yes, i am intentionally writing stories in some sort of alphabetical order.

i had exhibition: e and g plotted out.

then i woke up this morning, and didn't feel like getting up, so i just laid in bed for an hour.

so now there's f and h planned.

i really need to sit down and just do some writing every day.  five minutes or so even.  just to get things done.

i'm unhappy, i'm going to tell you why, and you're going to tell me that it's dumb to be angry at something 142 years old.

i saw a thing about vampires this week, and remembered there was a story "Carmilla" that sounded interesting.  so i read it.

first half of the story: super gay.  this may in fact be the most gay thing i've ever read, and i've read my own stories.  carmilla and laura are totally getting married, and it's wonderful.  sure, you know she's a vampire, because duh, she's obviously a vampire, but whatever.  everybody has something wrong with them.

second half of the story: some other dude comes in and retells the first part of the story from when carmilla totally visited him and his daughter fell in love with her.  but he knows how it works out, and let's just say his daughter didn't make it through all "alive" and stuff.  fine.  it's kind of boring reading the short version of the story we totally just read, though.

third...last part of the story: bing bang boom, the dudes kill carmilla in her grave, and don't tell laura anything, so even though she's the narrator of the whole thing, she let's us know at the end that she had to read this in the official like "vampire police" report.

but it's a massive shame that after building up a great beginning, with a nice style and vague impending doom thing, it ends all "and then we killed her and went out and had tacos to celebrate."  it's just ruined.

plus, there's carmilla's "mom," who's all "i'm super mysterious, but when i return to pick up my daughter in three weeks, you'll totally remember who i am."  but SHE NEVER COMES BACK!  just gone.  you killed carmilla, so now you don't get to know who she is.

and it's stupid.   because my "oh, i bet this is the twist" is so much better than just "LOL< NOPE!"

we get the most introduction to the mom in the other dude's story, and he relates that carmilla is actually related to his dead wife.  so make the mom his stupid dead wife!  she's wearing a mask when they meet at a party, and she's all "we know each other well, and i know all these details about you, blah blah blah."

so, years ago, when his wife died, she didn't really die, she was just killed by carmilla.  she came back, found her descendant, vampire-ized her, and then they went off to run this "babysit my vampire-daughter-who's-really-my-super-great-aunt-or-something" scheme.  then, the reveal when she comes back and uncovers her face and is all, "IN YOUR FACE, LIVING DUDES!" would be so. perfect.

plus, it'd be closer to actual horror than "visiting guests might turn your daughter into a lesbian.  or suck out her life.  one or the other, and since this is 1872, we're kind of scared of both."

huh. well that sucks.

so sirjeff of ponygirl fame is closing up.

i guess it isn't so crazy.  i mean, i've been reading his page since before i could honestly click the "enter" link.

it was a big thing on my journey to the weirdo i am today.  "huh.  you can pretend people are animals."

not that horses were big with me.  i knew a girl who once got detention because she kept drawing horses all the time.  like, "fuck this test, i'm going to draw a sweet ass pony!" kind of all the time.

i didn't understand that.  ponies are stupid ugly things, not like cute lap-pets.

dogs, cats, bunnies, small other things that you can put on your lap and pretend are just different kinds of rats.

those were my things, but i didn't really get the whatever until seeing the ponies.

that prepped me for the day i saw Mr Veterinarian's works, and it all kind of clicked together.

ramble ramble ramble, i'm just saying that i'm sad that this bit of my early kink is retiring.

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.

