Type A Personalities

The idea of drugs scares the crap out of me. All of the aspects of it. Especially the dependecy where eventually drugs are all you are and what you have left.
And it hits everyone, rich or poor normal or messed up.
An only child for instance, with loving parents and a promising future shouldn't even of had the inclination to try blow. Was it out of boredrom? Self-hatred? Or merely self-absorption?
Or the kid down the street with a fancy car and all money could buy ending up shooting heroin in a graveyard, homeless.
It disgusts me. The want to escape life and the situations that force people there.
It all boils down to hatred of one's self. Not being good enough. Feeling everyday that you don't deserve happiness.
I'm not preaching to anyone, not even to myself.
Someone once told me about different types of personalities. Either you're an A and you could do the drug and be fine and not become addicted or a Type B... ( we all know what happens then ) She never told me there was a Type C.

Who Are You?

I don't really understand how this whole thing works.
Who exactly is reading my profile? Is it really that interesting?
Well then. Enter my mind if you will.
Ate an enormous amount of spicy food. Am really appreciating the burn-your-esophogus motif.
Realized a few things about friendship. It's a hard reality. Totally give and take, and most of it give. I feel resentful of this most of the time. Give yourself to someone and then suddenly you get smacked in the face with a hydrostone brick. Or have to choose between self preservation or loyality. It's a fine line. Especially when one has to choose people to attend your wedding ( which by the way you wanted it small and now it's become this huge affair).
Down to the nitty gritty of this situation: it's my wedding. I'm getting married. I don't care a flying fart if you enjoy the buffet spread or if you liked my god-damned wedding dress. It's about me and my husband and the time that has been given. So enough of the pity-parties and squabbling. GROW UP!! and look around. Our little bubble is small.

Taking A Break

Too tired to write today.
To tired to look at another book at about the Halifax Explosion or try to track down information that was meant to be buried deep in the on-line pile of sludge.
Two more weeks left of the place I call Satan's Lair. Oh, it isn't all bad. I've met people. A lot of people. Special and important.
I look over the past entries and cringe at the negativity.
A broken down doll, suffering from breath to breath. HA!
Don't let that facade fool you. I'm as spoiled and pampered as you can get. It doesn't mean I don't think about things. Tons of things. Things that keep me from sleeping. And they aren't even that special these things. Do you know that I actually contemplate which hand bag to use the next day? Because I have over fifty to choose from?
Ridiculous.
Lately I've accepted the grace of an active mind. Some days the wine dulls it for awhile--which hasn't happened in large quanities in months--most of the time I get through it.
Because despite having to work at a shitty job or having to sort out your life and the people in it...it's worth every minute.

This thought brought to you by the letter C. And you know exactly what that means.
( Wheeeee, italics!!!)

Write What You Know

Decided to shelf The Island Of Eve. The plot couldn't develop and after reading fantasy/futuristic novels I got tired of trying to think up a whole planet. I don't think I'm up to the challenge yet. I can't even write a damn complete story. However, pot of gold at the end of the optimistic rainbow.

The Scarlett Shoe--a lot of research, let me tell you. It's compelling stuff but I hope I don't get lost in it. What happens if I can't write? What happens if I never do sell a story?

An artist is continually plagued with self-doubt. It's your nature, programmed from birth to always question. Question your talent, question your ability to actually function as a productive human being. Question everything in the whole universe. And then feel horribly selfish and self-absorbed and a complete spore. Yes. A spore. Off rotting cheese.

I don't feel like a spore today. Maybe tomorrow.