i'm thinking maybe i should try dating again

i'm not getting younger, and i can feel myself getting older.

did you know that joints actually are shitty?  it's true.

not super happy about the middle age acne either, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

any advice?  i guess tinder is the thing now?  can i just post a few pics and a "hey, i'm weird and crazy, but i'd like to not die alone" or is that weird and crazy?

and how do you be like "i'd like to have an intimate partner to share my life and triumphs with, but if you'd be ok with me just hiding under a blanket for a a few hours a day, that'd really be wonderful."

so yeah.  hedgehog's dilemma and all that.





i wish we just had government mandated triads to belong to.  stupid anti-collectivists forcing us into a socially divisive capitalist nightmare.

haha! i'm garbage!

first up: wow.  good job, me, not pulling out edit notes when you told me you were going to do that!  great, that one person has been like, "uh, sammy, probably a mistake?"

so, hey:

all you

want to edit?  mostly it's "that's not a word, sammy" and "who is this 'captain jerkbutt' character?" and "jfc, is this supposed to have text, or am i just supposed to accept [this comment in square brackets] junk."  this is a serious request for people who can read and note obvious errors quickly.

i can do this too, but i take drugs now, and although they make it so i can re-read things, they also make it super frustrating to wait for a calm me to arrive and reread.

so, hey, anyone interested?

second: whoops, i guess i need to add porn to chapter 3, because my outline just fucked up and put in a bunch of socialist organizing.

this isn't an editable thing, just a warning that it's going to be way left-er than you might expect.

conform or fuck off.  i seriously don't give a fuck which you do.

third: this might end up being less sexy.  when i follow the intentions and drives out, they don't end up quite as sexy as i would like.

i mean, there's lots of predictive "whoa!  this is going to get super HHHOOOTTT!!!"

but, maybe not?

is that a problem?  if i bill myself as a pornographer, but instead deliver manifestos, does that detract from my pornography?

or do i just allow that people who can't accept egalitarian porn are really just assholes?

i woke up from a dream this morning.

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

then i woke up.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

post

crazy crazy crazy.

hate my life.

more crazy, followed by additional crazy.

probably should stop drinking so so much.

different crazy, on a completely different topic.

sad realization about my life, and the haze i've lived it through.

tear-soaked comment about how sad i am about homeless people.  because seriously, the fact that we have homeless people today is a fucking atrocity, and if i could, i'd murder people with money to make that not the case.

um....random communist-bent diatribe in support of the homeless?


sorry.


a lot of sorries.

which isn't a word, apparently.


sorry.

sorry.

sorry.

i usually remember "sammy, you posted crazy shit last night! make it go away!"

i didn't this time, so if i offended you, i'm sorry.  i just have this brain to deal with everyday.  usually i know when i post something dumb, and can pull it out before too many people see.


...

prince kuhio day is this week.

i hope to finish up "illness" when i have that day off.

fingers crossed!