:(

number of people i've completely alienated via email in the past week: 2.

that's also the number of homeless people i saw today that i really should have given money to.  i mean, we had a hurricane go by, and i stayed inside and read tumblr and ate pizza.  those guys had to huddle someplace so they didn't get drenched.  the first one i just walked past, and it didn't hit me until i was driving home that he could probably use money more than i could.  i mean, i stopped at the grocery store on the way home to buy new conditioner because apparently purple is the color i like, not red, because red makes my hair smell like acid all day.  so the red bottle is going in the trash, just like those junky shells.  the second one was at an intersection, and he had a sign like "$1.50 each" and he had a pile of newspapers.  i was already feeling guilty, and so i reached down to get my wallet, and he walked past, and i should have rolled the window down, but i pulled out a ten, and was looking in the mirror for him to come back, and then the light changed, and i was in front, so i had to go, and i'm thinking to myself, "well, maybe i'll see another homeless guy on the way home," and then i pulled onto h-1, and continued, "you know, like you see on the highway."

:(

i mean, i didn't even want a paper, because who reads newspapers?  so now that ten sits in my armrest box doodle, but i'm ok telling you that, because you're probably not going to break into my car and steal it.  it's for homeless people when i see them, ok?

and i made such great plans a few weeks ago to stop being a fuckup.  i didn't do any of that stuff i said i was going to do, but i did at least change my sheets today.  clean sheets are so much better, so it sucks when i can't convince my brain to wash them and change them.  the trick i used today was "we need clothes to wear to work tomorrow, so just throw the sheets in with them as well.  duh."

then i was going to sit down and write something, but instead i just reread part two of spa treatment, because that's closer to the porn that i was looking at at the time.

blah.

i think i might take a day off this week as a sick day.

so...

i caught the japanese version of let it go on the j-pop station yesterday.

it turns out it's really hard to sing the english version when you have to match the japanese rhythm.  it's just slightly off in some way, so it's super hard to do it.

what's even more hard?

driving while crying because it got to the "here I stand, and here I'll stay!" part, and that's when you usually start crying, so your eyes are all like, "oh, tear time!  woo!"

it'd be great if i didn't just randomly cry every day.  heaven knows i've tried.

i super hate

trying to not be lame on online dating sites.

because i always fuck up and look super lame.

:(

forever, just :(

Fucking fuck.

i just discovered that the tasty looking frozen stuffed shells that i JUST FUCKING BOUGHT are stuffed with broccoli, and not spinach like i thought.

broccoli is fucking disgusting.

i was super looking forward to them, and now they get to go live in the garbage.  forever.

like everything that's made with broccoli.

five years

so....this song has been stuck in my head for a while now.

being kind of queer, i did not throw up at all.

but like

there's this feeling, that unless people stop being fucking stupid, in like five years, we'll be all "oh. oops.  sorry.  there's like five years to go.  we killed everything, and poisoned everything else.  we're just not good at doing things."

and earlier tonight i had this "you know what, i bet if you were like god, you could be everywhere, and find all those jackasses who post dumb shit, and you could be all 'oh.  i should eat a dick because i think people should get married to who they want to?  have you ever imagined how you'd feel if you couldn't marry who you wanted to?  that if people found out, you'd be killed to make other people feel better? no?  ok, i'm god now, so let's be omnipotent and make you experience this horror for realsies.'"

it is good that sammy does not have omnipotence.  unless i had the omnipresence, i'd pretty much just be a dick to one dude at a time.


anyway, what is this, what are you talking about sammy?


i don't know.  random shit.  mushing a bunch of news stories together into that nasty play-doh mess that was all the colors stuck together that no one wants to touch.

because gross.


sorry.  just had to be random for a bit.

hey there, the internet people!

so shit's been shitty recently.  i did a birthday thing last month, and ate a piece of cake and some fermented pineapple for dinner.

because i'm cool like that, and sometimes you can't deal with life, and so you panic and have to eat what you have in your fridge because you don't trust yourself to go out to the store and buy food.

this is where being crazy depressed hurts a lot, i think.  when i was a kid, we'd always do the family dinner things, and i got used to that kind of thing, and then when i grew up, it just got...lonely.

honestly, the number of times i've had to quickly park my car because i started crying when i didn't know what i wanted to do for dinner.  earlier last month, i went to my favorite ramen place.  then, panicking the next day, i went there again, because my brain couldn't remember any other food.

so yeah.  my brain is all sorts of fucked up right now.  i know i need to go find a new therapist, and see about getting back on drugs.  i have some leftovers, but i'm a bit wary about just being all "fuck it, let's be our own doctor!"  i think i could.  i should count and see how many i have.  i think i did a refill before i quit, so there's at least three months worth.

but since we can't have robot therapists, they end up being people.  and dealing with people is the hardest thing i have to deal with each day.

