Spin Me I Pulsate.

Oh it's one of THOSE days....yesterday was spent sleeping, curled in a ball, yelling and sniping and generally being an asscrap.....cause BEING A GIRL ROCKS!

And in addition to feeling like utter shite, my hair is still falling out. Everywhere. There is a trail of me every place I've been. According to anything I've read, this should have only lasted a little while. I'm beginning to wonder how relative that term really is. And it's ALWAYS greasy now. So let's do a checklist....

• FLabby gut-check (2 kids in 2 years-NOT cool for the tummy)
• Greasy hair and skin-check-complexion RUINED
• wacked out hormones, meaning I end up crying to crap songs like that "Bad Day" song currently all over Much Music-CHECK. The wonky hormones have got to stop. It's ruining my rep as a total bitch.
• Poverty-CHECKCHECK-I have NO money. The kids have cooler clothes.
• Bad Mood-CHECKINFINITE-I SOOOOOOO have this one today.

Black. Arck. ARGH

Posted by thordora at 9:13 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

There's water left
to the right of you on my arm once
a token of affection now a trail of
destruction and a test.

A moment, a monument to a second of
bleached emotion between
lovers yet caught.

I hold your waterspout ready in hand
captured for posterity I
bring you closer my
only one

feel this. feel
this burning act upon heads of state heads
of meat heads of cabbage in
gardens left rotting feel this
mistake that I ever loved or
wanted something so weak and solvent

water left
right by my arm

all I have to remember.

(brand new! Just written!) oh blessed relief!

Posted by thordora at 9:03 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Ooooh, that fucker on the Honda is gonna get it......I swear, a little fishing line, a paintball gun (thanks for the idea Barry!) and me on the porch....I will get him. OR I will follow him, get his address, and start sending free samples of Rogaine, Viagra and Anusol....

(one would think the guys in marketing could have come up with something a wee bit better than that....but as usual, I digress)

In honor of the fucking bloodfart on the shit Honda, I want some ideas.....

What's your favorite method of revenge? Potatoes rubbed on the car? Sending the fat guy from accounting to hit on that stupid cunt in your department? Farting and walking away? Calls to Crimestoppers?

Posted by thordora at 11:28 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I can't resist any longer.
The more I think about the word, the funnier it is.
Hence-my ode to puffins!

• HOW DID PUFFINS GET THEIR NAME?
  Puffin originally meant "fatling." The name was used to describe the chubby chicks of the Manx Shearwater, with which puffin chicks were confused. In the last half of the 1800’s the puffin was given the scientific name of Fratercula arctica, which means "little brother of the north" in Latin. Little brother may also be interpreted as ‘little friar’ an allusion to the puffin’s black and white plumage which is reminiscent of a friar’s robes. A second connotation of little friar may be drawn from the puffin’s sometime habit of holding it’s feet together when taking off, suggestive of hands clasped together in prayer. Regardless of the scientific name, local names still abound. These include such colorful names as "clown of the ocean" and "sea parrot." People used to claim that a puffin was actually a cross between a bird and a fish because of its superb ability to swim underwater. This allowed some people to eat puffin meat on lent and Fridays to avoid the prohibition of meat by the Catholic Church on these days. GREAT! I can still have me some meat on Friday!
• HOW DO PUFFINS HELP PEOPLE? Puffins can serve as food for people. Locals of the Faroe Islands, Norway and Iceland have hunted puffins for centuries. The Lofoten people (Norway) use special puffin dogs to dig birds from burrows among narrow rocks. The Iceland and Faroe Island locals use a fleyg, which looks like a 4-meter long lacrosse pole, to catch puffins in flight. Hunters who do this require great skill and take pride in only taking puffins that are not bringing back food to their young. This reduces the take of breeders, if successful. Help me Help you Help me eat you.
• HOW DO PUFFINS FIND THEIR WAY HOME?
  Puffin chicks leave a colony when they fledge and head off to the ocean without their parents. They remain in the open ocean until they are 2-3 years old. Then they return to the vicinity of the colony where they hatched and may nest near the burrow where they hatched. Scientists are unsure how puffins find their way home and are still learning how birds migrate. The puffins may make a mental map of their birthplace and use this to return later. They may use stars, the earth’s magnetic field, sounds, smells and the visual cues of the ocean to help them make this map. While the ocean appears uniform to us, to seabirds it holds vast amounts of information we can’t sense. We still have much to learn from the migrations of seabirds. Sooooo...what we're REALLY saying is, we haven't the faintest fucking clue. They just find their way home, EVEN when we change the locks.

