F is for Failure

So, I graduated this year. That’s great. Except, I was probably two/three years older than my classmates and…I’ve spent the last five years working on this degree. Five years and my grade wasn’t even that great. I was 3% away from achieving something decent, but it didn’t happen.

I took it as a sign. Read More »


Sometimes sharing isn’t caring

I recently went through a milestone of sorts and I didn’t put it on Facebook or anything so…the only people that knew were those that I told. And when I really thought about it, the number of people to potentially tell was low. There was no one. All of those friends who say they’re there for me – nowhere to be seen. I guess that I could just send a picture and tell them but…I don’t know that I want to.

I told one person and I asked how they were because I haven’t heard from them in months. They said they weren’t good. I said that I was there if they needed to vent. They said, oh yeah, I’ll definitely need you. To say that I regret asking is an understatement.  It’s not that I don’t want to be needed, just that I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to take time out of my day to console someone who doesn’t appreciate it. I’m tired of being the one that’s always there. I’m the person they come to when fucked up shit is happening. And maybe that’s what friendships are about. Sharing the bad stuff. Helping them through it. However, how can I be expected to care when I didn’t know the good stuff in the first place? I wasn’t considered worthy enough of sharing good news. I suppose I get it. It’s a selfish part of life. We want to keep the good. We have to share the bad. I’m kind of over it. I’m done consoling, done advising people when they just discard me afterwards like I’m a piece of rubbish.

I have two friends like this who dutifully do things like play me back on Words With Friends but they can’t pick up their phones and text me a simple hi. And for whatever reason, I go along with it. I don’t know. I feel like I’m being messed with but I know that would require some level of care on their parts and that clearly is not the case.

The major downside is that it makes me not want to talk to anyone. So the people that do reply end up getting nothing and I end up losing them too. It’s a vicious cycle with no end.

Such is life.

Tossed away like yesterday’s news

It feels like I only ever write on here to complain about other people, but hey, not like I post that much, right?

I stumbled across some old messages today from an old friend. It’s been four years since we last spoke and I am sure that we are two very different people now. I think in some ways the fact that we were somewhat close in age but that she was independent and living her own life made me a little resentful, although, I think that was a small part of it. I’ve learnt not to compare myself to other people. Mostly because I am kind of too old for that, but not too old to set myself on the right path. I have to believe that age is just a number that has no bearing on what I can do. So, I’m hanging in there, focusing on my own journey. Read More »

I don’t want to talk about it

I received an email the other day from a good friend of mine. It was about a topic we have discussed numerous times. Something we both liked and then began to dislike and eventually started to laugh at. Now often, I find myself doing things for other people. Like indulging them when it comes to things that I don’t particularly want to talk about. Online fandom is something that I strive to stay away from. I think it is reaching that point where the fan/celebrity relationship is essentially a full on disguised supplier/consumer relationship, except celebrities and public figures are selling some version of their lives and fans are buying into it. That’s their choice.

For me, I am glad that I got myself out of it. However, my friend is still very much kind of involved and sometimes I don’t mind. Other times the things she says are just…irrelevent to me. It’s like, ‘hey, this person still exists and these people are still stupid LOL’ and fine, we can laugh about it, but at some point, I need to move on entirely. Read More »

A world full of pretense

I never really know how my day is going to pan out.


Maybe I do.

There are two types of days that I have. Either it flies by – hours passing rapidly each time I look at a clock – or it drags. The days when it drags are the worse. I can sit there for what seems like hours, just thinking about life. Usually, I’m wondering if this is it. This is as good as it gets. Hope doesn’t exist for me. I’ve been sad for so long that a day of calm nothingness is something I welcome. Sadness never really goes away. The older I get, the harder it gets to pretend that I’m okay with being alone. On the other hand I don’t know how not to be alone. I have plain old anxiety, social anxiety – probably more but to me that’s normal. Being a wreck is normal. I’m tired of it. Every year I declare that this will be the year of change and every year I revert back to old habits. Shut myself away from the world. I’m scared of being burnt. So I stay away from the flickering flame that masquerades as life.

Some days, I want to live a little. See what’s out there. Show people that I’m not that quiet, weird girl.

Other days I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to join the charade or pretend that life is this amazing thing I’m missing out on. When you fade away into the background, you see things for what they are. Some might call me jaded.

Maybe I am.

But I don’t pretend. In a world full of pretenders, I’m one of the anomalies. It’s kind of fucked up because apparently that’s normal. Or society’s perception of normal. Pretending is normal.

I don’t want to squeeze myself into that box but yet, the weight of not fitting in is heavy. Tiring. It shouldn’t be this way but it is.

It’s okay to be different but only if you’re the right kind of different. All of the rules make no sense but people live by them. How they don’t find it overwhelming is a mystery to me.

Perhaps they’re pretending.

I wonder if that means that I’m tired of being real.

Assume that no one else matters

It’s kind of funny that the Daily Prompt is this: Key Takeaway

The key takeaway is that one must always write for themselves. Write content that you would read – not what you think people will read. Be yourself.

Some other points:

  • Broaden your horizons. A blog about everything will probably give you freedom when writing. One day you might post about a potato, and the next it might be Barney the Dinosaur.
  • Conversely, don’t narrow your subject. Creating a blog about one thing and one thing only can leave you in a tricky predicament of getting bored of it.
  • Accept that no one will read it. Well. I’m sure you’ll get some readers but the WordPress stats page can be a dangerous place. On my other blog I went through periods where I was getting hundreds of views a day and I was like, ‘YAY, PEOPLE ARE READING!!’ and now, with the updated stats, I see that people are reading posts about one thing and some posts that I put time and effort into are getting scarce views. Does it matter? Nope. It might feel bad, but hey….

Like I said, you’ve got to write for yourself 🙂


I am coming up to quite a busy time period, not that you’d know it given how much I seem to procrastinate. Anyway, so I have a blog that was initially about something. In the beginning, I got little response. I didn’t mind really, it was just a place to express myself. And then people found me and I got some attention. After a while, it went from me writing for myself to me writing for my ‘audience’. The trouble is that my audience are only interested in one thing and now I feel uncomfortable posting random silly things on it. And the original purpose of the blog has passed really. It served a purpose and I’ll always hold it in high regard.

However, I feel like a puppet master performing to an audience. So I’m moving here for the time being. I will probably go back to it but right now I need to just be able to spit out words without putting on an act and trying too hard to make it humorous. I need to be myself for once.