"whoa, whoa, whoa, sammy! we're people!"  you say.

no, you're internet people.  you live on the internet, where everyone looks super cute, or like a cat or something, or maybe bender from futurama.  some of you are objects, i guess.  the point is:

i don't interact with you the same way.  i can write crazy shit here, and post it, and then sober up the next day and pull it down.  or leave it up, and hope no one comments, and then when people do (including people who are just super wonderful about everything), i can trick my email to skip that message so i don't have to read what they said until i'm ready for it.

basically: i can deal with you on my terms, without having the constant panic attacks that happen in real life.

i know this isn't healthy, and i need to work on it.  so i'm going to see if i can make october a "try to work on it, ok?" month.

my plans?

1. this weekend, i  will take out the piles of trash in my kitchen.
1. if possible, i will also put dishes into the dishwasher, and make them clean.
2. i have started the plan of "dear sammy, you can buy frozen dinners and eat them.  some of them aren't horribly unhealthy, so you might even lose weight!  in any case, keep three or more dinners in the freezer so you have something to eat, even when you don't feel like eating or like you are worthy of eating".  fuck i'm crying.  shit.  fuck fuck.
1. frozen tikka masala is better than hawaii store tikka masala.  wtf is up with that?
3. let's throw out all the old clothes we don't wear, and the shit that's in the hamper i haven't emptied in two years, and then put the clothes we do wear in that hamper.  not this weekend.  do it this month.  it's ok to walk on month old dirty underwear for a bit.
4. vacuum the parts of the apartment that aren't covered in trash or clothes or books or junk mail.  it's not everything, but do a thing to try to help some.

yeah, that's not sexy, is it?

sorry.  but this is my blog, and i have to try to get my brain sorted out, and i think these are things i can try to do, and see in a month's time if i've done enough of them.

i really, really wish my old therapist hadn't retired.  i think i'd be much better today.  but, everyone has to do the things they can to make their own life what they want, right?

thanks everyone.  really.  i know i'm shitty at the kink stuff now.  i'm trying to keep up on tumblr, with pictures and stuff.  i have two exhibition stories planned (or at least the idea is there).  i think "glass" may be two parts, but i wrote the outline, then decided it was a bit too abusive, and so now i have to rework it to make it not make my brain hurt.

sorry.

i've pushed this aside, but i can't push this aside anymore

i saw this comic like two years ago.  but i left it alone, because it seemed too much, right?

besides, it's not like my dad did that.  i grew my crazy all alone, thank you very much!  but...

so hey.  if you're "daddy" um.  stab yourself. do it over and over until you're done with this.  just. ugh.  fucking blurry tears.

if you're clarissa.  sorry.  so many sorries.  i don't know how to do this, i'm just so weirded outt?

i kno2 my crazy shit brain can't heal anything.  i just want to be out there letting people  know it's ok to be ok!

fucking. shit.

i guess this is why you don't double up on omegle tabs.

27

http://www.mathcats.com/explore/age/calculator.html

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.

sorry...

"Sorry, BLAHBLAHBLAH no longer has an account."

so i get someone who wants to chat, but then they're like, "nope.  done!"  and they don't want to.

why is finding people to meet so so hard?  i get that i'm crazy.  i spent two hours this evening trying to figure out how you can claim crazy and go to an asylum without getting fired.  i still don't understand.  i think you call 911, then have 911 call your boss.  unlikely, but has anyone done this?  or do you like tell your boss, nad see if you get time off?

this is hard to sort out.
:-/

does any one else depeche mode?

i was in high school...or

middle school maybe?

when i first heard them.

all the songs were just so super sad, i just went like, "whoa, what's that guy's problem?"

