home.  i can drive anywhere i want to get food from a restaurant.  i could go to the grocery store and buy stuff to make food, if i wasn't so messed up that i don't want to cook anymore.

and now i'm having a panic attack because i have to get up early to prepare for a conference at work, and then i have to do work stuff, and i just don't want to most days.

in any case, it's about time for me to move on to my only other state, so i can push the panic away long enough for some sleep.  see you on the other side of all this vodka.  sorry i'm so incoherent and stupid when i'm drunk.  thanks for putting up with me.  sorry i can't pull myself out of my depression to deal with people when i'm not drunk a lot of the time.  i worry that i'll say something stupid, so then i wait until i'm drunk, when it's pretty much guaranteed i'll say something stupid.


no comments on this one, because i know everyone would say nice things, so i'll just pretend you said nice things and it made me cry knowing how wonderful you are.  see?  look!  there are the tears now! it's like a miracle!