Small Things.

So let’s see if this works.

This is the first time that I have tried typing since I had surgery on my hand on Thrusday. I don’t know if it was successful or not. Right now its sore and bugging but at least the swelling is down enough for me to type it seems, albeit much more slowly and with more errors than usual. I still have a soft dressing on it and the first knuckle of my thumb is still MIA due to swelling but hopefully this was all worth it in the end. I just won’t know probably until December. I can’t lift anything heavier than 10lbs with that hand until then. But if I can, if it’s fixed? I can lift weights again and that will bring a small joy back into my life. Well we’ll see. Next Friday I go get my ankle looked at. My thought is probably its going to be a call for physical therapy then when that doesn’t work (It won’t, the ligaments are fully torn) then it will be surgery there too.

But small wins, eh?

I don’t really have much to say. I do but nobody cares. Nobody listens to me. People only want you in their life if you will fuck them, give them money, do something for them or are fake happy 24/7. Being an old, fat, ugly single woman past menopause means that I have no value to society anymore. ((shrugs)). But I didn’t have value before except for the reasons above so in actually, I never had value to anyone. Nobody ever cared for me. Nobody ever will and finally, FINALLY, I have accepted that. That’s why I quit social media, emailing people, texting people… they never spoke back to me or reached out to me so I knew where I stood. I just never accepted it. Now I do.

It sucks, I was totally alone in the hospital which was more embarrassing than anything else. You know you are pathetic when nobody cares enough about you to be there when you get out of surgery. It was embaressings more than it hurt.

Such is my life. But at least I can type again. Small things, I guess.

Nobody likes Jim Jordan except maybe for Aliens.

Is anyone surprised that this dingleberry isn’t getting the votes to be house speaker? I mean he did worse on the second round of voting than than the first! I mean, I really wanted more time spent on discussing if aliens are real and Hunter Biden’s sex life. That’s way more important than:

  • The US and Global Economy
  • Immigration
  • Global Climate Change
  • The war in Gaza and the Ukrane

All the MAGAs have to go but unfortunately due to the poor education of US citizens where it counts, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. At least gerrymandering’s time might be up… maybe… maybe… I trust nothing these days when it comes the the US Goverment.

You can’t save everyone or everything.

Maybe that’s the lesson… or at least one of them. You can’t save everyone or everything. No one can and if they say they can-

They’re lying.

I think maybe that’s what I was trying to do even though I said I wasn’t. Or maybe, closer to truth, I used to try to save everyone, everything, then I said I stopped but I still was trying to. Like I tried the save my dad from going to the morgue. Like I tried to save the things in my parent apartment from being thrown out. Like I tried to save the sick plants that my parents left.

I can’t save everyone/everything. I have to choose..

Every day is a revelation to my psyche and emotions. I’m still sad and raw and angry and disappointed. I’ve move on from my parents a little bit. There I’m just really sad because I’ll never get a birthday gift or card again. Which brings me to point two:

Only three people reached out to me since everything happened, happened. Now there were people I was expecting to who didn’t. Again, I really don’t have any close friends. What is really hurtful though is that its so clear to me that I am more people’s friends than they are mine and people I really want to be friends with don’t like me like I do. They just want to be aquantences and that’s honestly their right. It’s hurtful to know that the vast majority of people really don’t care for me but I can’t make them care. If the only time they’re paying attention to me is because they think I will be a repeat customer of theirs or they might get to see my vagina (this doesn’t happen anymore but it used to), then they’re not a friend. I know this. I knew this. I just didn’t realise how many people there were in my life like that however.

I’ve always been trying to be part of community. I wanted to be part of the BJJ community, I thought I was. I was an outsider there. People didn’t really like me or respect me there. They liked that I would help them all the time but they didn’t like me. Same thing for scuba diving. I kept trying to find friends and thought I had some but the people I thought were my friends aren’t. They’ve only been around because they think they can make more money off me or because they felt sorry for me. That really sucks because I love BJJ and I love diving- both are things that require other people. Both have been miserable when other people are involved. I’m doing my best to figure out how to do that thing that you’re not supposed to do which is dive alone. I do it in the quarry here but that place sucks ass. I want to go cave diving alone (don’t start with me about this, really). If I don’t come back, nobody cares and I don’t care. It’s a horrible death to be sure, but nobody is going to be harmed by my death but me so let me do it. Don’t save me. I don’t want to be saved. This life isn’t worth prolonging.

I don’t want to get sick and die. I don’t want to have pain or fear as I die. But I don’t mind dying. I’m not trying to prolong my life. If I get cancer, give me the morphine and maybe I’ll Thelma and Louise it but it will just be me. I want to enjoy myself on my way out but I don’t want to prolong this life because this life has been shit.

Now, mind you- I’ve done some really incredible things, really fucking incredible (nobody cares). I’ve seen some cool things, really fucking cool but the “good” part of my life- not sure when that was. I had good moments, but did I have a good life? I guess that relative. I never felt loved, secure or cared for. I never had a person who was ride or die for me or went to war for me. I’ve always been an outsider or alone. I’ve NEVER been accepted for who and what I was but was always expected to conform.

Let me tell you something, being a strong willed, intelligent, resourceful woman who wasn’t drop dead gorgeous and never was good with money sucks. And no, me not being good with money wasn’t 100% my fault, not by a long shot. I wasn’t taught well at all in that department and when I finally learned, it was far, far too late. Still, having financial security wouldn’t have made my life happier- besides maybe buying friends for longer and pretending that I mattered to some people.

