This Post Will Be Really, Really Random. You've Been Warned.
1) Another Spiderman movie? Is it in the same canon as the most recent 3, or is it new/a "reboot"? If the former, okay, no big. If the latter... What the fuck? Can't you people think of something ELSE to tell a story about? Seriously.
2) I tried to explain to my brother why it feels as if everyone around me expects me to be responsible for the girls. (We got to that point because I snarkily said something about how cat barf on children's pants wasn't my responsibility; he said he didn't think it was; I said why should he be any different than anyone else around here; he offered to get me a cross and I nearly stabbed him in the leg with my mechanical pencil.)
I don't think he understood--he certainly didn't give any sort of response that indicated to ME that he understood--how completely put-upon I feel. He also doesn't seem to get the fact that, should I just do what he and Bev do (i.e. shunt the girls to the side/actively ignore them/tell them to go do something else), IT WILL CONTINUE THE HEAD-FUCKERY THAT STARTED AT BIRTH.
Jesus FUCK. It's all I can do to keep from going out to the living room right now and start screaming at him. It won't help -- if he doesn't get it, or he gets it and doesn't give a fuck, then there's no point.
I leave in one week, for two child-free months. I have no idea how on earth everyone else is going to fucking survive while I'm gone (I'm sure they will, though).
I don't know, maybe it's all my fault for disliking child-endangerment and child-neglect charges. Am I too oversensitive? I mean, I suppose I could be. Malnutrition/semi-starvation can't be that bad for little kids, and they're really smart, for 3 & 4 year olds. They can get water and stuff on their own, now. They know how to turn on the TV, so it's not like they'll be bored or lonely...
Yeah. And I can't fucking WRITE, either, because I need to detox/decompress and by the time I'm done doing that it's time for me to sleep; if I try to go somewhere else I either A) feel like I'm taking up room that should go to someone else, B) can't write because I feel all self-conscious, like everyone around me thinks I'm all "OOOooh, lookit MEEEE, I'm all fancy-pantsy wriiiiiting in a caaawffee sho~op and I'm SO IMPORTANT" when really I'm freaking out about how clumsy I am and how much noise I'm making and whether or not I'm taking up too much room.
And no, I can't go write outside, either, because if the weather's bad then I'm cold and/or wet which means writing longhand which means transcription which I don't like and if the weather's nice I *can* use a computer but then I also can't see my screen or I can't get comfortable and I start wondering if I'll have enough battery and I invariably think of something that I need to look up but I can't because no internet because I'm in a park/parking lot and all the wifi networks are locked and only have one bar anyway and yes I know I am a fucking pussy wannabe writer because I don't just fucking suck it up and WRITE like all those other hardcore writers who could write with their hands tied behind their backs upside down in a vat of jello because that's a REAL WRITER, one who WRITES EVERY DAY NO MATTER WHAT Hemingway WROTE during the war shelling every day but did it stop him NO he WROTE, WROTE bravely and honorably and well and I'm getting very tired of this sentence so I think I'll stop now. *Huge breath*
Which is not to say that writing every day is stupid or worthless -- I noticed that writing seemed to get easier/better for me during NaNo, when I was in fact writing almost every day. It's just that *for ME*, *right now*, it's simply not feasible. AND IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY PLEASE SEND HELP OR AT LEAST CAKE AND ICE CREAM.
I want to start The Naga Thing, despite not having any ideas as to what it will be about or what color anyone will be (tempted to go with unusual colors, like blue; am also tempted to set it on a completely different planet so as to have blue vegetation and the like so the colors will actually be 'natural'). I kind of want to tweak Indian mythology, actually, but I don't know. I have to think about it.
I need an ending for the Sailors thing and the one I've got now is kind of half-assed and sucky; I painted myself into a corner, I know, and I'm not blaming anyone but myself for it. I just want to fix it, and rewriting it hasn't helped.
Fuck. I just want to go home and write. That's all I wanna do, and for whatever reason, I can't. No one else cares what I want, and that's the most disheartening feeling in the world. That was how I felt Before Meds, you know? That no one cared about me. No one wanted to know what I had to say, or what I thought about things, or how I felt. No one wanted anything I had to offer, and it didn't matter anyway.
