Party party in my brain,

don’t mind me, 

I’ve gone insane!

I just wanted to write a blog post about absolutely nothing. I was feeling very mischievous in a way I describe as mercurial. But hey, check it out, Mercury is passing the sun. No wonder I feel like this. There’s so much astrological activity going on lately, can I just blame my confused hormones on that? On everything? Please?

Right now I can devolve into utter absurdity. I can say the word “fart” and giggle til the cows come home.

But then I think about the cows. And I think about home. And when you spend your whole life feeling like you never belong anywhere, the thought of cows coming home can bring you to tears.

Just blame the hormones.

At what point in my life… in my day… can I be taken seriously? 

None of it matters. I blog for myself. I have no audience anymore. I’m not 18 anymore, I don’t hash out all my crazy on Facebook for all my friends to see. I’m an adult, I’m a mother, and I’m a mess. I know that people have shorter attention spans. People are less likely to read what I write these days than they did 10 years ago.

I feel really sad. The moment you feel your wholeness, your entire being splits in half all over again. I went for a walk only to discover a tiny snake dead in the middle of the road. I cried and told him I was sorry. I transferred his body to the grass so as not to get repeatedly run over. Like beating a dead horse. I spend my life beating every dead horse I can find. I don’t know why.

He told me the horse wasn’t dead, said it would eventually kick me back.

Funny how he crops up so much. Frustrating how much I let him affect my life… for so long.

And I have no interest in beating that dead horse anymore, certainly not in public. If you happen to read this, sorry. But not sorry. I will no longer apologize for my life affecting yours in any way. I loved you and I’ll never apologize for love.

Here is one of many struggles I currently have- the fact that I’m just too much to handle. That my love is so enormous and all consuming that even I die in the expression. 

I don’t want to write anymore. This hit a spot my brain is too tired to touch. I’m trying to decide if I’ll even publish this shitty post.

We never outgrow the ages we’ve been. Time doesn’t exist. I was 18 once. Therefore, I’m still 18. I’m still swatting at gnats in my brain, I’m still crying when I go for walks and feel the eternal presence of everything surrounding me. I still try to bottle it all up and not show it because nobody is going to understand. But I’m still going to write about it in the most sloppy terms and post it for public consumption because it’s the only thing I can do. And like 18 year old me, it’s possible I’ll delete it in the morning. When the light is renewed, my struggles seem so stupid. So irrelevant. So non-issue-y. It’s just hormonal Grace, shitting all over again. You’ll get used to her. You’ll get used to being confused at the contradiction of such a human who seems so put together and spiritual but also such a fucking mess who needs Jesus in the worst way.

What else is my life for if not for public consumption? If only one of you reads these words, I suppose that’s good enough. Here, look at this spackled mess of letters composing words composing sentences composing ideas that are hazy and jagged. I’m ridiculous. Let me be a reality show of ridiculousness. Just use me for observation of humanity. Check out my highs and lows. I’m all over the place.

I seek no response. This is the internet and I can say whatever I damn well please and you bet your ass I’m going to sieze the opportunity. Because what is the point of life lived in silence? In isolation? This stupid stupid life I’ve tried to lead, this obnoxious and deadly desire for perfection. Fuck it all to hell. 

Ah, such a delicious moment of clarity and freedom… I can do whatever I want. Sure, there’s always consequences. But nobody is stopping me. Nobody but ME. 

The clarity blinks out, just like that. But some moments are truly eternal. A tiny little hole allowing you to see the other side. You never forget it.

I’ll go ahead and publish this because why the hell not. I better practice what I preach. Gotta speak up. Expose my crazy because it definitely ain’t going away trying to stuff it in the closet. Uh uh. Crazy aaaaaalways comes out. I’d like to meet it on my terms before it takes too much of me. This is me saying, No, you’re MY crazy, I’m not your girl. I’m the owner here, not you. Crazy don’t own me. I own crazy.

I’m tired.