Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Sunday, April 3, 2011


Hey, kids. How goes? Greetings from an emotionally and physically exhausted Empress. My apologies for being so quiet over the past couple of weeks; it's been a bit rough. Folks who know me on a face-to-face basis know that when I get quiet, it's time to worry because it means that life is kicking my arse. And it has. I think my last post had to do with a sick friend and asking for some good healing energy for him while reminiscing about how he had provided me with one of my few (possibly only) John Hughes' Moment in my dating life. A few weeks back I mentioned that The Job was not a happy thing these days. Well, it still ain't. I had a meeting with HR on Thursday afternoon to discuss the situation, and while I can't say anything has been resolved, at least I got to put my concerns on the table. And now... the waiting game. I am not good at waiting. Speaking of waiting, I have another 21 days to wait before Nova Scotia. There is a God. The relationship (I think I can call it that) has reached the three week point. All is good. It scares the piss out of me--SO normal, so lovely, so NICE. We date. We talk daily. We see each other a few times a week. I am not obsessing about every single detail. I trust him. (As much as I trust anyone, and that's saying something.) I LIKE him. There are a couple of things that annoy me, AND I AM GOOD WITH THAT! If he was perfect, I'd be running for the hills tout suite. (What annoys me: smoking, constant TV. NORMAL guy things! If that's the worst of his flaws, sweet Mother Mary, I WILL TAKE IT!) I feel safe, I feel cared for, I feel... I feel accepted. I really enjoy his company, just being with him. It's pretty damn amazing. It's also stressful. Because I am so terrified of fucking it up. Although I've been doing pretty well at keeping my natural paranoia in check; this is a good thing. I really don't want to fuck this up. I'm hoping I've finally a) learned to stay calm and keep my shit together; b) gotten my med levels correct; and c) found the good, decent and loving man I've been praying/hoping/holding out for all these years. Ma is Ma. She's been sick this week, so she's been off her game. Didn't help that I was a headachy mess today and not willing or able to take her out (mind you, I had set aside Thursday night and then Friday night for her errands, and had been told that she didn't want to go anywhere today, and then she woke up and felt better and decided to change my plans; my body had other ideas). The problem with being at this level of stress is that it also shuts me off and shuts me down artistically. I haven't been able to write for days, not even to blog (as you all know), never mind work on my novel. I have been wound too tight. I haven't even been able to read, or craft, or anything. And I'm BORED. I HATE being bored. There's so much I need to get done, and I haven't had the focus to do it. You don't KNOW how much that upsets me. It's like being in an extreme state of sexual excitement and not able to blow--most FRUSTRATING feeling in the world. Writing is a lot like sex for me--it's a necessary release, only for my brain rather than my body. The feeling after a good writing session is pretty much like a the feeling after a good shag--everything feels lovely, I'm content with myself and the world, and I can sleep. It's actually funny... the correspondence between writing and sex. The type of "cum" is dependent upon the type of sex/writing--the friendly shag (good sex, no commitment, but we both had fun--some of the more fuckery blogs are like that); the hard fuck (slam-banging, prolonged, physically and emotionally exhausting--there may not have been an orgasm, but it was satisfying as all fuck--heavy emotional writing, painful shit is like this--I'm aching afterwards, but it was damn good); and the serious lovemaking (sweet, passionate, and involving heart, soul, mind and body--rare and wonderful). HOWEVER... the period of unproductivity is coming to a close. I had a breakthrough on Broom Closet today--I've been really unhappy with the last third of the book, and haven't been able to find a way into it to improve it and get it to the level of the rest of the novel. (And I'm a month behind schedule. *headdesk*) Well, today I figured out what was missing and how to fix the scene in Salem that, while pivotal and important, was just ringing flat and false. SUCCESS! I'm hoping to get a night of writing in at Sbux this week. There's too much mental noise in the house to get it done here without staying up all night (and sometimes that doesn't work--case in point, it's nearly 4:00 a.m. and Ma is STILL up, watching fucking reality TV. Shoot me!). OK, kids, I'm going ni-night. It's nearly 4:00 a.m., I have to meet the Fabulous Alicia at noon to muck out the storage space, and I'd like to get a little sleep and have a decent breakfast before that. I promise I will be a more faithful correspondent. I have a lot I want to write about on here--the list of upcoming posts just keeps getting longer--and I think I'm coming out of my stress-induced silence. Much love, Your Empress

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