A little to the left, please.

My life is separated into specific phases. Phase 1: Super shy, backward, introverted loser. Phase 2: Bubbly, make everyone laugh even when you are in pain, and don't forget to let people walk all over you. Phase 3: Tired of people treating me like shit so I'm taking the world by storm with my thoughts. Phase 4: Bad-ass. Phase 5: Super happy in love, sharing my world with one man. Phase 6: Mom Phase 7: Get fucked over and become bitter bitch from hell. Phase 8: Lost That's me now. And it sucks so bad that it feels like I'll be in this phase for the rest of my life. Part of me is hopeful that it won't last. I've been through bad times before and it always got better, so this shouldn't be any different. But this feels different. I feel wrong; backward or inside-out. It's like everyone is clear, but I'm fuzzy. And no matter how I adjust the rabbit ears, I can't seem to bring myself into focus.

A not really genuine thank you...

Thirty-seven years ago, yesterday, a miracle happened. A man and a woman rejoiced at the birth of their baby girl. Me. I was an average 7lbs. 20" long. I had the minimal light brown hair, and big dark brown eyes. My future looked bright. Until one day I realized that this world isn't full of magic and fairy dust. Unicorns aren't real and my parents were. At some point in my life my father moved away and my mother moved on, without me. I was lucky to have a grandmother who loved me more than her life and she took it upon herself to care for me. She clothed me, fed me, and taught me right from wrong. There were some things she didn't know how to teach me. Like how to heal from a broken heart, how to pick up the pieces when life fucks me up the ass, and how to feel sane in a world that is inevitably crazy. A world where my mother forgets my birthday. No card, no call, no 'fuck off kid'. Nothing. How can a woman squeeze a child from her womb and forget the day? And at what point during these 37 years did I go from the fun-loving-girl-everyone-loves to the bitter, depressed loner who spends her birthdays holed up in her crappy townhome? Not completely holed up. I did go out to Borders and bought myself two new horror books. Which I will read while holed up in my crappy townhome, in the near future. I also stopped at A.C. Moore to pick up some sewing supplies for a new project I'm working on, at home, alone. After my two birthday day trips, I walked down to get my mail. The best thing in there? Sherlock Holmes, from Netflix. Birthday cards? None. Thanks mom.

Really?

NOW? Now you want to do things right? Are you fucking serious? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? I'm not sure whether to cry or scream. Well I suppose I've done enough of both so maybe it's time to try something new. How about murder? It was supposed to be ME that you tried to do right by. It was supposed to ME that you treated the right way. I'm not supposed to be meeting the girlfriend that might bring out the good man you used to be; the man I inspired you to be. You were supposed to get this stupid mid-life crap out of your system and come crawling back to me! ME! The woman who made you the happiest you've ever been. The woman who still.... forget it. fuck you and you're 'doing it right' shit.

I'm not gay, but I'm in love with Sara

I love it!