After waiting an extra week I started my period on the 1st and bled on my sheets for the first time in over a decade. No idea what that would be an omen of.


Another New Year

So this is 2012.

Already a 6.8 magnitude earthquake in Japan. That doesn’t bode well in terms of omens.

2011 was a crap year for just about everybody, at least the 99% of us that are struggling to survive in this fucked up society. I don’t think this year is going to be any better, in fact I think it will get worse. Things always seem to need to get worse before they can get better. I am afraid to think of how much worse it could get. Our precious thread of normalcy is tenuous at best.

I spent New Year’s Eve at home alone with Tom. We watched a crappy movie and Star Trek Voyager and I had to wake him at midnight. He gave me a kiss and rolled over on the couch and went back to sleep. Underwhelming. I suppose I should be appreciative of what I do have, and I am. That doesn’t mean I don’t want more. And I do want more. So much more.

I feel the need to rip my body open and scream while emerging from some fleshy cocoon. I feel like running until my muscles burn and I am out of breath. I feel like just leaving this town, this state, this world. Just go. But I won’t. I can’t. There are too many things that hold me back. Responsibilities, people, physical objects, clutter. And finances, always finances.

But my brain is stuck in this loop of bullshit, trying to get “things” done that I can never get done. Trying endlessly for perfection. Even though I know none exists.


Happy New Years!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.


We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.


We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.


And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gies a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie-waught,
for auld lang syne.