I’ve been suffering some major writer’s block…I suppose that’s the correct term for it. I think about writing something but then I decide that it’s just the same thing, rehashed.
I miss my mom.
I hate asshat.
I feel like a turd sandwich.
I’m anxious again and sad.
Those are my themes, my issues, my major problems. And we all have those, don’t we?
Like, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Is funny, no?
Being funny nowadays isn’t impossible for me in real life although it’s still hard work.
But how can I explain the pizza dance that I did the other night to crack my daughter up? I kept it going, adding more crazy moves (that my fibro body would allow) until she finally threatened to start taking a video of me.
I stopped, of course.
How do I tell you about how my boyfriend laughs just by the way I say something?
“It’s not what you said, it’s the way you say it!”
I’ve always relied on my sense of humor for survival, to make friends, to get through tough times, to relieve the pressure in a stuffy room, to make myself feel special. I think we all like it when someone tells us that we have a knack for something and from the earliest memories that I can recall, mine was being humorous.
My favorite thing in the entire world was making my mom laugh.
Although I have finally retrieved most of my humor from the bowels of darkness, applying it here on my blog is proving to be a challenge. It makes me question whether or not I’ve begun the slow, downward spiral of blog abandonment.
Honestly, what’s going on in the world right now isn’t fucking funny and it’s breaking me down, bit by bit, on a daily basis.
How can it not?
Plus, next month is May. It used to be that I only hated August.
It’ll be my first Mother’s Day without my mom and then a week later, May 20th will mark 1 year since she passed away.
I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I’ve heard her voice, seen her, touched her. This grief is unlike anything that I’ve ever experienced before. My mom was special, she was my best friend and damn it, my life will never be the same. Accepting that is the hardest part, I think.
I never thought that I’d find my path again but somehow, I have. It’s a much more lonely one without her and oftentimes confusing.
I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I bought a ticket for an online reading last Friday night from a popular medium named Matt Fraser. All week, I seriously expected to be chosen for a reading, I just knew that my mom would come through with a message for me.
Thankfully, I don’t.
Well, she didn’t. In fact, there was zero chance of that happening since over 700 people were included on the Zoom panel. The 90 minutes went quickly and by the end, I was extremely disappointed and felt like an asshole for wasting the money.
No offense to Mr. Fraser but he’s doing another online reading this Friday and urging all of the people to buy another ticket. In the end, it’s all about making money, quarantine or not.
So instead, I pray. I talk to my mom (and dad) directly. I’ve found my faith again and now without asshat blocking my path, I can openly display my religious artwork and speak of Jesus in my own home without ridicule.
Did I ever tell you guys that he was a guitarist for a black death metal band?
My mom watched Judge Judy every day.
Yeah, I sure picked a good one, didn’t I? He’d always claimed that it didn’t have anything to do with who he really was but like almost everything that came out of his fat mouth, it was a lie. Over the years, he got some Satanic tattoos and had an upside-down cross on one of his amps.
I shudder now when I think of all of the things that I allowed.
Well, this post has been all over the place but hey, it’s something.
Stay safe and stay well.
Also, Happy belated Easter.