LOL

except you know the name right, and then things tighten down, and you get sadder as things fall apart.  eventually you hear the name again, and plug it into youtube to see why you remember it.

and it's all "enjoy the silence."

and you can't stop crying, because (i'm pretty sure) the last time you heard this song, you were about to eat out someone who meant the world to you.


but now she's off doing something not involving you, and you just have that memory.

someone who you would die for, but who left you behind like the greasy paper of the french fry bag.


so anyway.


i did the social media thing.  the dating thing.  i got a response.  i'm trying to be not-as-crazy as i feel in real life.  we'll see how that goes.  she seems a bit broken too, so, that's sure to end well, right?

well, i'm here, so let's do the whole thing.

i may come back to this later.

hawaii has kind of crappy radio.  i tend to do the NPR and the jpop station.  i like that boring shit.


but this morning was a thing about slavery.  like for realsies today slavery.  people bought and sold to others for things.  sex, it seems.  it sounded like mostly sex.  slavery for sex.

and i was like, "that sounds a lot like annie and sammy."

which sucks.  i want to write this fantasy thing that makes my brain better, and it makes me think of the actual people who live in horrible situations like i'm actually describing for my own fun.


how fucked up is that?


a lot.  a lot fucked up.  that's the answer.  and i guess football dudes are beating up their wifes all over the place now?  wtf?


so, here's how i rationalize things for myself.

sammy and annie aren't in a slavery thing.  annie has this scheme, and sammy is cool with letting annie run the show.  sammy totally could claim "no, stop, we're done, stop it all."  this next story has that as a topic.  i might emphasize it more now.  annie's thought is "i think sammy is cool with this, so i'll push her as far as i think she can deal with things."  is she wrong?  maybe?  annie may think that blah is cool, but sammy isn't happy with it.  what happens then?

well, they're probably both allegories for my own brain, so they sit down and have a quiet conversation.  this maybe isn't realistic.

but like...i hear this news?  that's not cool.  if you lock someone up, and you obviously have a serious power advantage, you're a dick.  this is where i think annie might be a dick.  so, she has to think that too, right?  we're...the same brain.  god damn it, annie.  stop fucking crying.

second news thign;  if you hit someone, and it's not like an over the knee, ping-pong-paddle as a tool thing, you're a bad person.  there are other things.  duh.  but like...bdsm is this thing here (i'm pushing my hands to my left like i'm pointing at something), and hitting someone because you're angry is this thing (hands to the right, this is a different thing)?

i was spanked when i was little.  do you know what i learned?  hide things that might be wrong better.  i wasn't a big problem child, but that was still the lesson.  "don't get caught doing X."

that's not what people who think spanking is cool are trying to do, so it's not working, right?

if you're cool spanking for funsies, that's a different thing.  you know what you're doing, i think.


grumblewardch ble ad;lfkja;dfja;sldkfj;aslkdfj;akdjf



sorry for doing another random ramble.  i just look at things, and i hear the news, and i try to form it into a thing that makes me not feel horrible.  and this week, i've felt kind of horrible.

why do people have to ruin everything?

real life

i hate it.

i have to wake up, do work things, take a shower to be respectable, go away from Captain Bed, do work things at stupid shit, go buy food so you don't starve, eat that food, be a dilettante in the world of "stupid shit and not starving," eat more shit, then go to sleep and hope that you die in the night.

but no one ever dies in the night.  they die because the hope and wishes that sustained them stop pulsing.  it's that final "zero" that ends things. this concept of a permanent sad world of past loved ones probably isn't healthy.

and it's not like i could change a thing.  she died of a massive stroke.  he died of lung failure, after years and years of smoking.

i hate having a legacy.  you can't disappoijnt peop,le you've never met.

