We don’t always like who we become as a result of the situations life forces us into.
I’m not enjoying either my life or who I’ve been of late. I’ve had back issues now for a month. My back has never been a problem for more than three or four days. A month? For three weeks now I’ve been sprawled most of my waking hours on my floor. I’ve had to ask friends to run for groceries, and I’ve even begged them to clean my place, take my laundry down, and more. To call this injury “debilitating” for at least two of the four weeks, even until this past weekend, would not be overstating it.
An injury like this is a lesson in how to lose your pride, and fast.
I had a low moment, several of them, yesterday. Continue reading
Category Archives: Journalling
So Much For That
I was so looking forward to coming home and writing Friday night, but wound up being pretty much in agony with back pain exacerbated by period cramps until Sunday morning. I’ve had better weekends.
And you’ve had better Mondays, because this leaves you with nothing to read when you’re supposed to be working for a living. Dammit!
Foiled by the universe again.
My back has improved considerably since yesterday morning, though. Graduating from somewhere near “agonizing” to merely “sucking ass totally”, but, believe you me, that’s not just mere semantics — that’s change! And I’ll take it.
I have nothing else to really report, except I got this comment yesterday from someone who’s all pissed I had the gall to do the lame-ass “you can donate to my PayPal” request on my birthday posting, and also totally chewed me out for chewing out someone who left a comment, since I should apparently just delete comments instead of chewing the person out.
What fun is that, though? I have a million arguments on why that posting deserved reaming in particular, but I deleted yesterday’s comment, so I won’t bother with specifics. Hey, he more or less told me to do so. I aim to please.
But let’s say two things here and now. If I want to be a loser and ask for money, since you never know if you don’t try, that’s my prerogative. I’m the stupid fuck who’s whiling away MY life to write this blog, so why not ask for reward? I’ve been broke off my fucking ass all year, so why the hell NOT ask for money? If you laugh at it, GREAT, because I’m being half tongue-in-cheek about it. If you donate, then holy shit, awesome! If you ignore it, all the power to you. Who gives a fuck? But to waste time getting RILED because I’m being a goof? Well, that’s your prerogative, but don’t expect me to care.
Oh, and never mind that I spend a couple hundred bucks a year on hosting fees or countless hours writing. I work for a living, too, you know. Clearly *my* time isn’t worth anything so long as you have your 2.3 minutes worth of reading. Fucking hell.
And, finally, if you don’t like my writing, don’t waste my time, and don’t waste yours. Go read someone else. Seriously. Life’s too fucking short. For either of us.
I learned a long time ago — all the things that piss people off about me are the things others come to love about me. So I’d rather keep it simple, be myself, and worry about the select people who actually can like someone who’s an acquired taste as much as I am, and fuck the rest. Because life’s too short.
Oh, and this guy gave me hell for trying to be the ruler of The Internetz. Um, I’m not, dude. But it’s my blog. I used to call it The Cunting Linguist. Do you really think I’m all about sunshine and roses, pleases and thank yous? No, I can be a cunt. It’s what I do. I can be a bitch here as much as I like. See the quote on the bottom of my sidebar? When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it? Right.
And if not, then there’s the door.
Of Rainy Days, Write Nights, And Kissing Boys
Oh! The rain is pounding the streets as car tires slap-slap-slap their way over the busy streets near my home. I’ve hit bottom on my coffee mug and should be zapping to the door, but first need to get the funk out with a long hot shower.
I’m bussing in the downpour. Tonight I’ll come home armed with a bottle of wine. I’m sequestering myself for some writing. I like to bottle it up sometimes, like sexual tension. When you don’t write for a while, it comes a little harder, a little faster, a little more furious, sometimes longer. I’m getting to that bursting point.
The great dead Canuck writer Robertson Davies once uttered that a writer ought not write until the thought of not writing becomes unbearable. I give in so much to the want to write that I seldom know the fit-to-burst waiting-for-it sensation. And like with sex, a little deprivation can go a long, long ways to making things fun again.
But I know the writing desire will hit before I return home this evening. I can feel it percolating.
