NOTICE BEFORE READING:  This post is not a silly attempt to get people to say "oh, Crashtastic, please keep writing on vox!!!" or to get comments along the lines of "I will miss your sparkling wit and glorious angst!"  No.  I'm not one of those people who feels the need to make an annoncement about not writing a blog for a while just to get comments like the aforementioned.  Below is what I think, what I mean, and I will not be accepting comments or opinions on the matter.  I have the opinion of a medical professional who has my best interest at heart, and that, frankly, is all I need.  IF any of you would like to stay in contact with me after today, you know where to find me.  If you don't know where to find me, there's probably a reason for that, and I wish you the best.  Anyway, that said...

This afternoon there was this beautiful, albeit slightly fucked-up girl (guess!) sitting in her shrink's office talking about last week and how on one day basically way too many things happened to make said girl angry, in fact, so angry that she burst a blood vessel in her eye (are those blood vessels or capillaries or what?)  We talked about the man who phoned at work to tell me everything's my fault (my boss set him straight on that, however) and then we talked about my blog and all the craziness I've been going through here (which most of you don't know a thing about despite what you think and I'm still not dishing) and all the craziness I've previously gone through at sites like myspace (a man from a previous job began stalking me through info found on my previously public page, among other little adventures that have happened to me over the years because of this site), bloop, open diary, and the like.  The shrink said, "why not do yoga or something instead of blogging, which just opens you up to all kinds of negative feedback?"  Brilliant.  And true.  Blogging openly, honestly (sometimes too honestly), and seriously about your issues and your life opens you up to negative feedback that will be detrimental to your work in therapy.  And this is not a game, people.  I do have a disorder.  I know that.  I'm dealing with that.  And I refuse to let anyone who gets the privilege of reading this to fuck that up for me.  I've done it so many times in the past, and why?  There are reasons.  But when it comes down to it, anyone (certainly NOT just me) who writes the way I do about the things I do will catch stalkers and meanies along the way.  People who want nothing more than to see my progress go backward, to see my beautiful (though perhaps sick) little world come crashing down.  That's just the way it is.  Believe it or not, there are unsavory characters in the world.  Even here on vox.  Not kidding.  Some of you may think I am one of them, in which case you would be absolutely wrong.  Everything I write here has a purpose and a purpose for good.  If you don't interpret what I write in that way, you may want to examine the negative filters you are looking through to twist my words.  That's you, though....that isn't me.  I refuse to take responsibility for that.

So what now?  Stop writing a blog?  Honestly, writing this blog has helped me.  You've fucking read it!  You see what is here...Now imagine keeping all that bottled up inside and then also imagine what it would be like when it all comes rushing out at once.  I clearly need an outlet.  I am clearly a writer with artistic ability.  Is this not the best outlet for me?  Perhaps not.  My therapist, for one, thinks not.

Although vox is like...2% of my time....it is still part of my time and it still affects my life, believe it or not.  Anyone who says their blog doesn't affect their life has a boring blog.  These are sensitive topics I write about here...and.... 

Maybe this is a bad idea.  What makes it a bad idea is where you come in.  Not most of you, but the ones who wish me ill (believe me, they are out there and they are NOT in my head, they are true flesh and blood living people, I have the emails and private messages to back this up should it ever come to that).  In short, maybe opening up your every thought to public scrutiny is a bad idea.  Maybe that is why therapy is in a small room with only one other person.  Maybe that is why sometimes people with my disorder are treated in hospitals.  Because it's important that it be done correctly so that no one gets hurt.  Do you not know the extreme consequences of therapy failing for me???  Death, my sweets.  Fucking death and I'm not even half kidding.  Those of you who know me well know I'm not kidding.  That's 3 people.  Jay, Rich, and the gorgeous Christina.  The rest of you know what I write here and what I write here alone and looking back, I cringe to think of the portrait that paints of me. 

In actuality, I am very intelligent, ambitious, kind, friendly, loving, adventurous, whipsmart, pretty, sexy, charismatic, personable, delightful to be around, moody, talented, a creative genius, a person you can trust with your fiercest secrets....and more.  You will find few of those things here on my blog.  That's too bad, I guess.  You see only the sickness, maybe...

