Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Enjoy! Having some fun with my new laptop. Happy Christmas Eve!

Merry Almost Christmas!!!

Places I Still Hate

Or, should I say, give me continual problems. Staten Island, New Jersey, Queens/Brooklyn border. Still. WTF? And people I enjoy move there and lose their minds. Why? Is it the water? I seriously wonder...

Little Gifts

that's all you get. Nothing more. Maybe it should be coffee. So you can wake the fuck up.

Prince - Joy In Repetition (Live Video) Greatest Guitar Solo Of All Time!

Can I Play This Guitar?

he asked this at the superbowl in 2007. I'd like to keep april 20, 2016 going over and over forever just to keep this man alive.

I love you with the bleeding heart of 10000 souls crying out to heaven in tears and desperation. I am nothing without this man. Nothing. And I wasn't much to begin with.

I Almost Believe That They're Real

You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow. Yes, Robert. So correct. I am.

After two weeks of one good accommodation, one bad accommodation and one (the same one) who saved my ass. I am still sick. I am still lost. I am still spinning. I can't do antibiotics. They make me reel and gag. Vomited again today. I just can't with these pills. I am a disease. I belong no where. Or, at least, that's what I'm told. I am surrounded by people who make me feel like I am a problem while they ignore looking at their's. This is not my shit, it's your's. Stop seeking me out and smearing it on me.

That entire neighborhood had a vibe that was just blackened, diseased and volatile. I bear the physical symptoms of this. I don't want to clean up cat pans and pick up trash and other's waste. I don't. I just don't. I need help. So much help. But it never comes. I need more money. The good jobs don't show. I plead and I beg, but they don't show. This country is not made for people like me anymore. We are slaves. Drones. Used like rubber bands until we snap. And I have. Oh, I have. I will not be blamed for other people's lack of care or stupidity.

I am still in a weak and vulnerable state. My food intake has basically been one meal a day. My urine output has been nothing, which is why I drowned myself in gatorade and pedialyte the other day. Thank God for urgent care. I knew it was there, waiting. Between stress, the meds, bronchitis and these damn quinolone antibiotics? Oh, god, I've been done in.

My emotional needs are simply too much for anyone and I'm starting to snap. I'm starting to break. I cannot control them, I just want to bust out all over. Unfortunately, they come out in anger and no one wants to deal with that. I am too much and shoved into a corner. I have been dismissed, made to feel like waddling shit, made to think that I am a continual problem. I am supposed to minister to everyone and no one does to me? Unless! There are conditions. Always conditions: don't touch, don't feel, don't think or do anything unless it's like US. I am not allowed to be me. FUCK THIS.

I have tried my damndest to be acommodating, pleasant, giving, sweet and caring. FUCK YOU 100 WAYS. Look in the mirror to see why I have left you behind. If I cut you out of my life? Chances are you gave me the scissors.

DON'T FUCKING BLAME ME. I am sick as a dog. A little sympathy. I little empathy. I am tired of walking on eggshells.

And for the record, the tv was NOT broken, you just don't know how to use it. Glad I got home in time before you chucked it into the trash. But I AM THE ONE made to feel stupid?

I cultivated a personality, intelligence and a type of brain that no one appreciates, or wants to use. Okay, I will stay away. I only understand anyway.

Just like heaven...

My Sweet Prince

Well, the last month is finally being unveiled. I understand it now. My crying terribly, in pain, on February 15. The hurt. Loss always appears slow to me, premonition?

I discovered "God", the lost love theme from Purple Rain on youtube. Shocked that Prince's legal team didn't yank it down. Late, late into the night, almost 3 am. I wondered out loud how amazing and yet how lonely it must be to possess such creativity, to keep going, and feel like you can never stop. Is that genius brain a burden? A gift? Or is it strange to be amongst people and yet never really be a part of them. I feel like this sometimes.

And then, my friend Nace called from upstate NY to tell me Prince had died. Suddenly. The flu, or so they said. He was a mystery in life, he'll be a mystery in death. I don't think we'll know why his heart stopped. But I am sad that there will not be any more genius, funk, sentimental piano or shade to discover. Quiet moments when I want to feel, think, get the tears out.

I've been in shock for the last 3 days. I loved him since 1979. That's pretty much my whole life since I'm closer to 50 now. That was the beginning. This man was the soundtrack to my life. I have often said if I had some type of production company, I would name it Two Twins & A Bull. Why? For Prince (Gemini), Stevie Nicks (Gemini) and Billy Joel (Taurus.) The three artists who make me laugh, think, feel and cry. Musical talents in their own world, reflecting us.