Now, that doesn’t mean I’ll write worth a shit. It could all be recycled pretentious crap. But I’d rather hope for the best.
Whatever to write on, though? I’m torn between the right-wing idiots who’ve been writing on my blog of late, or matters of lust and longing that have begun to appear in my life. I’m leaning toward the matters of the heart, though, as we’ve all probably been getting our fill of politics of late. After all, I still haven’t told you about the fantastic makeout session I had just before my back gave out on me. Literally RIGHT before. Talk about the agony and the ecstasy. Love me a great makeout session. Three hours on the floor, well.
Speaking of which, to say I’m keen to see this boy again is a bit of an understatement. Perhaps the word “riled” might be more befitting. I had dirty notions that such an encounter might come my way this weekend, now that my back’s healing. What happens then? I get my period last night, a few days early. Talk about getting a red flag on the play(ing). God.
Ah well. Yes, working for a living is a foolish, foolish thing. If ever a girl deserved to be independently wealthy and work-free, this would be she. I could blog to my heart’s content. And putter about my home. And make boys call in sick to work to while away a dirty, dirty day.
But. Sadly I’m a working girl, and this girl’s finally going to scrub up and get out the door to the office. Tonight, a write night. I love a Friday night write night with good wine. Of the simple “me” things that keep my life mine, it’s one of my favourites.
A Brief Bit of Reflection
[Ed Note: Just a reminder– This URL is NOT permanent; I’ll be back on www.smutandsteff.com before you know it. Do not adjust yer feeds or bookmarks.]
Adversity is like eating your vegetables; it can often be unpleasant and may even leave a bad taste in your mouth, but it makes you grow big and strong.
There’s nothing like getting interrupted on your path of positivity to a new and better you only to be thrown into a time reminiscent of the worst years of your life. A big reminder of from whence you’ve come can serve to recharge the batteries and fire up the will.
The last two weeks I’ve spent sprawled upon my back as my body rebelled against me for all the working out I’ve done this year — hours and hours of yoga, 1300+ kilometres of cycling, 40,000+ steps climbed in highrises, all since March, with much of the last three months interrupted by physical problems — have given me the opportunity to do a lot of thinking.
I’m still stuck in the whirlwind of mental processing that comes with change and turbulence for me, and while I can cut through it during a political rant, any kind of introspective writing has me hitting a lot of brick walls right now. It’s just how I roll. Continue reading
What If Our Lives Were Movies?
I’m officially 35 today. Time flies when you’re having fun.
As a result of my birthday, though, I’ve been thinking a lot about life and love.
I still haven’t been bothering getting back into the dating after taking this month off of it, thanks to a persistent yeast infection that has me pretty frustrated (but is starting to take its leave of me), and some other things. But I want to get back into dating in the coming month and will probably start lining things up soon.
There’s an assortment of men I’ve been sort of stringing along (for all the right reasons), and probably half have fallen away (not a bad thing), those who remain are a varied batch indeed. I may already have a favourite in that batch, but right now’s not the time to be hedging bets, I feel. I need my life to get past this short chapter so I can enjoy myself again.
It had me thinking last night about real life versus the movies, and I thought how much simpler my life would be if it was a movie. Edit out this boring bit with infections and fatigue, splice together all the fun and crazy dates, skip past the lame ones that don’t even offer comic relief, and then focus on the best of the good stuff when it finally comes down, and have all sex scenes be well-lit with great angles. Continue reading
Some Pre-Birthday Thoughts on a Busy Friday Morning
After a couple months of everything in life feeling like it was a little harder than it needed to be, and life just throwing one sucker punch after another, it feels like the proverbial clouds have parted and ease is raining down upon me.
My week has been busy, as will the next few days be, too. My mind’s not on sex, not on writing, so I’m just taking a moment to share before the craziness comes down.
Some family’s coming to visit me this weekend, as I secretly suspect my aunt wants to shower a little money on me after having lost 45+ pounds this year. I was laughing on the phone with her last weekend, saying how I’ve suspended my weight-loss campaign (before McCain’s “suspension madness”) because I can’t afford the clothes I need for my new body, let alone a skinnier one, so I’ve pushed the pause button for the last couple months. All of a sudden I get this phone call last night saying they’re coming to town and seeing me for the first time in two years. I can’t help but smell a shopping trip. (Please, Cosmos?)