I don’t matter to anyone. And I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and crying and yadda, yadda, yadda. It really is what it is. Suck it up buttercup. We heard this story before. Let’s listen to another one.

So here it is:

I 100% have divorced myself from Social Media… I mean I do read some things that I find interesting or inspirational but people I’ve given up on. That’s not to say that I won’t return to social media but it’s going to be just to make money from people. It’s going to be a one way street. Matter of fact, maybe that’s what I should do… hire a social media manager.

That would require income first and that’s my second biggest issue behind “my wittel feelings”.

The things they don’t explain.

There are so many things nobody tells you about when it comes to death, especially when you’re single, older and have zero family and very limited friends. Like, they don’t tell you what you’re supposed to do with all the photos of yourself as a child that your parents took but then you expand that, and think about when YOU die, who’s going to take the photos of your life and dispose of them when you have nobody to help you exit this world? I mean maybe I knew because as and adult there are VERY FEW printed photos of me. Everything is digital. (Which is something I need to think about- I need to create a “Doomsday” counter of some sort… if I don’t access something within two years, all digital proof of my existence is deleted. I mean, I am kind of reducing my footprint now because I don’t matter to anyone anymore so there really needs to be no trace of me anymore. I am starting the Twilight of my life now. It only gets worse from here on out and I WILL die eventually. There is no one to take me out of this world so I need to start figuring out how I will take myself out when my time comes. Leave no trace… Well that’s not exactly true. I have something in mind if at the last moment, I can make a shit-ton of money. I have an idea, a plan… but it requires my luck changing… but I don’t have any luck but the bad kind.

They don’t explain to you what you are supposed to do when you’ve got no money and your dad dies. Thank god for Catholic Charities but they don’t explain what you do when you don’t have the money for an Urn or to bury your dad because remember, you couldn’t even prevent him from going to the county morgue (don’t think about that, don’t think about that, you made it right in the end. you made it right, mostly, in the end). But you go to pick up your father’s remains, find out that he didn’t even fit into one remains box, so you get a reusable tote with the crematorium’s name on it (yeah, I’ll take that to go buy my groceries in it… If it wasn’t the bag for my dad, my morbid sense of humour WOULD do just that, but I can’t… because this bag held my dad, and it’s okay if its your dad, but it’s not okay if it’s my dad… see how that works?). So you bring your dad home and you just stare at the two boxes wondering what to do, then realize well, you’ll just but him in an Ikea storage bin in your closet until you get evicted or you become a millionare and can deal with it. And it’s surreal as fuck. And you feel just.. weird…

Then the dreams come that night, and they’re just sad, sad, sad… full of sad. Your father is in them, its a stylized version of Chicago that you keep in my mind. You note for a moment that you keep cities in your dream brain like short hand. You have Chicago, New York and London in some strange reoccurring shorthand when you dream of them… but here you are with your father in your dream and you watch his struggles And you see, you see… and your heart breaks all over again. You wake up, unrested, staring at the ceiling, feeling drained, feeling just a sadness… but the day is here and as I say over and over over, the world keeps turning even if you feel like it isn’t. So you get up. And you decide that today you’ll write on your blog that nobody reads because you feel the need to write.

I dropped off social media recently because I realized that people (well stop, I have always KNOWN that people ) don’t care. But it’s different now. I really am happier just detached from people. Don’t get me wrong, I have like two people I kinda of talk to right now and they lovely fucking people and have been there for me and oh my god, I think this would have been harder than it already has been if they wouldn’t let me just cry on their couch when I need to. I think they “see” me. They know I don’t need their fucking advice, I just need a place to break down where it’s okay to break and I’m not judged for it. If I figure out how to get income in, I need to get them the biggest Christmas present. But yeah, I just said “fuck it”. I’ve slowly been writing in my hand journals more to get it out, but they’re more “to do” lists though they have been evolving to contain more of my thoughts and emotions. They’re helpful because when I have moments of malaise, they keep me on track on the whats that need to be done… and I may be on my way out in this world but there is still a lot I need to do before my time comes.

There’s always a lot to do and never enough time.

It bothers me that my father is in my closet. I don’t mean that I don’t love him but he doesn’t belong in my closet but that’s where we are right now. And this, this I will also deal with and manage.

I don’t feel right yet. I need to go diving. I need to do something, one thing that I recognize as “me”. I discussed this in a previous post, there needs to be a “new normal” for me, and I’m not there yet. That doesn’t mean that I completely throw out the things that I loved to do. I need a little bit of soul soothing but unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to do it. I was told I could find someone to dive with if I could make it to Mexico and ironically, I’m cash poor, but airmiles rich, HOWEVER after my experience in France, I finally have decide that I don’t want to dive with people I’m not teaching or don’t know well personally. That’s it. I’ve had to many bad experiences now with assholes. I said something to myself the other day that really struck home when I was putting on a pair of shoes that were a little too tight. I mean I can wear them but they’re a little uncomfortable . I blurted out loud to myself “No, I’m not doing stuff that hurts me.” It made me stop, like litterly stop what I was doing and like look at myself. I said it again out loud: “I’m not doing things that hurt me, anymore.” It was profound. The things I’ve done that have hurt me just to do what people expect to be done. My relationships, my works, my loves (the very few that there have been). And just like that, I said “no more”.

Cool shoes, hope someone at the thrift store is enjoying them. I could have made it work with a little discomfort but life is too shore and my life has been a series of discomfort and that stops. Because I said so.

I’m surely speeding my trip to my underpass homeless encampment retirement. But maybe, maybe, an angel might finally show me a kindness and show me a little bit of compassion and hope before my lights go out forever.