Ah, can you TELL I'm lazy today? I had 3 hours sleep. It's REALLY hard to fight when kids get you up at 7am....ah well.

Information stolen from Project Puffin. You can also adopt a Puffin! I'd like one for my birthday if anyone was wondering....hint nudge wink....

Posted by thordora at 8:41 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

In talking with other Mom's, I've noticed that there is a disturbing trend amoung kids of LOVING Thomas for no obvious reason. Isn't it rather odd?

To love trains that talk without moving their mouths, expel steam when angry, and as a psuedo mating ritual? According to the official web site, Thomas is "a cheeky little Tank Engine" who lives on "Sodor". And what does everyone think of the minute they see that word? SODOMY, that's what.

The web site also says that "the ultimate steam engine praise is to be really useful!"

Not sure if I want my kids to grow up wanting to be "really really useful". It's obvious some creepy ploy by the Brits to make kids want to be mindless drones under the direction of really fat men in bad hats.

Sir Topham Hatt: Destroyer of Worlds and little children

Bastards....

Posted by thordora at 10:00 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So sue me. I AM human. I DO forget that we have run out of stuff, since I'm not the only one who eats anything. It WASN'T empty last time I had checked. WHY does the topic then require a 15 minute argument on messenger?

Yeah, I didn't have a list. But remember, I had a list when I forgot the formula. But I guess on top of everything else, I need to remember every single bloody piece of crap that we need. It's not bad enough that I go after working all week. It's not bad enough that I have to try and stay focused on the task at hand. Nope, I forget one "staple" and I'm completely useless.

I mean, you're right, who on earth forgets butter?!? I remembered every other single retarded thing you wanted didn't I? Except for the things they didn't have, or I wasn't paying for?

So how about YOU go get the groceries. Go on-just TRY and remember everything we need for two weeks, and I mean REAL food, not just crap. Really, I DARE you. You've never had to do it, so how in HELL would you know what it's like?

You only JUST noticed that gee, it really DOES cost that much. That I'm not pulling the bill out of my ass and buying crack. Do you think I WANT to spend 300$ every two weeks? HA! I could find MUCH better things to do.

I don't ask much of you. When you're home during the week, I don't bitch about how the only things you EVER do is the dishes and sweep the floor, while I go nutty on the weekend. I try to not bug you when you sit there, oblivious to our child playing with a knife. I try not to complain when I get hell for spending a little bit of money in a silly way, while you hide the MC bill with a 80.00 purchase on comics bi-weekly. Especially when I've spent my money on clothes for the kids.

Really. I'm the horrible one all the time. I know I have faults, but kettle, meet pot.

Yeah, the ADD sucks. But you know what sucks more? When your partner is an ASSCRAP about things.

Boy, can't wait to go home now.

Posted by thordora at 6:00 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Which is ok, since that meant Vivian went to bed early, and the Dorf had to take the bus, which leaves me BLESSEDLY ALONE. No noise, no nothing. Just ME ME ME ME ME.

What am I doing? Eating cookies of course!
And drinking Coke from my monkey glass!

I have a wee bit of a Coke problem. Always have. Which means I will always have a fat ass.

Also been playing with the camera, now that we have a new hard drive. This is me, after photoshop... (can't ruin everything and post a CLEAR picture...)
Plus, filters hide a multitude of child induced double chins...

