From Big Bad Wolf to Winnie the Pooh

   No one is afraid of me now. I remember when people used to jump out of their skin if I so much as grinned at them. What am I now? I'm about as threatening as cotton candy.
   Now if I tell someone to get the fuck away from me before I break their arm off, you know what they do? They giggle and hug me. What the hell is that? I used to be a force to be reckoned with. Now I'm a stuffed panda you stick in the baby's crib.
   I've gone so soft, I'm freaking pudding. I am so nice that it seriously pisses me off every time someone says I'm a bitch. Clearly they haven't seen mean. I used to be the Queen of Mean. No one crossed me. Now elderly people would have the wrinkled balls to poke me and hobble away laughing.
   I never used to need defending. I never needed a body guard or backup. I was the mother fucking atomic bomb, not the president sitting in his office chair pushing on the Easy Button.
   I did what everyone wanted. I went all nice and huggable. But now no one respects me. And I'm still not good enough. Fuck. Now I don't even have an identity AND I'm still miserable. I'm so damn timid, I want to shoot myself.
   I can't even scare outsiders anymore with my damn friends disrespecting me in front of them and picking on me. Shit. This bites. At least when I was the Ice Queen everyone hated, no one had the guts to say shit to my face out of fear that I'd either break some of their bones or put a hex on them with one of the black magic vodou dolls they assumed I carried on my person. I guess I traded in one evil for another. This is my life. I'm not exactly permitted to get an upgrade.
   All I was trying to do was be a better person. But I've pretty much realized I'll never be good enough. And now it's too freakin late to go back. I'm stuck in this awful cotton candy nicety shit.
   I don't like myself. Never have. Don't now. Probably never will. And I don't really care anymore. I give up on trying to be something that will let people like me. I'm tired of trying to become something that is for everyone else. I think maybe I'll try out my misery without trying to be something I'm not. It may be time to face the facts. I'm just a fucked up jaded bitch with a serious case of needing to go crawl into a hole and hide from the world.
   I swear, the next person at school who thinks its ok to throw stuff at my head or call me a fat bitch just because my friends make fun of me, is going to lose an arm and a leg and I won't give them a refund.
   I never wanted to do anything to anyone. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. I only grew an ice cold heart and put on a bullet proof jacket of bitchy because I was tired of bleeding all over the bedsheets.
   I tried so hard. I made so many changes. Just to please everyone else. I made myself into something that isn't me. I'm just as miserable as before and no more liked than I was when I was mean. And now I can't go back. I'm not sure I'd even know how.
   I just hate what I've become all in an attempt to make people love me. It only made me hate myself more.
   I make the conscious decisions to change things about myself. All the way down to my handwriting. I am so controlled, it's crazy. I changed myself to all the things that people wanted me to be over the last couple years. And it's driving me nuts. I'm even more controlled now than I was before.
   Is it any wonder that I spend more time wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up than I do wanting to get up in the morning and go out into the world? If I could, I'd lock myself in my room and never come out again.

Three A.M. IM

So, I'm IM Conferencing with Brian and Mark. Well, they're conferencing. I'm kinda just there. Since I lack a part in the conversation, I decided to go and blog. And then type HA into their Conference. And they won't know why. It'll be because I'm talking about them on my blog. So Ha.

Made Of Fail

I want to write. But I just can’t seem to make anything show up on the page. Likely it’s due to what I’m feeling right now. Writing is so near and dear to me. It just seems right that I would be good at it. But I’m not. I’ve been writing for half of my life. And I suck at it. Almost ten years and I have made so little progress. The only significant difference between my work from ten years ago and now is that my vocabulary has gotten a bit better. It almost makes me want to stop writing forever. Perhaps go in search of something I can do somewhat decently. There must be something. At least, I would hope so. But I can’t stop. It would be like ripping an arm off and throwing it away. So what am I supposed to do? Keep writing crap or start spilling my own blood? Ugh. Where’d my pen go?

Damn it all to hell. I want to write. No, this isn’t writing. This is….ranting? Raving? Rambling? Reiterating my innermost thoughts? What is it? Self-pity? Yeah, that’s the one. Blogging? Journaling? All of those things.

Muse, why did you ever inspire me? Why did you do this to me? What is the good of being driven to do this, this thing that I love, when I do not have the skills for it? Then it just hurts. It’s like giving someone the undeniable urge to carve life size figurines and then letting them have access to a woodshop when they’ve never before even been in one. Who chose this gift for me? The drunken bitchy fairy from Ella Enchanted?

And why do so many people have to be so good at the one and only thing I want to do? People who have a writing career that’s lasted ten minutes can write a better piece than I can and I’ve been trying for ten years.

Shouldn’t people love what they are good at?

God, is this some sort of cruel joke because I haven’t been a good Christian? If I had been a good child, would I have fallen in love with something I was good at? Would I have been able to play the clarinet or paint a masterpiece? Would I have been smart? Or pretty? Yeah, I know. It’s not the man upstairs to blame for me being made of Fail. I probably just gobbled up a lot of Fail as a child. Or beat out all the Win during those “beat your head against the wall” tantrums from my youth.

My Memory Muse Died

Ugh. Just ugh. Sometimes there are little things I tell myself I'm going to write down and for the life of me I can't remember what they are when I finally get to a piece of paper to write them down. Dammit all. I just had one of those moments. I hate those moments.

Sweet Blog, I have missed thee

Damn, I missed this thing. I don't even know what to rant about, I'm so thrilled to have it back. Hmn.....

Ok, how about this.

So, I was watching Merlin (the newest episode) and was quite amused to see Uther's face upon realizing that he had not only married a very disgusting troll but that he'd also consumated said marriage with said troll.

That was it.

I can't remember what I wanted to blog about today. I'm being so distracted by the how glad I am to have my blog back that I have no idea what my idea was.

So.......

Peace out.

I shall return.

Maybe not tomorrow, since I have class and will be out late....

But definitely Thursday.

If I were the Happy Type

I would jump around for joy because I have my blog back! YAY!

Help me out here, Technology Gods

So, I went through every setting on this thing and I think I fixed the problem and should be able to see the text in here now. *almost hopes*

Ugh. Still not working. I wonder why not. I really miss this blog.