just in case it isn't blindingly clear to everyone

1. i have severe mental illness.  i should be going to therapy, but i'm so overworked at work that i don't have the time to take off to go to see a therapist.
1. because therapists have to work normal hours too, because we're not so horrible to make them deal with crazy people when they should be with their families.
2. and no, i can't just take time off from work.  because i have to have money for food, duh.
2. i promise i'll go to therapy in the next six months.  i think i can schedule things out so that that all works.  i really hate where i'm at right now, and it's a bad place.
1. partially because there are really only two options at this point:
1. i kill myself in a probably messy manner, and ignore everything after that.
2. i keep drinking and eating badly until my heart just decides to stab my brain with fat cells.
3. i drink too much, because you can't just buy xanax at the store, but you can buy vodka, and for a short, fleeting moment, vodka can replicate the results of xanax, if you don't mind puking the next morning.
1. if you drink propel water in the morning, you get to taste the super sweet not-sugar they use when you puke it up.
1. it's kind of the best way to puke, if you're going to puke.
1. but you probably shouldn't puke if you can, because that's kind of gross.
1. and not a lot of fun to do, anyway.
2. "oh!  this puke tastes like fake grapes! Yummy!"
4. i do have more stories i'd like to tell.  i want to put them in order and send them out.  i can't.  see point 1 if you're confused why this is the case.
1. it's this whole thing of wanting to write, and then doing so, and then hating everything i've written, and then there's a battle of trying to rewrite the bad things, and write new not-bad things, and then just giving up and deleting everything except for the notes, and going back three weeks later.
2. over and over and over again.
3. do you want spoilers?
1. the next part is essential to the over-arching love story i bolted on after i wrote the first part.
2. but it's zero sex, and kind of feels super contrived at points
3. so i'm not sure people will like or care about it
4. so i have to make sure it works, right?
5. because if it doesn't, then no one will want to read the next-next part, which does have sex.
1. right?
2. checking....
3. ok, no, not actual sex, but that's totally got the kink going on, so maybe it's ok?
4. crap.  i hit backspace and fucked up the numbers.  how do i fix this?  return?
5. nope.
6. fuck
7. 
   
8. shit.
9. 
   
10. go backwards, you jerks!
11. pretend this is now 4.4.  
1. but why does this matter?  i don't really know any of you.  i'd be sad if Mr. Christopher or Mr. Veterinarian or Key (title unknown) didn't like it, but most of the other hundreds of people who show up in my "blog view count" thingy i don't know.
1. so maybe i shouldn't care? and just do my own thing?
2. but maybe you do care?  and you're just as concerned as me?
3. and don't forget the Jesse who comments, who's Jesse as in Jesse from Sammy's Blog.
4. Pikachu.
1. why are you talking about pokemon, sammy?
1. because sometimes i find pokemon pictures on tumblr and i forget that i'm old and gross and not like 12 again.
2. and because i edited this post, so for this point to be at all relevant, i have to add something else.
1. deal with it.
12. but getting to the point, if i'm writing for me, why does anyone else's opinion matter?  it shouldn't, because i really just want to say what makes me happy.  because if i can't be happy with my own thoughts, what's going to happen to me?
13. point 1.  point 4.1.
14. so
4. i want to write more stories.
5. i'm really sorry i'm so fucked up.  i wish i were better at pulling my brain together and dealing with things like everyone else.  i wish i didn't immediately see the worst things that could ever happen if i do what i think is best.
1. when you can only see horrors for all of your actions, it's hard to choose an action to take.
2. i'm sorry if you sent me a message, and i saw it while so super super drunk, and then i responded with absolute nonsense.  i've been better at not responding drunk recently, but this past week has been hard.
3. i wish i had a secret backup story i could pull out so people would be happy.
1. i don't.
2. sorry.
6. i know some people will say nice things in the comments.  that's great, but you don't really need to.  pretty much any comment is fine for me.  i know that "did you know that orangutans are threatened by habitat loss brought on by the deforestation caused by palm oil farming?" is functionally the same as "i don't hate you, sammy.  i know you'll get better and write cool stuff again."
1. but seriously, i'm so sad about the orangutans, but i can't call girl scouts "fucking monsters" because their cookies use palm oil.
1. especially when i'm buying like 9 boxes.
1. and because you shouldn't swear at little kids, because then it's all "you're the jerk" and you try to explain about the orangutans, but no one really wants to listen, and seriously, this is probably a bit advanced for even the parents you're shouting at.
1. so.
1. :(
2. and thanks.  i'm trying my best, and i know i'm failing right now, but maybe next week, next month, next year, i'll sort shit out, and get into a better place, and we can all just perv out together.
1. that'd probably be weird.
2. we could just all apologize a bit, and then go have pizza or something.
1. or, you know.  pizza.
1. mandatory pizza.
1. for everyone.
1. everywhere.
1. PIZZA
2. now i kind of want pizza.