Recently, I dyed my hair lavender and mint green. I had to. Everything I am finding is some shade of purple. I'm not looking for it, it's just a reminder. It's there. I didn't go looking, I just found it. I loved purple as a child, even drew a self-portrait and colored my face and arms with a purple crayon. My art teacher loved it, my teacher kinda frowned. Sorry, I had to be me, even then.

I'm going thru the videos, the musical catalog and finding how wonderful it all is. Sad, too. But thank you, Mr. Nelson, for being a part of my life. I love purple even more.

At War With 44

So, here's the thing. I'm supposed to actually give a shit about my birthday. Except I don't. I never did, never wanted to, and still don't like the motherfucker at all, if I am completely and scathingly honest. I don't have any reason to fuck around with anything other than facts at this point in my life. The anger sits right on the surface, hiding under a laugh, wrapped around some stinging fucking tears that I do my best to talk down to and sneer at, not unlike a misbehaved toddler.
I don't really want to hear about this shit until I turn 50. I figure that will give me a few years off. I still hate it, but other people will want me to celebrate. I don't care, but I'll roll my eyes--maybe, just maybe--and try. Lots of thoughts in my head at the moment, too. I'm doing this for me. My blog has died, traded over to facebook and twitter rantings, but today, for the first time in a long time, I feel like writing.
No one can really give me what I want, let alone need. I think this may very well be at the heart of this. Not my family, "friends" (jesus, I use that term loosely), or anyone else. It's simply over. Time passing and all that nonsense.With the continual health problems I face, I fear that my thoughts are making my body turn over and against itself. It's happening to my thyroid. And always, the breast. Always the breast. Nodules growing, solidifying, scaring the shit out of me and perhaps pushing me towards that wonderful C word. I often hear the other C word (LOL), but even that only spurs me on. It doesn't matter anymore. If this is the thing that's going to kill me, well, then get on with it already. I really and truly do not want to be one of those Guess How Old She Is people that gets whispered about or "celebrated" on the news for passing a certain age. I think my father and my grandfather got it right: 65 and 75. Dear Old Dad went to sleep (or so I was told, but no one knows, since he was alone when the stroke zapped him), and my Granddad had just been informed of my birth, and toppled to the ground behind a chair two hours later, heart stopped as well. They worked, they drank, they laughed, they fought like cats and dogs, but really didn't get into retirement. Maybe Granddad, but not Dad. I'm ok with this. Do I really want to have to keep working and working so that baby boomers can get their tax breaks and live wonderful lives while I continue to struggle? NO. And that's that. I have not recovered from the recession, I still have very little money, too much time to think about 15 zillion things I could have done differently, and it's just so damn easy to blame myself. With what little guidance I've found in my life, there really isn't anyone else to blame but myself. That's the funny thing about mistakes: you don't know you've made them until it's waaaay too late or if someone's screaming at you about it. Had too much of both, actually. I am honestly done with the entire business.
I'm set to see Deadpool today, and I really don't care about that, either, but the person who's taking me is being incredibly kind and generous to me, and that's the part that matters. I feel like a burden to everyone, but that's not something that's going away. It started in 2006 when my fibromyalgia got worse and continues to gnaw at me. Whatever. I forgot how to have fun years ago. I wanted it, it wasn't allowed. This is probably wrapped up in my birthday hatred, too--for years and years, I had to work like a dog: tired, sick, bad periods, headaches, flu, bronchitis, verbal and physical abuse (1990 comes to mind as always!) and really? I just wanted to stay alone and quiet. Skating, dance, sitting inside a library with my books and my records and seeking beauty. I don't want to be told THIS IS HOW YOU HAVE TO FEEL. NOW CELEBRATE, DAMMIT. WE WANT CAKE, TOO, YOU BRAT. Meh. I'm just so over it.
I am just tired of being in pain (fibro), stiff (old injuries), cold all the time (thyroid)with headaches and strange dreams. I'd like to go back and visit myself through some time portal and watch the girl that I was, see what I missed. Like my own personal sitcom. Christ, I need to get outta my head.
Well, that's that. I'm in a library and I have to log off soon. 25 years ago today, I stepped onto the ice again at the old SkyRink with Viscuso, Renee and Tommy. Funny what you remember. It's been 8 years since I had skates on. My one and only love, if I am honest.

Sigh. It sucks having to cheerlead yourself. I'm done.