...And yet I allow comments.  From anyone.  From strangers!  What kind of masochist am I!?!?  I write down my most private thoughts and then allow strangers to comment on them, to tell me what they think, as if they know the whole story.  That's not helpful.  Sure, some comments are encouraging, that is true.  But what about the ones that are not?  What about the strange ones who always seem to find me who have nothing better to do than to write passive-aggressive little messages to our little heroine?  What about them?  Is it worth it?  Will the kind strangers outnumber the evil little nobodies that for some reason (jealousy?  blind hatred?) want me to fail in...life?  Why is it that when some people see something lovely and successful they just want to crash it down?  Are they so insecure that they think taking out one more pretty, smart, talented girl in the world will make room for them to be cared for?  I have known at least 2 girls who used to be actual friends of mine who have confessed to trying to do this to me, out of jealousy (thus the chubby girl entry).  There's a story here:

One girl told me that she and I were just like the characters in that movie, "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" and she was Janeane Garofalo (the short, chubby, plain one who was smart) and I was Uma Thurman (the tall, thin, pretty blonde one, who was dumb) and that that is why all the guys went after me and not her and how she secretly hated me for it.  And then I said, except I'm not dumb.  I have been an A student most of my life.  She realized her error and felt even worse about herself.  I hadn't intended it that way, but like hell I was going to allow her to call me pretty and dumb.  That's simply untrue.  I'm SICK of having to apologize and/or "dumb down" for the jealous bitches who don't want anyone to be SMART and PRETTY and TALENTED and WONDERFUL.  They want everyone to have a fatal flaw, and I suppose I do....and that is my struggles with wanting to live in the world.  I know it must be really hard for people to understand why someone like me would not want to live (poor little rich girl, right?)  Well, it's called an illness and in no way is it my fault and in no way will I ever apologize for being who I am.  Especially not to girls like the aforementioned who can't see what is beautiful about themselves, but only look to what others have that they do not....and then blame girls like me.  That's really sad.  Story over.

So....I don't know the answer.  I don't know if this is good for me.  I don't know if it ever has been.  I've been publicly blogging for 11 years now.....and I'm starting to think the peanut gallery isn't working.  When you blog as part of your therapy for an illness (mine being borderline personality disorder, ocd, et al) it sometimes seems more wise to not accept comments from anyone, or only have entries visible to yourself.  I don't know.  Why does anyone blog?  It seems like an egotistical thing to do, I suppose, but for me....it means survival in the mind and body I was born with and I am doing my best to play the cards I was dealt in the best way I can, utilizing my natural talent:  Writing.  But are these words for anyone else to view?  Maybe not.  Maybe I'm only putting them out there for criticism because I want to hurt myself and I know from 11 years of experience that people on sites like this can be assholes (there's some degree of anonymity some people find irresistable, I suppose) and that the subjects I write on will ultimately attract those who want to hurt instead of help.  11 years, people, of data to back that up.  And while it would be the easiest answer to say, "oh Crash, it's just you....you just create these issues for yourself, it can't possibly be that there are so many nuts in the world," that answer doesn't hold up.  Trust me, it doesn't.  The easiest answers hardly ever do....and believe it or not, I'm not the little instigator you may think I am.  Not always.  Not usually.  

And anyway, does my blog help anyone besides me?  I have no idea.  If it did, I would consider keeping it.  But at this time....it's private entries all the way unless I'm writing something as benign as a book review.  If you want to know about my crazy life and read my writing, you'll have to pay for it.....in the near future.  Let's say, within 2 years.  I'll let you know.  A handful of you are great people.  Aside from the few, I'll just say:

See you, space cowboys, drama queens, phonies, and haters.  It's been.... 

69% of the moon is visible tonight.

I just thought you should know.

The absolute very next time it is above 50 degrees and raining, I promise to lie down under it.  It has been a very long winter with more snow than we usually have.  It almost feels as though spring will never come again.

