. Spinning .

As I mentioned once before, if you go by the Category Title of each entry you can maneuver around my saggy diaper days. Of course, I have also contradicted myself by posting just a few entries down as well as previously about ways of keeping these from you. Oh, well.

Not in-depth, just random phrases:

“Seems to me we’ve lived our lives, charging up the wrong side of the hill…” I’m with Willie & Waylon on this one; probably right behind them.

I’m about to apply haircoloring without following directions. Typical. Fresh pineapple will inhibit jello from setting and leftover mixtures of haircolor will explode all over the room; you don’t have to take their word for it–I didn’t.

My strong belief in reincarnation stems merely from giving up on this round and swearing to be smarter next time.

Procrastination serves well to move you along further in life.

Can’t see the forest for the trees. Can’t see the forest for the trees. Can’t see the forest for the trees.

Breaking up is not that hard to do.

“You’re still gonna, still gonna, still gonna die…” Waylon, Mel, Jerry & Bo on “Old Dogs” CD.

“Still is still movin’ to me…” another Willie Wisdom.

“Beam me up, Scottie…” from Star Trek, of course, and I wish I could believe it.

In the grand scheme of things, does which chair is where really matter? And, do they have to be switched NOW?

Why am I putting so much effort into one dumb story when people are dying, hungry, alone?

But the real question for the moment: Can I exist only on my hard drive? Is that my real place and space?

Swore I wouldn’t do any more of these, but I do find them fascinating. This one, Whose Soul Mate are You?

You have a dramatic personality and a fascination
with the bizarre so it’s no wonder your
literary soulmate is Edgar Allan Poe. Poe lived
a tragic life, burdened by heavy alcoholism and
the death of his young wife but in spite of his
problems, managed to revolutionize the horror
story and create the detective story genre.

Who is your Literary Soulmate?
brought to you by Quizilla

In creating a Spinning banner and revamping the rest of the site including the About Me page, I am taking into consideration my general all-over-the-place state of mind, thereby reducing the fright factor to many who may wander in here for the first time at the wrong time. I’m thinking of the below list instead of the “oh, I like writing, and reading, shooting a longbow, planting my garden, etc.”

Did I miss anything?

Beliefs: Religious and sacrilegious – He’s out there somewhere.
Politics: Tolerant Moral Liberal, or Tolerant Free-thinking Conservative; I’m not sure, they’re too close.
Humor: Very dry to goofy (All-time favorite joke: What’s round and purple and has a hole in it? J.F.Grape)
Humour: Moody. If I don’t talk or write, I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the world. (Added In: If I don’t eat or smoke, I’m severely depressed.)
Honesty Level: Verging on babbling.
Mental Health: Ever on the edge.
Goals: To walk the edge without losing my balance.
Stress Level: Ever striving for the ultimate.
Hobbies: Seeking the meaning of life if there is one.
Literature: Mainstream fiction, horror, non-fiction murder, certain biographical and philosophical b.s.
Marital Status: Finally succumbed late in life.
Sex: Kissed at 16, deflowered at 21, actively explorative until (see above.)
Anger Level: If I’m extremely polite, I’m very angry. Livid, you don’t want to see.
I.Q.: Ranges from deep to dopey.
Dependencies: None and nobody.
Ambitions: To come around next life as Barbie Einstein.
Gender: Female tempered by many of the finer male traits.
Morals: High in my dealings with others, lowered a bit in personal areas for myself.
Style: Jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, but I practice wearing high heels at least a couple times annually.
Outlook: Sardonic
Faith: I trust everyone; I trust no one.
Male Fantasy Figure: Willie Nelson
Age: Six or ninety-four, but most often somewhere in between.
Emotional State: Elated or deeply depressed, but rarely in between.
Labels: Scorpio, ISTP, Compulsive-Obsessive, Avoidant, Creative, Short, sometimes Nice

(NOTE: If you are a psychiatrist or psychoanalyst and spot a red flag here, please feel free to e-mail me. Thank you.)

Starting to lose altitude a bit, but stabilized to float above it all safely, and am in no danger of crashing because this time I thought to bring a parachute along.

Or, more metaphor,

I remember to wear my jacket when I go out.

Or

With winter still showing and snowing, my first leaf has frozen and waits.

Or

Purple crocuses stuck their noses from beneath their clean white blanket, and with a shudder curled back under and went to sleep.

Anyway, if I can still laugh about it, the world is still an okay place to be.

I am normally not a taker of pills, except for vitamins, and I do take eight of those every day. Long ago I was on Elavil, though I now can’t remember why, but it made me fat and mellow, and I stopped using it because I found I didn’t care; truly didn’t care about anything at all. Never would be sad, and never could be happy. Just mellow. And for the same reason that I rarely drink anything but wine or an occasional Bloody Mary, and never much; because I don’t like the feeling of being out of control. Mild depression is more readily helped by natural methods. Tonight I used stuffed shrimp.

After living on only cupcakes for two days, and a slice of bread and cookies prior to that, I needed something special to get me back in the mood for eating. Amazingly, I’m healthy on an odd pattern of eating that I’ve had all my life. I love good food. I usually make heavy meat and potato and vegie meals for dinner every night and gorge myself because it’s also usually the first food I’ve eaten all day. But it also seems that I eat in cycles that follow the seasons, or my mood.

