Random Acts of Awesome

I've started this post a couple of times, and have never been able to finish it. It's too... personal, hard as that may be to believe considering the contents of this blog. But there's telling stories, and then there's telling truths. Stories contain truths, but they're a level off, a level removed. You can read them after you've written them and pretend they're universal truths that only peripherally apply to you. Some things can't be stories. This part of me can't be a story. It's too caught up in who I am. Who I am. I am a control freak. Only over myself. I control every aspect of who I am. To lose control of any part of me is anathema. I've been that way for as long as I can remember. I have no idea why, but even as a very young child I had to have control over myself. I don't remember having temper tantrums. Intense emotions scared me, to the point where I'd start to shake and turn red, refusing to release anything into the ether

I get a lot of traffic from different blogs, most of them sexy. Like Green Silk Cord, with the ridiculously hot Ella, who had my blog up on her side roll. And I always feel kind of bad that more of my content isn't interesting, and sexy, and titillating. Some of it was, just enough to tease. But for the most part, this is my journal. And journals are ALWAYS boring. Doesn't matter how good a writer you are, or what you write about. Because journals are inherently selfish. I'm not trying to entertain others, I'm trying to work out shit in my own head. Every single person in the world is trying to work out shit in their own head. It's not unique, and it's not designed to be. So, sorry about that. But also, fuck off. It's my journal. If you want interesting, go read Salon. Or The Bloggess, or Novarella, or Ree Drummond, or any other number of amazing entertainers out there who are talented enough to couch their thoughts and reality in such a way as to make i

I was going through some photos from last year, and it got me to thinking. How is it possible for me to have changed so much in such a short period of time? I remember how I felt in those photos, my thoughts and emotions, the circumstances of my life. And it's exponentially different from who I am now. I feel like I lost my youth in the year that's gone by. So mellowdramatic... I'm sure 43 year old me will look back at 33 year old me and think "Shut the fuck up, child". But for now... I don't know how to explain it. I went from feeling like a titanium encrusted rock star with limitless possibility waiting on the horizon, to a frumpy, quiet housewife who worries more about bills and dinner, and is content to have sex every now and then. And it's not like I'm not content in that skin. I'm actually more consistently happy now than I have been before. It's a constant, low key sort of mellow buzz. I'm not constantly nervous in my life, like