I'm thinking about another job. I was on monster last night, and found a posting that is basically my job at another company (well, except this one has a description and a title.) I'm thinking of applying, but

1. I've worked for the company before.
2. I do believe that I would rather have sex with every horse in Texas before writing my resume. I FUCKING HATE writing my resume.
3. It likely won't pay as much, or offer flexibility.
4. There is a possibility that the place will NOT contain cuntrags or puffincunts (had too!!) like my current workplace does.

It's not like where I work is so bloody terrible. I just get sick of having to manipulate and bullshit my way around, trying to find little secret, sneaky ways to tell the higher ups that puffincunt (as he henceforth shall be named) is NOT DOING ANYTHING BUT LOOKING AT EBAY ALL DAY. I've been there awhile, and it's still just a paycheck. Anytime I get passionate about my job, they fuck it up and ruin it.

So I'm torn, and also lazy......

which reminds me, I left a suit at the dry cleaners. Shit.

Posted by thordora at 8:52 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So I'm a little nutty about certain things, one of which is the name my children will carry as a family name.

I have two cool little girls. When my mother died, I made a kind of pact with myself that if I ever had children, my firstborn would be named in someway after my mother, and my kids would have my last name. One of Vivian's middle names is Dianne, after my mother, and both she and Rosalyn have my last name.

Why? Because MY body created them, MY body delivered them. I have never believed in patrilineal lines of descent, which are only in place because it made it easier to control women, livestock and property. I don see ANY logical reason for my daughters to carry their father's name.

I offered the dreaded hyphen option to him, and he declined, thankfully. Let's just say there is a VERY good reason I did not take the Dorf's last name. But I extended the offer, and also made sure he had no issues with the girls having my last name. (Of course, even if he had, it's doubtful I would have cared, in truth)

My father understood, and since it's his last name, seemed pleased. The Dorf's parents on the other hand....I knew they'd be bothered, they're just that way. And there's a little bit of "we want to be the boss" involved too...And I can understand being a little bit miffed.

But to have my mother-in-law as the Dorf, not me, the following question....

They're in the car when they originally visited when Vivian was born, and then found out she did NOT have their name. So the Dorf is trying to explain it, when she asks...

"But how will people know she's yours?"

Am I the ONLY one finding that question just a wee bit, oh, I don't know, MORONIC? No one EVER asks that of the mother if the child takes the father's name. They just ASSUME, in the same manner that everyone addresses the Dorf as "Mr. Thorn" instead of his name. He told her that people will know because he's her FATHER, and his name in on the birth record.

I don't get it? They're girls, so if they marry, and decide to take their partner's name, they won't "carry" the name on anyway. And why to people always assume that the mother will just give up her name, merely based on "cause that's the way it's always been?"

My kids have my name because they are physically part of me, and lived INSIDE me. And before anyone points it out, I am well aware that without his sperm, they would not be here. But that's the sum total contribution to creating the child that a man provides. Children deserve their mother's name.

I hope that this becomes more accepted soon. I'd like to believe that people will soon stop doing things "just because."

Of course, I'd also like people to stop being jerkoffs so.....

Posted by thordora at 9:14 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

In an effort to be as equally dorky as everyone else, and to convince myself that I'm not the only geek who has sat reading the dictionary, even when it wasn't the only thing in the bathroom...I thought I'd do a little poll thingy majiggy for Friday mornings......

I have favorite words, stuff like "onomatopoeia" "Oxymoron" "Ubiquitous" "Anaphylactic"

I like these because somehow, they look terribly terribly wrong, and yet they aren't. They're like those weird ass bugs you're scared of, until you learn that not only are they harmless, they eat all the earwigs and june bugs that Karen hates! :P

Anyone else have favorite words? Tell me why too!

Posted by thordora at 10:40 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Let it first be said that the ONLY thing in the world that makes me scream like a little girl, gibber in terror and run away is any kind of bee/wasp/hornet type creature. No reason, I'm just petrified of them.

That said, this was one afternoon in my house.