Monday I turn 35. Wow! The end of an era. The end of being in that coveted 18-34 demographic. I will officially be out of the realm of cool. And I couldn’t care less. Continue reading
Call for Gifts! Call for Gifts!
You people realize you only have four days left to get me a birthday present before I turn 35, right? I mean, SNAP, SNAP, here.
Time to get crack-a-lackin’! I mean, the ripe age of 35? Gifts cushion the blow, I’m told!
If you’re having troubles choosing what to appease my voracious appetite for life with? Books are a great start. Or clothing store certificates. Or booze. We loves the booze. And PayPal is willing to accept your credit cards.
Sure, there are worthy things to contribute your money to… but why would you do that when you can give to me?
Oh, and confidential to Clay Aiken: Wow. I would have never guessed! Except for the fact that you totally epitomized “flaming closet boy” forever. Just saying.
[And if you think this posting is crass or selfish, come on, have a sense of humour. Or just click through to my PayPal account.]
A Little Political Round-Up: Good News!
I definitely get into the politics on this blog but you wouldn’t believe how much I’m often restraining myself.
Lordy, have I got me some opinions.
But tonight I’m going to bed with this odd little thing. It’s there, niggling. Deep, deep down, burrowed in the base of my belly, there it is: Possibility. A little thing called hope.
Here, in one of the darkest political weeks I can recall, like, ever, a niggle of hope. Maybe even a wiggle?
The Washington Post has announced, for the first time since Clinton’s win for the White House, a Democratic candidate has broached the 50% mark in polls in the weeks leading up to the election. Obama has snatched a considerable lead — nine points — over McCain. 52% to 43%. Continue reading
My Bad, Bad Week: More Than You Need To Know
I couldn’t possibly feel more unattractive than I do today. Except maybe if I had an 8-inch goiter growing out of my neck and crumbling teeth or something.
I have an eye infection that has my left eye with this just-throttled-by-Rocky swollen-bloodshot look going on. That’s fun. Really.
Because that wasn’t fun enough, I’ve also come down with a vaginal yeast infection. (I’m so not even thinking about men right now, or sex, or arousal, or orgasms.)
Throw in the fact that I’ve just found out these ARE cockroaches in my apartment — German ones.
(My Twitters upon learning this were: “But it’s official. They were cockroaches. German Cockroaches. SS cockroaches. Brownshirts. Bad! They should have been gassed. Karma!” Followed by, “Snell! Snell! Achtung, roach! Achtung! At least now I know their language. “Ich liebe gas!”)
Continue reading
A Little Reflection in the Morning
A year ago this week, I was hanging on with the grimmest, thinnest of threads, as I completed the last week on a job I probably never should have accepted.
I worked in close quarters with one of the most negative, depressing people I’ve ever known, for six long months. By the end of it, I’d gained 20 pounds and found myself being a constant complainer, just like that toxic person I was working with. I hated who I had become.
My old employers offered me my old job back, which was nice of them since I’d been a bit of a flake in the two years preceding, but I guess I’m more charming than I know.
I promised myself, upon returning to my old job, that I’d take it with the intention of improving every area of my life.*
I’ve done that. Yesterday I was a bit down, thinking how much I’ve blown the last couple of months, fit-wise, and how much more I could have accomplished. This morning I’d been trying to tell myself that, sure, I could have accomplished more, but what I have accomplished is pretty darned good.
But remembering this week last year, that really put a grin on my face. The closer I got to my last day on the job, the more and more I realized how much I was doing the right thing. I just up and realized how much I hated being around that toxicity, and how much I loathed feeling like my life was owned by work. My entire life had become devoured by my job.
In fact, that was true even to the point that they had found out about my blog, and not once but twice said, “Well, we know you blog about sex. This isn’t good. We’re not sure what we think yet. Don’t ever write about work. And be careful what you write about.” Continue reading