ugh

so i moved.

and i know basically nobody here, so it's similar to before i moved, except there i just alienated everyone i knew.

but i thought, "oh, hey, let's try the online dating stuff again, see how that works out."

i filled in all the junk, answered a bunch of questions, and selected the "i'm not an asshole, i'm ok with most people, as long as they're not jerks."

and then looked at the first batch of matches.  #3 on the list, with a 97% match rating: my boss.

i did the totally grown up thing, and deleted my account.  why can't things just be easy?  i guess it's nice to know that i'm not the absolute only one left in the office who doesn't have any kind of family, but still.

ugh.  between this and the constant fact that i have to be afraid of fascists completely destroying the government, i kind of wish i were still crazy.

hey

so.

started antidepressants again.  this time they seem to be doing a way better job than previously.  it's nice not wanting to kill myself everyday.  it's like a whole new world that's probably what other people live all the time.

so that's nice.

i also applied and was accepted for a new job.  that means i'm going to be moving to the mainland.  which is kind of super stressful and all that, but i don't like my current job, and this is a big opportunity.

i don't think i'm going to be advertising the area code i'm moving to, so don't bother with that.  it's a big change by itself, and i'd prefer not to have to worry about random people stalking me because of my porn account.

that said, i might start writing again.  the antidepressants make masturbating a struggle, but they clear my brain of a lot of the unpleasantness.  i have one story outlined, and a second vaguely sorted, and a third idea that could be clearer, but is better than i've been in a year.

no promises.  the world still sucks, there are still fascists out there that hate me, and people could be kinder but aren't.  we'll see if i feel comfortable with this.

so, hey.  here's a 2017 update before the new year.  wasn't this a shitball of a year?

fucking hope next year is better.

ugh

i wonder if other people just get random thoughts like this.

"hey.  it's been a while.  maybe cutting your arm a lot hurts less now?  i bet it'd be fun to lick that blood up before it stains the sheets.  it's like a party!"

pretty much out of nowhere.

thanks, brain.  thanks for being sucky about everything.

thanks for fucking up everything, all the time, every day.  Good fucking job.

but touch my tears, with your lips

touch my world, with your fingertips,


...


forever is our today.

who wants to live forever?

Ad infinitum

oh, well, i just fucked up my soundtrack.

so, next time, click the "new post" link in a new tab, i guess.

or don't post so much music on the blog, dummy.  i mean, i guess some people are into hard angry metal, but since 90% of the time i don't listen to that, maybe don't tie on that.

but seriously, if i could kill the king of deceit, i'd do it in a moment.  fucking regicide all over this shit.

"sammy, is there a point today, or should i just expect this to disappear tomorrow?"

yes.  probably.  here are the highlights for this long weekend:

1. i have a long weekend.  you probably don't.  you probably didn't get to have to have a king either.  like, in the far off past.  when kings were kool, and not just a singularly embodied tyranny.
2. did i tell that one guy to go fuck himself?  i think so?  if you're that dude, posting all the comments about shit randomly, being all up in my junk, stop it.  just stop.  no.  bad dude.  be better.
3. i am bad at writing.  i'm going to try this weekend.  no promises.  it was much harder before tumblr.  you had to earn your porn, or something.  tumblr is just all "here's the porn for today.  dug deep in the porn mine, so we've got all these enemas.  just enemas for days.  why?"  because everything eventually is commoditized, and porn has hit that tipping point.
4. "wait, so what does that mean for your porn writing?" eventually, you'll find a better porn that more closely aligns to your personal kinks.  in the limit of t->infinity, there will be infinitely many porn writers with the same set of kinks as you have, so you'll be fulfilled at zero cost, due to the glut of appropriate kink.

here. my music. wake me up.

i hope that's the song i want it to be.

i hope it has the anxiety and shame and hatred i feel everyday.

i made a god out of blood. it was probably a mistake.  sorry everybody.  i am bad at decisions, and i think i fucked this up.

wow

sitting here, listening to music i remember from college.

CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT

turns out some things keep triggering when you don't expect them to.

i didn't.  i really want to, but i didn't.

i have a new dream shit story coming soon, probably.  unless i don't.  it's super gross, and i kind of hate it, but it's the me that's here now, so i should cope as much as i can.

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.

sorry everybody, everywhere.

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?

so

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.

sorry.

memory hole shit here. sorry.

i write posts.

i send my boss emails.

i watch videos that put songs into my head to be stuck there for days.

i do all this drunk off my ass and blissed out on a variety of drugs that are totally legal.

totally fucking legal.  you can get so much brain alteration on the quick without much trouble.

but not xanax.  you know, that thing that actually solves problems.  the one that makes you not a crying mess in front of your friends and parents.  that's controlled.  with all sorts of fucking hoops to get through.

"i don't think you need that," she said, looking at me like i was sane.  "That seems excessive."

this is why i'm super down on this therapy try.  i want something to take to make me not panic about everything.  i want to be able to go get taco bell without worrying about pissing myself.

so.  here's my wishlist for 2016.

hawaii sorts out that bullshit medical marijuana shit, and i can get that from doctors who are ok with being cool.  my friend in california seems to have done that, and doesn't get the worry/panic i live with.

we elect hilary.  or, bernie.  i am so agnostic on this, i can't put it into words.  i want someone who isn't going to call for me to be stabbed in the neck their first day in office.  "but sammy, what about marco rubio?  he seems like not a nazi!"  yeah.  and he's going to stand up to people who are all "gay people are good for burning so we can warm"?


i mean... when your options are crazy fucking jerks who want to murder you for not being cool with rape, their friends, and people who are like, "hey, maybe let's help people not be in poverty", how is that an option.

ok.

time to get more super drunk and pass out.

whatever.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!*

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.

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?

this is me telling you how lame i am, and then towards the end, trying to convince you i'm not lame.

let's get "pinned tap you were going to talk about not drunk, you dumb bitch" done first.

1. do people read "you suck" the comic?  please do.  it is well written and well done, and all the characters are realistic, and you would be a better you if you did.  i thought a lot about reblogging that on my tumblr.  then i decided that i post lots of porn, and josh makes money selling porn stuff to people, so maybe he'd not mind that this creepy weirdo reblogged him.
1. or, you know, not, because that's ok, too.
2. see, he has mental issues too, and i read what he writes, and feel so sad, because i get those same feelings all the time.
3. but he's dealing with his alcoholism way better than i am.
1. glug glug glug!
4. anyway.  read that.  it's good.  i'm telling you how good it is with me telling you this right now about the good it is.
1. this specific comic.  izzy points to her feet to signify she's walking instead of flying.  she's wearing clothes.  she tries her best with "feezon za guand!"  i repeated that so many times because it's totally perfect.  i want to give izzy a hug.
2. what was point 2?
3. i wrote more today.  this is working out to be a longer story than i thought.  it's almost all just boring "bondage description" shit.  i think people like that stuff, because it's more "this is tied up like that".  but honestly, it's a lot of how sammy is tied up.  i like it less and less as i write more and more.
1. but once i write the main part, there's not really any way to stop the follow-on stuff.
2. the story writes itself in my dreams and half-waking dreams.  i could probably try to change things, but if my brain pushes things one way, how would i counter act that?
4. i'm pretty sure there were four points, but i forgot 2, and now i'm sitting here thinking that part 4 involved birds in some way.  like you can make birds do something. 

if you see this, congratulations, as i'm probably deleting it as nonsense tomorrow.

sorry for being weird.