if you're waiting for the next comp-pet chapter:

sorry

a lot sorry.

i'm trying to get it done, but it's fighting me, and my brain is fighting me, and i have my Real Life shit to deal with as well.

i am going to try super hard to get chapter 2 out this week.  if i don't, please don't hate me.

but i plotted out the goals, and i am way less than halfway, and i know i'm going to miss at least two months from work, so i need to hurry.

sorry.

a lot sorry.

The Exhibition: Rachael

The Exhibition: Rachael
sammy_808@live.com
http://sammytriesagain.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-exhibition-rachael.html

voting notes.

also future stuff.

i mean

i'm thinking seriously about calling my dad and asking if this is a dumb thing to do.

my dad.

"sammy, you've never talked about your dad before!"

exactly.

omg.  wtf am i doing?

i am bad with intimate relationships, and i am equally bad at choosing healthy ways to connect with people.  also jobs.  i'm kind of a fuck up.  sorry!

an update

still dealing with things in the way i pretend i think sane people do it.  i am taking out trash.  i am murdering bugs with cleaning fluids.  i am wondering if "termites" are something you can treat with regular poisons, since i can't seem to find poisons that do that.

i am wondering if i should just post summaries, and pretend i wrote a story i couldn't pull myself to write.

i have a lot of these outlined stories that i just can't motivate myself to make real.

sorry.

does anyone think that's good?  or sufficient?  i want to write the full story, but i never do.  for like a year, i never do.  if i never write something, what happens then?

so, hey, go look at the tumblr, go get the porn done, look at my sad wikipedia pages, and hopefully be sad in sympathy.

would anyone be happy if i just sketched how things would go, and then never wrote it?  would that ruin any actual stories that i can push out?

i don't know anymore, and my favorite authors seemed to have stopped, so maybe there's just a point where it doesn't click anymore.

ugh i need to post more here

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

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

so: state of sammy's mental state.

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

I WANT A PUPPY, BITCH! MY APARTMENT DOESN'T ALLOW PUPPIES! SO, LOOKS LIKE WE"VE GOT THE BEEF!

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

so

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

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

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

which unfortunately means

dealing with grown up shit.

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

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

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

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.

wow. there are still a lot of typos in The Exhibition.

"Sammy continued to cry, only to stop when Annie smacked her three times with her right hand.  "Shut. The. Fuck. Up.""

clearly she smacked her four times.

"After a few breathes to calm herself, she opened the bathroom door, and strolled out, down the hall, and across the living room to the table sitting next to her cage."

omg, "breath*"

does anyone have any suggestion where to cut when i submit stuff to the nifty story page?  i could just do 1-4, the original story, which is all they have there now.

but, like, "candle" is pretty important

and so is "breakfast"

"birthday" is kind of next, but "exercise" is kind of a better story.

i want to do it this weekend, but it'd be great if someone had an opinion to share.  i'm thinking through breakfast.  it sets up the story, alters it, moves to a new town, and then settles into a safe landing.

oh no, don't say it's true.

please?

i got back from travel.  i'm super tired and exhausted, and just really want to go to sleep.

but then i check my twitter, and i see the news.


i'm going to listen to some more music for a bit, and then go to sleep, and hope that this is all just a nightmare, and i'll awake to happier tidings.

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.

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.

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.

:(

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.

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.

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.

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."

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?

i know i'm a baby, baby