Movies watched over the weekend list to include:

"Jimmy & Judy" (2006) -- The cover of the DVD brags, "this is the movie Natural Born Killers wanted to be."  Sadly, it did not live up to this statement.  The characters are annoying, unlikeable, not good actors, trite.  The soundtrack is either non-existant or just so insignificant it is not noticeable.  The entire thing (except the end) is shot as a home movie, which didn't exactly bother me, except when looking back to the whole, this is the movie NBK wanted to be thing.  Natural Born Killers is a very stylized, fantastical movie with a kick-ass soundtrack, sexy/trashy characters (the characters in J&J were trashy, but not at all sexy, including a fat Edward Furlong), and an actual message.  What is the message Jimmy & Judy is trying to convey?  Well, basically that there are people in the world who are so co-dependant that their love is an actual sickness...that people who use methamphetamines are violent, disgusting, and live in trailers....and that going on a killing spree (compared to NBK J&J's killing spree was lame ass) will end in your death and/or imprisonment.  So don't do it.  And don't bother with this movie, either.  While Mallory in Natural Born Killers has bravado and a certain white trash sexiness, Judy in Jimmy & Judy is goofy, weak, and does this really annoying breathing thing throughout the entire film that reeks of bad acting.

"Since You Went Away" (1944) -- This is a beautiful movie about a family (mother, and 2 girls, I believe) struggling to cope with the "man of the house" away at war.  This movie makes you want to hold on tight to your loved ones and stare in wonderment at a depiction of a time when being American was something to celebrate.  This was also a time of blatant racism (now we have more hidden racism) and this fact shows up several times in the movie.  The end made me cry actual tears.  The characters have such a depth that more contemporary movies always seem to lack, that it's difficult not to be drawn into the story and actually feel what they are feeling.  Not to mention I know what it's like to be in a different country than your husband for an unknown amount of time and not being able to do anything about it.  It's about longing and how we cling to hope because it's sometimes all we have, you know.  And when we give up hope we are as good as dead.

"Four Daughters" (1938) -- An enjoyable, funny film with gorgeous hairstyles that remind me of photos I have seen of my Grandmother (who won beauty contests, by the way).  These are my favourite kinds of films.  I like the props and sets of the scenes as much as the dialogue and story itself.  Movies are wonderful things in that way.  They're almost like moving scrapbooks full of the past.  They're better than history books, because history does not typically tell us the emotion behind the facts.  The movies fill in where history books leave off.  That's what I think.

I also watched Disc 3, Season 6 of Road to Avonlea, which is spectacular television.  I think I have found that it is one thing that calms me down.  You may remember that I was searching for something that would do that trick.  One thing is Road to Avonlea.  Great Canadian television show from the 1990s about a turn-of-the-century family in Prince Edward Island.  I love it.  

This has been a swell weekend involving at least 2 decent movies and a fabulous slab of chocolate cake from the Cheesecake Factory where my friend and I ate yesterday after shopping (Sephora, yay!)  It was a really good time, even though J couldn't come because of homework duties...I drove by myself 2 hours round-trip, listening to Johnny Cash all the way.  I like to sing June Carter's parts in their duets.  Particularly "Jackson."  I just rock that way.  I am a very versatile girl.  :-D 

My husband is the most handsome, most adorable man in the world.  He's sitting on the couch with me, our laptops making our faces glow in the darkness.  We sit like this quite often....Facing one another, laptops appropriately on our laps, legs snuggled together, his feet next to my elbow, my feet warm against his bum.  I love him.  I have needed him my whole life.  I have had a strange life.  Some very bad things have happened and they've left me without enough breath.  I can't breathe properly.  I'm afraid of....a few things.  I can't let anyone close to me.  Only superficially.  If you get too close I will cut off your hands.  It's true.  I do it all the time.  Except.....with him.  I let him in and he is trusted and loved and cared for just as much as he trusts, loves, and cares for me.  I would say that I wish everyone in the world could experience this, but I don't know if I really do.  If everyone could experience what we have nothing would ever get done.  No houses would be built, no novels would be written.  Everyone would just cling to their lover in absolute bliss.  That's what we do.  When we can.  We have real lives, too.  Real lives away from the beautiful world we have created together, that only exists when we are with one another.  Real lives full of work and money and typography.  :)

