Posts Tagged ‘motivation’

Capitalizing on bowel movements

Alright, where’d you go? I did it, I made a blog with these here letters, and I was waiting for you to give me permission to use your parts, but it’s too late, it’s been posted for all (29) to see and now there’s little you can do about it (except have me delete it).

No shame required as insisted upon. I find it charming that you said me writing about my mucus was charming. I find it a mystery as to why that charms some people/boys and why girls know that and thusly capitalize on that knowledge by talking about their bowel movements, B.O., periods, feminine itching, etc. Weird. But better than feeling compelled to pretend none of it exists, for sure.

I very much enjoy reading your writing, especially when it’s addressed to me, of course. No surprise there, and all women probably feel that way.
I’ve reached the point with my boyfriend that if I wrote him a love letter he’d wonder why. I’d be worried he would think I’m trying to get something out of him, like a proposal or something, which I’m not. We’re pretty happy with each other 98% of the time, and he wrote me a great love letter once, right after we started dating, and I tried to write him one back, but it was so retarded I finally gave up. And by now, it would just be strange. Sad? He would appreciate a retarded poem, I’m sure, but it would still have to be inspired by a special occasion, I think.

I just pooped, I mean popped, one half of one of his blue pills (the kind yungins take, not old dudes). Now my heart feels a little bigger than it did five minutes ago. I gave my dog CPR when he died. He came back to life, but then blood started coming out of his mouth, and he was gasping every twenty seconds, and I hated myself for it. He died an ugly death from an enlarged heart. Common to poodles, I guess. God, that dog was so amazing. I would clone him again in a second, if it was free or pretty cheap, and if it meant he would live a full life (instead of a half one which apparently is the life expectancy of clones, or at least that was the case several years ago…). My stomach feels funny. Skeeter had a bit of an eating disorder, though. He was a binge-er, and would find food and eat ’til he almost popped. You couldn’t handle him because his skin would feel so tight over his belly you’d be afraid he would burst. I’m pretty sure he learned it from my dad. He also picked up this neurotic thing where he would pull the fur out of his paws and his sides with his teeth. Pretty sure that came from being around my dad, too. He has plenty of his own self-defeating neuroses.

I have to pee. Is that charming? Okay, later.

Lame as male

“Hey now, I didn’t blow any smoke, damn it! I held back. I didn’t want to creep you out with detailed high praise.

This response is lame. I’m sorry in advance. I just spelled lame as “male” and this is the first time I realized that could happen.

Don’t knock being 30. You’re still wee, and supple. Yum. I’ll stop myself here. I’ll be 30 this year. I like 30. Moreover, I like girls in their 30’s more than 20-somethings, and I’m awesome for this and anyone who disagrees is less awesome than I.

YES. Write about your mucus. I find that subject very charming coming from you.

I haven’t been writing about myself, but I like stories more anyway, so I’m not having a problem with that. I cram a buttload of subtext into my tales and if it’s possible for anyone to decipher them you’d see how incredibly personal they are. It’s fun to do if you let 3rd person characters think and act out your thoughts.

To be quite honest, if you desire to post something for the intardwebs, your two messages here are extraordinarily well written and relatable and I’d just post that or a variation of that if I were you. You’ll get way more helpful responses than I could think of. I’m just there with you, and I’m stupid, and all I can think of is “I KNOW, HUH!”

I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. I wish I could be and I wish I could do better to make you feel better. This is one of those things that I’ll think of much better responses to after some time passes, probably when it’s too late. I can be very slow when it comes to these subjects because it hits home. Reading your message is like reading a clarified version of the thoughts I have on a daily basis. Which either means I think like a girl or you think like a boy. Both things satisfy me. But more likely it has nothing to do with our dangly parts.

Oh, oh, oh. Oh. Oh. Me not working. The easy answer is fear. I’m afraid of everything and it’s really difficult even just to get myself out of the house to buy food. An ex once told me that I’m afraid of living and she was right, but I still want to kick her a little (for other reasons). I’m still in a shame spiral from losing my job. I liked that job. I didn’t do anything wrong but I feel like I could have done better in the time I spent there and got myself a more secure position so I could have moved to the bay area with the new company that took over. I got myself a few interviews after and moved in with my cousin for like a week, but he disgusted me and the thought of no rent and being with my dogs was too tempting, so I moved to my dad’s in _____. Temporarily. It’s been over two years of “I’ll start really looking again next week.”

I can respond to your message better than this. I am ashamed of this. I can do better. This is just for now.”

What I needed to read.

“You are writing to a friend,” she said. “Write privately, not publicly, without fear or timidity, right to the end of the letter, as if it was never going to be published… Don’t rehearse too much, the story will develop as you go along… Remember not to think of the reading public. It will put you off.” -Muriel Sparks