200 Posts: I Fucked The Prom Queen

Dear Hearts,

My 200^th Blog Post. Wow. That is actually kinda a big deal.

I had given up on writing fiction. Me the shoulda-been writer.

I am not writing fiction—but I am writing and that is something. Maybe “real” writers would call what I do writing. Like my Mom’s best friend, Mrs. Astor, who is a Fine Artist—you know, like the only real art is on canvas and all adult like. Monet, Van Gogh…I don’t know.

I am all about decorating and arting up every thing. My Mom who became so obsessed with Baumalerei (Germanic decorative folk art) would Baumalerei the cat if she slept in one place too long—that is not Fine Art. I say bling-up the world!

So, maybe, I am not a “real” writer, because I am not writing within a genre with the purpose of publishing—oh, and I am not a bleeding heart liberal who is ashamed to be an American. (I heard a lot of that at grad school).

“Oh, Dan Brown is a hack. I could not get through the first page of his clunky prose.”

Yeah, fucking hypocrite. You would cut off your left pinkie to have his success.

“Tolstoy…you need to convince me why I should read you instead of Tolstoy.”

Um, because you can fucking understand me and you don’t have to study each sentence to get it’s meaning.

Story-Teller Writers (excluding the textbooks, how-to’s, psychology—informational writing) tell a story. Ipso Facto.

I have been telling a story in these 200 posts. The story of not just me, (because who the fuck am I?), but also the story of Clinical Depression, OCD, Suicide, Nut-Houses, Religion, Abuse, Sorrow, Joys, Faith, Hope, Love, politics…Barbies.

I have been taking the poison inside me and spewing out into this blog. I have celebrated Touching the Face of God. I have expressed gratitude and desperation. I am not the first person to feel this way. I can’t be. (Can I?)

Books…writing has changed my life. Sometimes when I am reading, it’s like, “Yes! That is me! I am not a freak! Somebody else gets me!”

Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley was the most influential book in my understanding of God when I read it in college. Reading it was like coming home. I could be wrong…but I believe the last sentence of that book is “All gods are one god.” My Pagan belief structure was shaped by Mists and other books she wrote. But, also my being a Catholic was shaped by that book. In becoming Catholic, I wasn’t abandoning my Gods and Goddesses. I was NOT going to feel guilty for being a Pagan. I am just accessing the Infinite in a different way by different names.

I truly believe in the major tenets of Catholicism.

THE APOSTLE’S CREED

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; 
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son Our Lord, 
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. 
He descended into Hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; 
He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
 I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. 
Amen.

I do believe in Atonement Theory, Transubstantiation, Saints, Angels…

I don’t believe the one and only most intimate way to connect with Christ is via the Eucharist. That is putting the Infinite in an awfully small box. It’s not like those Communion Wafers are bagels.

I have started running again. I know! Me! I pray as I run. Maybe that’s not real prayer—I don’t know. I just talk to God, Mother Mary, Christ, and the Saints. I just talk to them.

Will I keep running when I return to The Holy City for good? I don’t know. My Under Amour sports’ bra and little Victoria’s Secret running spandex running shorts are quite scandalous in The Holy City.

“Put some clothes on!

Jealous. My milkshake is better than yours, bitch.

I am scared. Terrified. This is gonna be the real IT. The House that has occupied so much of my life for so long with be gone. The curtain will fall on Act I definitively. No encore. I have a two day a week job that like matters. Working for Boss Lady last year at the gift shoppe—whatever—that job will never see my resume.

My reputation in The Holy City is tied up with Burning Bed. It counts. I know, Mom, I know. I have been doing the same job for months, just not getting paid for it.

I don’t want to make a mistake and get in trouble.

I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING IN TROUBLE. I DON’T WANT THAT TO BE PART OF MY LEXICON OF LIFE.

(And, no B.S., you had no idea what the hell the word “lexicon” meant when you used it in your plagiarized paper. I just couldn’t prove it.)

I always have Disability to fall back on. I am nuts and disabled right? If I weren’t I wouldn’t have Episodes and I wouldn’t know the best and worst ways to kill oneself.

I am afraid of entering the world again. I am leaving Home for real.

I don’t know what the future holds. I can’t even hazard a guess. I couldn’t even tell you what I want.

Some nights The Thief (CD or Clinical Depression) creeps up on me and takes me down anaconda style. Thief is always sitting coiled in the corner waiting to strike. Just because I don’t blog about it all the time, doesn’t mean CD is gone. That Thief still has a grip on me. I am on the edge of the well. It could go either way. I fight The Thief every fucking day.

I don’t believe in myself. I don’t know if I can say I love myself.

But I keep on keepin’ on. I stay six feet above ground.

Dad is working so motherfucking hard for me. For this shed we—I—and buying. He is laying the foundation and moving trees, brush, junk.

I am so blessed. They just took all the pain on with me from the beginning—no questions asked. They didn’t have to do that.

Yesterday, as I was running I really tried to think what it would be like for my family if I’d never existed. I think it would have been easier. Cheaper. It wouldn’t be no It’s a Wonderful Life ending revelation.

I am expendable. But, God had his chance. And, he threw me back.

I try to be good. I try to do right. I try…

The Rock

“John Mason: Are you sure you’re ready for this?

Stanley Goodspeed: I’ll do my best.

JM: Your ‘Best!’ Losers always whine about their best. Winner go home and fuck the prom queen.”

I don’t know what my “prom queen” equivalent is that I’m supposed to fuck.

But, this what I know. I give my life up to you God, Christ…”leadeth me on the path of righteousness for [Your] Namesake…

I am listening. I am open. I know things are things and no thing or house will fill the holes. I give my life up to you. I just hope I hear You when you talk to me. Make me hear you. Please. I want to hear you—not my desires—Yours. Please.

200 posts. That’s kinda like fucking the prom queen.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Family

Health

EC Home

Barbie

Cigarettes

Chilled coffee

Drawing

Hope

Angel

A Second Chance.

Hey, no Xanax today. Yet…9.14 p.m. ET. No Xanax