I love it when we meet up in our world, though.  Our world is so much better than the real world.  Maybe it is more real than the real world.  Maybe it is actually the real world and what we do day to day is a dream.  All I know for certain is that nothing is better than what we have.  It is the cure to all ills, the hero of all stories, what most people are looking for but never find.  I won't say we are lucky.  We're not lucky.  This was meant to be.  The world maybe wouldn't even exist if we weren't side by side.  It's lovely.  But lucky....no, I think not.  We are vital, that's what we are.  I wouldn't be okay if it weren't for him.  He came one morning in May and rescued me.  It's a great story, our story.  It's like a movie.  I won't tell it here.  I'll tell it in a book someday.  I've had a very interesting life....and it's not slowing down any.  One day I'll put it all into words for all to see and enjoy and it will make you laugh and cry and be glad that you read it.  It will make you happy just to know there are 2 people in the world like J and I.  Really! 

It is so important to be who we are.  We have felt that since the day we met...more than 10 years ago now. 

If someone is blocked from your vox....they should probably stop reading it.

Just saying.

This goes for more than 1 person.  You both know exactly who you are (although the rest of my neighborhood will be curious, sorry guys, I'm not naming names, I just want it to stop).  If the harassment continues, I will report you.

This is the Qotd from, what?  Yesterday?  Anyway....here's my answer to the call to write 10 things you've done that other people probably have not:

1. Wrote a novel when I was 16...and it was actually good (per my English teacher, other teachers, even the principal!)

2. Had sex on top of someone's actual grave in the graveyard on a very cold fall evening (I now regret this, that was very disrespectful, but hey, I was 17 years-old and generally disrespectful at the time)

3. Been in love (and still am).

4. Got married in vintage lingerie, barefoot...and he wore a vintage US Air Force uniform (though he is Canadian).

5. Gave 2 public poetry readings at the very height of my anxiety/panic disorder and actually didn't suck or die!

6. Learned a version of the Irish language that is only spoken in 1 county in Ireland (no, I do not mean Gaelic, and yes I have to say that because a lot of people apparently don't realise there is a language called Irish which is separate from Gaelic).

7. Failed Algebra 101 4 times.

8. Tutored Intro to Statistics and was told I should be a stats teacher by the person I was tutoring (ha!)

9. Slit someone else's wrist (no this person did not die on this occassion)

10. Got a diamond lodged in my foot while I was jumping down a flight of stairs over and over while listening to "You Can Fly" from Disney's Peter Pan (I was probably 9 at this time)

and just because I'm awesome, I will put 11.  Got admited to the psych ward in 1997 just because I scraped my wrist with a broken soda can (it didn't even bleed a little!) and then got my records from that time to find out they listed this little escapade as a suicide attempt!  Ha!  What kind of suicide attempt is scraping your wrist in study hall to make your friends laugh?  Especially when no blood is involved.  Wow.

oh, and then 12.  Went trick-or-treating at the admitting doctor's house the night I got out (Halloween) because his foreign exchange student was my best friend at the time.  Ha.

Why won't the chubby girls ever let me into their club? 

1.  I am not talking about a discotek(!) for chubby chasers

2.  I am not talking about a book club

3.  I am not talking about AA

You will absolutely NOT tell me what I can and cannot write here.

This

is

mine.

If I choose to use this blog as my goddamn therapist or outlet for complaints all sizes, that is my

fucking

business

and my

fucking

choice.

Not yours.  Never yours.  Fuck off.

If you don't want to read my private, tormented thoughts then GO THE HELL AWAY.  Because that's all you'll find here.  No, I take that back.  There's way more than that here.  And if you can't see that, then you have really bad taste and you should probably kill yourself.

Service announcement fucking OVER.

((and so are you))

write me an email at work--a professional email (ha)--that says "yeeeeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!"

that's beyond inappropriate.

also, don't ever raise your voice to me over ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.  i will take you down.

i don't even

want to be

________________.

or here.

I'm glad I'm perfect.

I'm glad I'm perfect.

I'm glad I'm perfect.