I just want to go home. I'm tired and I'm cranky and I'm ready to leave. I just wish I knew where the fuck it is that I think I'm actually supposed to BE.
2) I tried to explain to my brother why it feels as if everyone around me expects me to be responsible for the girls. (We got to that point because I snarkily said something about how cat barf on children's pants wasn't my responsibility; he said he didn't think it was; I said why should he be any different than anyone else around here; he offered to get me a cross and I nearly stabbed him in the leg with my mechanical pencil.)
I don't think he understood--he certainly didn't give any sort of response that indicated to ME that he understood--how completely put-upon I feel. He also doesn't seem to get the fact that, should I just do what he and Bev do (i.e. shunt the girls to the side/actively ignore them/tell them to go do something else), IT WILL CONTINUE THE HEAD-FUCKERY THAT STARTED AT BIRTH.
Jesus FUCK. It's all I can do to keep from going out to the living room right now and start screaming at him. It won't help -- if he doesn't get it, or he gets it and doesn't give a fuck, then there's no point.
I leave in one week, for two child-free months. I have no idea how on earth everyone else is going to fucking survive while I'm gone (I'm sure they will, though).
I don't know, maybe it's all my fault for disliking child-endangerment and child-neglect charges. Am I too oversensitive? I mean, I suppose I could be. Malnutrition/semi-starvation can't be that bad for little kids, and they're really smart, for 3 & 4 year olds. They can get water and stuff on their own, now. They know how to turn on the TV, so it's not like they'll be bored or lonely...
Yeah. And I can't fucking WRITE, either, because I need to detox/decompress and by the time I'm done doing that it's time for me to sleep; if I try to go somewhere else I either A) feel like I'm taking up room that should go to someone else, B) can't write because I feel all self-conscious, like everyone around me thinks I'm all "OOOooh, lookit MEEEE, I'm all fancy-pantsy wriiiiiting in a caaawffee sho~op and I'm SO IMPORTANT" when really I'm freaking out about how clumsy I am and how much noise I'm making and whether or not I'm taking up too much room.
And no, I can't go write outside, either, because if the weather's bad then I'm cold and/or wet which means writing longhand which means transcription which I don't like and if the weather's nice I *can* use a computer but then I also can't see my screen or I can't get comfortable and I start wondering if I'll have enough battery and I invariably think of something that I need to look up but I can't because no internet because I'm in a park/parking lot and all the wifi networks are locked and only have one bar anyway and yes I know I am a fucking pussy wannabe writer because I don't just fucking suck it up and WRITE like all those other hardcore writers who could write with their hands tied behind their backs upside down in a vat of jello because that's a REAL WRITER, one who WRITES EVERY DAY NO MATTER WHAT Hemingway WROTE during the war shelling every day but did it stop him NO he WROTE, WROTE bravely and honorably and well and I'm getting very tired of this sentence so I think I'll stop now. *Huge breath*
Which is not to say that writing every day is stupid or worthless -- I noticed that writing seemed to get easier/better for me during NaNo, when I was in fact writing almost every day. It's just that *for ME*, *right now*, it's simply not feasible. AND IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY PLEASE SEND HELP OR AT LEAST CAKE AND ICE CREAM.
I want to start The Naga Thing, despite not having any ideas as to what it will be about or what color anyone will be (tempted to go with unusual colors, like blue; am also tempted to set it on a completely different planet so as to have blue vegetation and the like so the colors will actually be 'natural'). I kind of want to tweak Indian mythology, actually, but I don't know. I have to think about it.
I need an ending for the Sailors thing and the one I've got now is kind of half-assed and sucky; I painted myself into a corner, I know, and I'm not blaming anyone but myself for it. I just want to fix it, and rewriting it hasn't helped.
Fuck. I just want to go home and write. That's all I wanna do, and for whatever reason, I can't. No one else cares what I want, and that's the most disheartening feeling in the world. That was how I felt Before Meds, you know? That no one cared about me. No one wanted to know what I had to say, or what I thought about things, or how I felt. No one wanted anything I had to offer, and it didn't matter anyway.
I just want to go home. I'm tired and I'm cranky and I'm ready to leave. I just wish I knew where the fuck it is that I think I'm actually supposed to BE.