I’m Annoyed.

This week I am (officially) annoyed at being in a relationship. Every time I try to have alone time or space it seems to be interrupted. And lately (more than usual) I have been feeling the stinging realization that I am not single. Like really not single. Like can’t escape into your own apartment single. Like we’re on a family cell phone plane together. Like we’re moving to New York come this spring together. Like, this is it, together.

I only feel this way when I’m trying to be creative or have some me time. The juices are flowing (so to speak) and my creativity is interrupted by “cat talk” –the cat person’s version of “baby talk.” I’m trying to read my New Yorker here.

my literal notes

I know it doesn’t seem important to you, but I’m absorbing something that I’ve worked to enjoy. I made dinner. I cleaned the dishes. I want to read The New Yorker without having the TV turned on next to me.  Hearing “Ohhhh baby girl (to the cat), you’re so sweet. You’re the sweetest. Did you know that?” I’m trying to take notes (literally) on the Lowline Project, Emily Nussbaum, and a Tennessee William’s play I want to read. The TV blaring next to me really isn’t helping my cognitive absorption. I’m having a surge of creativity and inspiration, and I want to explore it…NOW. Not tend to your questions or your own blabbering. Plus, my anxiety of being behind 10-12 New Yorkers at any given time is not helping matters.

I think I’m being stupid.

I think I’m just being reactionary.

I know I’m on my period.

I know I need to get sexed* up.

But DAMNIT are all fleeting waves of complex annoying emotions the result of uterus hemorrhaging, or are they REAL? These are the First World questions that haunt me.

Am I annoyed. Or am I Annoyed. ANNOYED is how I feel.

Yours questioning the merits of irrational annoyances,

25swf

*It’s been like three weeks. That’s just not right.

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TV MA

*Sex is extremely important to me. It’s in the top 5 things that I need to be happy.

When I was little I use to sneak around in the middle of the night, pretending like I couldn’t fall asleep. “Oh the insomnia,” I would whine. Little did my mom know, I was turning to Cinemax and HBO for some soft-core porno action. I utilized the previous channel button on the remote to keep my sexy secret safe. MTV, QVC, or some other three-letter network acted as my quick getaway. If I heard my mom’s door open. BAM. From moans to My So-Called Life. 

I think this all started when I was about 12 or so. I remember the feeling I would get while watching these dirty movies. A tingling sensation would take over. Sometimes I would touch myself, but that felt awkward and boring. Most of the time I would just watch. Enthralled with the feeling between my legs, I was obsessed. Every night I would sneak away, turn the TV down extra low, and hunker down for a night of learning and yearning. Those HBO bells would chime…the static would play…the choir would sing…and I would be whisked away on a journey of a good girl gone bad.

I felt guilty for my porno secret. I remember sitting in my 6th grade math class thinking, “If only they all knew what I did last night…they would be so ashamed.” Up until age 23-ish I was always conflicted with my sexuality and my conscience. Welcome to being a girl. Yayyyyy.

Like all normal people, there came a time when we stopped paying exorbitant amounts for HBO and Skinamax, but my love for porn never stopped. My high school boyfriend got me a porno DVD as a gift once. It was vile and was not the classy HBO/Cinemax stuff I had grown accustomed to. That was really the last time I watched it.

Until last week. Continue reading

Kick It

I’ve been trying to shove it out of my head, or *kick it, as I call it. This feeling of lostness and depression keeps rearing it’s ugly head.

Due to life, my plans have changed. I am thankful. I am grateful. And then I just find myself feeling overwhelmed and I don’t know where to begin.

The house is a mess, I don’t want to clean it.

My resume needs a revamp, I don’t want to do it.

There are movies to be made, I don’t want to make them.

There are things to do. Lots of them.

I don’t want to do any of them.

This is my depression. Going on about three weeks now I have felt awful, and then better. Then awful again.

The only thing that keeps me sane nowadays is my relationship with Mr. M. His existence gives me hope.

For me, I know this is circumstantial depression. My mom, my friend’s dad, my uncle, Janet. Lots of sadness has been had in the past 6 months. I hate wallowing, and I can’t stand whiners. But life is really sad sometimes and it’s hard for me to accept that. I just want the lost feeling to go away.

I need a sign.

Yours trying to kick it,

25swf

*Kick it: the act of “kicking it” is a visualization I’ve done since I was a teenager. When my mind starts writhing and swirling down the rabbit hole of insecurity, worry, negativity, etc. I visually kick that thought out of my head. It flies high and far away from me. Thus, my opinion is that strong legs are helpful in life.

 

COLONOSCOPIES for everyone!

When it comes right down to it a colonoscopy saved my mom’s life.

She’s in her 60’s and you’re routinely supposed to have them when you are 50 and beyond. She postponed it because who wants a camera up their butt? I mean, maybe like 2% of the population I can see being into that, but for the masses in their words, it’s just… “Ew.”

The news came rolling in through my iPhone on Friday afternoon. Stage 3A. 6-12 chemo sessions. PET scan. Chemo port in her chest.

All I keep saying in my head is “BOO Cancer.” Just BOO.

Positives are coming out of this, of course, with any situation there are always things you can grasp onto for reason. They keep you sane. They keep you hopeful.

I think this is what they call faith.

I would much rather have a cancer-free mom. As an only child of a single mom the world could be SO much lonelier. Thankfully I am surrounded by loving people, and all the rest can go fuck* themselves.

So far I’ve learned the most valuable lessons from this experience. While I refuse to Google any of the things my mom tells me, I’m sure there are others out there who will venture to the interwebz for colonoscopy information. I am not a doctor, obviously. But this is my 2-sense.

1/ If you have family or friends in the hospital make sure to feed the feeder. Offer to bring food and even if they deny it, do it. If you can’t be there, text them to ask how things are going. It’s the thought that matters.

2/ If you are age 50– get a colonoscopy, damnit.

3/ If you have a family member diagnosed with colon cancer, get a colonoscopy at age 40, damnit.

4/ Encourage anyone in your life age 50 and over to get a colonoscopy, damnit.

5/ If ANYTHING on your body seems different/strange/not right go to the doctor immediately. Take your health seriously and you will have a fighting chance.

*For those who have criticized my “un-lady like” language on this here blog, you can go fuck yourself, too. Cussing is good for the soul, so get over yourself.

Guest Blogger – Y Chromosome: High and Dry

(This post is part of an awesome series of awesome 25swf guest bloggers- read about them here!)

I’m tired internet friends.  I am at a very weird point in my life.  You see, for the first time in probably my entire life I am focused almost solely on my career.  It’s sort of scary.  And for those of you who know me, (so like none of you yet?) you know that is a little different than my normal swim through life.

I’ve been in a relationship pretty much from the time I was 15 until I was 20.  Not the same one.  Three of them.  Very involved and intense ones.  I had a short 6 month break or so in there in an incredible attempt at “finding myself.”  As if that’s a 6 month journey.  “Like, no problem, dude!”  (have to think Spicoli on that one..)  I am single now.  SWM!  Wakka wakka?  I have a crush on this girl which is nice.  She’s pretty cool.

I guess the problem I am having is that while I am all for the occasional one night stand or casual FWB thing, I am most certainly more inclined to be in a relationship.  Wait.

Stop. Continue reading