• numbered
• or bulleted lists
• are kind of
• cool
• useful
• fun to write.
• sorry.
• :(

anyone else get that "last days of the world" apocalypse feeling, where you kind of don't care what you say or do, because this is all going up in flames tomorrow?

well

not tomorrow.

march 23, i guess, because google has no sense of style.

"He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass."

i mean, it's right fucking there.  "let's close shit up in march, when should we do it?"

"we could do an allegory to julius-"

"MARCH 23! THAT IS BEST DATE EVER!"

"ok, march 23.  let's do that."


so...

what should we talk about, knowing that less than thirty days from now, all this will be wiped out forever.  condemned to the dust?

"are you out of vodka, sammy?"

yes.  totally out of vodka.  no gin, no vodka, no jack.  is jack a valid liquor?  i have no whiskey now, not even the jack daniels.  i like this taste in my tea.  i should buy more of the jack daniels to put into tea to drink whilst pretending i'm totally not the alcoholic i was a few months ago.

SPOILER!

i'm totally the same alocoholic.  i'm just better at not posting drunken rants.

"oh, but what's this you're doing?"

whatever.  fuck you.  like, seriously.  take something, and go fuck yourself with it, in whichever hole is appropriate.  like i ever cared about you.  you're just some jerks on the internet, trying to coax me into sending me nudes.  i'm gross now, dumbasses.  i'm all fat and i don't shave much, and it's all just gross on top of gross.  want nudes?  want to puke?

ok, that's a bit harsh.  i should not treat the end of the world quite so harshly.  i mean, it's not like people are going to die or anything.  we're just going to have blogs that are read by no one, and no one will ever care about people named sammy.

which, honestly, is probably the best thing.  i'm a bad person, and i do dumb things.  i'm not someone you should look up to.  i'm the warning you should have seen in high school:

"Here we see a decadent woman.  She's lost her sense of control.  Now, all she can think about is her own carnal desires."

whatever.

i saw a thing today that was like, "the horrors of communist lesbian bondage."

my thought: "OMG: HOW CAN I GET THAT?"

i mean, you're going to tie me up, force me to be super friendly with cool chicks, and then, when we're done, we're going to topple the patriarchal bourgeoisie so we can eat waffles and mac&cheese forever?

how...

how is this not a thing i can do right now?

have i told this new story?

read this first.

i'm visiting my friend again, who's now on the west coast, so it's all new and exciting to visit a new place.  but hawaii to mainland flights are scheduled at "impossible o'clock," so i get in at like 5am.

since she's super smart and loves sleep, she sends her husband to pick me up.  but at some point, he needs something from the glove box.

i legitimately can't remember what it was.  phone charger?  maybe?

whatever it was, it doesn't matter, because sitting next to the car book thing is my knife.

again.

it's super dirty, and the one rubber "stabby grip" that was always loose is gone, but when you've known a knife like i have, you'd recognize it anywhere.

"Yeah, that's it," he says as he grabs whatever it was and then the box is closed and i'm sitting there half stunned fighting jetlag as we drive home.


i kind of want to send her a note and ask that she take my knife out and drop it in the ocean.  give it to the whales to sort out.  whales are smart, right?  they'll do the right thing.

i wish i knew how to have real human conversations.

instead of just freezing up and avoiding all the time.

it'd probably make me seem like less of a freak and more of a normal person.

oh well, time to avoid some more conversations and not go on a date.  yay!  go me!

things that aren't fun

falling out of bed, thinking it's fine, and then waking up the next day to discover that your thigh has a giant blue patch, your elbow hurts when you bend it, and that it looks like someone tried to stab you in the shoulder.

i am bad at life.

:(

here's a thing.

Do You Love Someone With Depression?

if you're here, then the answer is probably yes.  sorry.  shall we do the list?