Not many people keep filet mignon and jumbo shrimp in their freezer, but I do. You never know when you’ll need them.

How does one manage to screw up Toll House Cookies? I guess, in absence of other factors, by stubborn choice: Not following directions.

Why do I always convince myself that a little tweak here and there, a minor deviation from the norm, a little footpath off the main road will still get me where I want to go. I am not a leader, but it seems I make an even lousier follower. Self-inflicted kinks in life are totally unnecessary, yet some of us tend to thrive on them. This is most likely not a good way to be. More interesting—definitely. Involves more time—you bet. Kicks up the stress level a notch—I’d have to say, yes. Engages the brain to a deeper level—hopefully, this is the payoff.

Has anyone contested the Jell-O box directions not to use fresh pineapple? Would you like to know what happens?

Only this one I’m not sharing with you in its entirety. It’s called, What Book are You? and I got it from Katey at One Good Bumblebee who turned out to be the lovely Anne of Green Gables. This somewhat suits her well as she is a phenomenal poet and writer.

I have been acknowledged as the Merriam Webster Dictionary.

Well I’m on the road to emotional recovery, having spent the last hour crying my eyes out over “My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiancé”.

My television habits are Discovery and PBS, and very few of the dramas because I tend to miss a few or they keep switching programming around. Other than that, I watch to relax, to lose myself in a fantasy world—pure escapism. Unfortunately, these things can also get you involved in someone else’s problems even while managing to help you forget your own.

But “My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Fiancé”?

(more…)

Okay, so I lasted all of what, four hours? It’s boring in the shop.

But thanks to Random Thinks, I found a simple Quizella Test that predicts how I will die:

You will swallow some tacks. You are a little
weird, maybe not so much in a good way. Buy a
yellow tie and wear it on your head.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

Oh joy! Someone called me weird today!

I’m so very glad, I’d thought I’d lost that as well.

Complete and utter madness would be most welcome to me now. Half-crazed is too normal and acceptable these days, and we all wander freely about knowing this about each other and ourselves.

There is an either/or type personality, and I am it. When one of us attempts to live within the middle, between the boundaries, it’s not a pleasant life. There is a constant struggle of consciousness and ideas that must be fed, and from the fields of mediocrity we gather only corn; kernals of knowledge sweet and sustaining, but only so. At times it is indigestible. It is boring and it is common. I want to live on lobster, filet mignon and cherry tomatoes.

Perhaps my future care will not be in the hands of prison guards, but in the softer speaking aides of white-walled institutions. Although, most likely not. Strength, tenacity, survival of a sort is inbred as well through generations of Bernals. Peace will not be ours in this life, and even after, only a cosmic flash of time before we’re thrown back to earth, compelled with lifetimes of an iron will fired even harder and determined against only reinvented strife.

I’m feeling contemplative and regressing in acceptance of reality. I walk the edge and fear most the falling into the soft place called adjustment to society and not being able to scramble back up, or drop and lose the bag of stars that I have gathered when aloft.

I suspect I’ll get over it. I always have before.

I haven’t had the time to take a week or month or however long it takes to have a midlife crisis, but every now and then it hits me, so I’ve been doing it in dribs and drabs. Perhaps it should just be entered on my to-do list, and then I’d get around to and over it.

This weekend I’ve been a little testy, to say the least. If I look in the mirror, it only makes matters worse. I’m not in there, or at least I’d like to deny that she is me. Looks never bothered me, except to not appear bedraggled or downright ugly—and I’ve had some pretty ugly days even when youth was on my side.

(more…)

If all goes according to plan, someone at some distant point in time will notice a rock settled deeply into decades of composted leaves in one of the few remaining American forests, and with a start, realize that it has a name! He is tempted to take it with him but even though he’s on the return path home from a soul-refreshing walk in the rare parts left to nature, it seems a little heavy to carry any distance. He half-squats down to take a closer look and then spots the much smaller rock just touching to its left that seems to have a name as well. But no, this one just has a chiseled “Self-Defeatist Extraordinaire”. Since it’s small and less personalized than “Susan” he can slip it in his pocket, and this is what he does before he goes his way.

I’m glad he has stolen this weight I’ve carried through my lifetime, but worry that while he’s freed me, by his interest or amusement he may carry the burden well upon himself throughout his years.

In other words, in the midst of doubt about my words, I now discover—and this was self-imposed with all accompanying inspiration and excitement—that I’ve lost the touch at art as well. At age ten I was phenomenal, and now I draw no better that I did then.

Told you I’d lighten it up a little today, didn’t I?

No comments.

Lordy, lordy–an interactive quiz on recognizing serial killers from computer geeks! I scored 9 out of 10, which is good, but it only takes that one face you thought you could trust…

Well all right then, I’ll share my results with you if you at least take some of the tests I’ve listed in previous posts and give some feedback on your own neurosis.

I’m an ISTP according to Myers-Briggs; an Avoidant, Obsessive-Compulsive with slight leanings towards Schizoid and Schizotypal, Histrionic and Narcissistic but without traits of Antisocial, Paranoid or Dependent behavior according to another Personality Test; and am doomed to Hell’s Level 1, Limbo of Dante’s Inferno as a Virtuous Non-Believer.

Anything else you want to know?