in any case

i hate lots of things.

living.

dealing with people.

trash day.



but the thing that's the most stresser?
dealing with people online

have i told this story?

so, a few years ago.

my dad was like "hey, people are crazy, so you need to be able to protect yourself if you're walking home late at night.  take this knife"

it was black and fancy looking, and had a screw you could tighten, and it was loose enough that if you kind of went "ba-kow!" with it, the blade would flip open, and you'd be in stabby mode.

except i never really was out super late, so it mostly just sat on my table at home, and collected dust.

until a bit later, i started getting sad and drinking.  then it was like a fun game.  you could flip it open, and drink a bit, then close it, and do it again.  whee!

then a bit more later, i was like "oh, it's probably not even sharp."  so you drag it across your thigh, or over your tummy a bit.  "ha ha ha!  i didn't even feel that and it's dripping all over!"

then one day, i got way too drunk, and pulled it down across my left forearm.  i woke up the next day with that arm pretty much covered in blood.  i woke up because my friend called to say we should go get lunch.  i washed up, got dressed, and we went out and had some crappy sandwiches.

i was sure she'd be like "whoa, wtf?  did you like get murdered last night?"

nothing.

the thing that semed like a giant gash on my arm wasn't something that ever came up.  it eventually healed, but even now there's this four inch scar running from my inner elbow down.

eventually i couldn't hide it all anymore, and we talked about it, and she was like "this isn't cool, you should go to therapy."  i didn't until years later, but one day when we were out, i gave her this dumb present wrapped in some kleenex.  it was the knife, and i basically told her that i didn't feel safe with it around anymore, so i wanted her to take it.


flash forward a few years, and she's moved to the mainland, but we're still friends, so i'm visiting for new years.  we're going to play some game, and i go to get it from the closet.  "it's next to the towels!" she shouts from the living room.  i open the door.

it's there.  the knife i gave her.  sitting on the shelf next to the cube of toilet paper.  i look at it, and immediately the only thought in my head is, "no one will get curious for thirty seconds at least.  you can open it and cut some more before anyone knows."

blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah

why is this the story of the day?  one of the things i read pointed out it was 'suicide awareness day' today.  and i had a shitty day at work today where my boss and a coworker basically fucked up a bunch of shit, and i have to fix it, "because you know how that works better than we do."  fuck you.

and i've learned recently that a lot of people that i've met online that i super really care about have had a lot of the same crazy depression thoughts that i have.  all the time.  like right now.  which is why the fucking screen is all blurry because of the tears.  we never notice when people we love are in pain, i don't think.  that's terrible.  no one should have to hide their pain.

i don't want anyone to have these thoughts.  they suck.  a lot.  going through the motions of your day, using all your energy to hold up a veil of stability, if for no other reason than to keep other people from asking you why you suddenly have this giant red gash on your arm.  "i slipped and my bathroom counter is crazy sharp!"  "i dropped a spoon in my dishwasher, and i think i caught a knife that was sticking through?"


and people believe it, right?   "those are stupid answers, sammy.  you can do better!"  no, i can't.  and i don't need to.  and i shouldn't.  and this is all fucking crazy, right?  like, if i say "a goddamn unicorn came out of nowhere, and was like 'fuck you, bitch' and then tried to stab my arm, but i moved so it was just a deep scratch, and then the unicorn was like, 'next time!'", i'm pretty sure people would buy that.  it's not possible, but people are more willing to accept that than "sammy maybe tried to hurt herself a lot last night."  why would they?  i'm showing that veil of sanity or whatever.


anyway.  this was a long rant, and i hate doing these.  but none of you have to know me in real life, so i don't have to hold up the veil of "oh, i'm doing much better now, thanks!" or "i'm just an everyday person who's happy to pick up your shit because that's what we do when we're all a team!".  thanks for sticking around, and i'm going to claim that this helped me, and maybe tomorrow will be a better day.