1. my apartment is messy as fuck.  my bedroom is full of dirty clothes, and when i think i'm going to run out, i cram a bunch into the washer and dryer, and hope i come up with enough for tomorrow.
2. cooking used to be that thing i loved.  then i stopped cleaning so great, so now i get cockroaches, and cooking when you're terrified a bug is going to run across your pan or your onions or something is horrible.  so.  yeah.  taco bell and mcdonalds.  also supermarket cali rolls, because i'm lame like that.
3. i think this one is silly because of the random psycho "earthing" thing, but yeah, fine.  i stay inside all the time.  i sunburn too easily.
4. i used to shave a lot.  now?  i just put on pants, and ignore the people who are like, "aren't you hot?"  no.  fuck you.  we work in a place with air conditioning.  why would i fucking bother?
5. that was 5, but i skipped 4.  this is four now.  i.. don't know.  i'm sad, i'm lonely, and moving to a new office "that's all your own!" just makes me more lonely.  i live at home alone, then wake up to go to work alone, sit in my office alone, then go to the store to be overly polite to people because they make less money than i do and have to deal with shitty people, but i don't get to deal with any people, so why don't i get that relief, and then go back home where i can be alone with my tv again.  this isn't a great thing to do.
6. for realsies, i think.  when was the last time i had a hug?  four years ago?  my friend's daughter doesn't count.  she's 2.  two year olds hug plates.  i saw her do it.  i will say that having a tiny person hug you does help, but you might start crying, and that will freak out a 2-year-old.  "why doesn't anyone else love me?"
7. i laughed at a tumblr thing where this dog heard this parrot, and the parrot gave commands that confused the dog, and it's funny, but maybe you havfe to have seen it?  but i don't laugh.  at anything really.  people say stuff that are clearly jokes, and my brain is all "that's a joke.  indicate joke." and i like, "heh."  so it's great that getting super depressed makes you even more likely to make people think you're a jerk.  it's seriously like it's just trying to push you far enough away to kill yourself.
8. people can't.  when you tell someone, "i think i want to kill myself," they hide.  except if you're talking to a therapist, and then you get the "if you have a plan, i'm obligated to call the police and have you taken to someplace safe."  who plans this shit?  i can't imagine other people plan out elaborate checklists of things to do.  my plan?  get drunk (check!) take some drugs you have (kind of check?  i just bit half the pill)  wait until you stop feeling stuff, and then cut yourself, or swallow a bunch of cool pills (if you have them), and keep drinking the vodka until you pass out.  like, if i'm lucky, i'd end up dead.  if i'm not, then i have to wash the sheets, soak the vomit and piss out of the mattress, and hope that it doesn't stink.
9. so yeah. that's a destructive thought.  i don't have anyone to challenge it.  "i can!" you say.  nope.  you're an internet person, and i could blog about all i'm doing, and the  best you can do is to post a comment about how i'm a good person.  or you can call the cops here and say that someone named samantha might be trying to kill herself, somewhere on oahu.  the cops will probably be super happy to solve the vaguest suicide ever.
10. why you love me.  fuck.  now i feel like i'm baiting people to tell me good things they like about me.  i'm not.  my tenuous ties to this blog and internet existence rely on three people, and (based on the blogger stats), you're probably not one of them.  (in case you are, thanks for being wonderful at your own thing, and you have to know that you're the you i'm talking to right now).

but really.  this is a thing.  i'm bad at dealing with my own feelings, and i'm bad at solving the basic human interaction we're supposed to do in our lives.  i should probably go back to therapy, but it took so much time, and i don't think i got proportional results back.  really, if i could just get a perpetual xanax prescription, i'd probably be ok.

not "sane" or "better" just able to cope with things.  have you had xanax?  it is a miracle.

then again, that time i got super wasted on that opium cough syrup was kind of cool too.  

i think my lesson today is: "do lots of drugs, because they pull your mind back from the abyss of reality."

i'm...i'm a shitty teacher, i think.