You were hiding in the window your
fuzzy, malevolent little body shaking a
crazy vacuum free from socket flowers
filling my blank skull with DANGER DANGER as
I run through the house, out the door, to
the road muttering, shaking
cursing as I
stub my favorite toe.

My weapon, 8.99 chemical warfare in
clumsy oaf hands, the cat sat twitching, tail set
to KILL. You
screaming anger from where you sat held
hostage, beating my will little by little,
I WILL NOT ANTHROMORPHIZE A BEE

I had no wish to conquer you or
end your tiny existance with my certain shameless
bottled death gas.
This fear endangers me, coerces me into
unthinkable acts, murder, chastity.

I could taste the pain as you
writhed in the stark liquid, such a
terrible way to die as I watched
cowering in the corner. My
chest compressed then like
a crushed balloon from such
stupid sorrow.

Yoiur silent anxiour goodbyes to
long lost comrades fills my watery weak doe eyes
your tiny delicate web wings shudder
one tiny last time.

Yet I am Goliath...
-----------------------------

Piss poor, but I've wanted to work on this one for awhile, and I can't find the other two I wanted to post.

Oh, and to top it off, I just noticed there is a wasp's nest near the pool. GREAT. Any suggestions on how to kill the fuckers?

Posted by thordora at 9:49 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Apparently the University of Alabama is providing a camp for kids with ADHD.

"The University of Alabama's highly detailed program addresses those impairments by guiding the 24 enrolled children through a strict schedule of sports, academics and art classes. Before and after each session, staff members lead the children in a discussion about rules for the games and classroom and camp life.
Children receive points for correct answers and maintaining eye contact, among other behaviors. Those points earn the children rewards, such as permission to participate in weekly field trips."

Not quite sure how I feel about this. 2800.00 USD. Yeah, medication alone won't fix this. But one of the COOL things about ADHD/ADD is that kids tend to be creative and spontaneous, something that a "strict schedule of sports, academics and art classes" will hinder, possibly destroy.

When I was a kid, "strict" schedules were the things that drove me insane. I need down time to regroup, and figure things out. I like to sit and think, dawdle, because it helps me learn. What are we teaching with something like this? Don't just take time?

Ever notice how a LOT of people have trouble being alone, occupying their time without the stimulus of others? I don't have that problem. I can work, or play by myself. So do we really want to raise a group of kids to go AGAINST their brains and be like everyone else? Why not work with the problems? Like I've noticed I get cranky when I don't have some me time, so we're working towards more of that, and it helps. Ignoring the fact that I need it by filling my days with activity, that would NOT be cool.

It just bothers me, because anymore, it seems society spends it's time turning kids into the same creatures, just because some are a little harder to handle than others. While I do believe that ADD/ADHD is a disorder of the brain, and sometimes you need a little help, I also believe that those of us with the disorder should be left to be ourselves.

Not everyone wants to be "fixed" anyway...

Posted by thordora at 9:20 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

With the ADD comes this real need to control everything. All items in my life are either rigidly controlled, or left to their own devices. It's been like this for as long as I can remember.

Now, I also like very rough..."relations". I'm talking actual hitting, biting, bruising, etc, etc. Not something I really talk about with people, because frankly, I'm rather embarrassed about it. I was in the middle of a screaming match with my husband, thinking about how I actually want him to lay me out and "have his way" so to speak.

As someone who identifies as a feminist, it's a little offputting. And most people don't get the dom/sub thing to begin with. And, as a girl, it just ends up making me feel really conflicted.

But then I began thinking. When I was a kid, I used to have dreams/fantasies/whatever about assembly lines, about rigid structures. Now, I like having a context in which I make NO decisions, have no say, am forced to "perform" so to speak. It's weird, but it's a total release from my daily life. I can relax in this context somehow, and physical pain actually magnifies the effect. After a "session" my head clears, and I'm better.

Which makes me wonder, is this functioning as electro shock for my brain?

It's weird, and makes me more than a little confused about the whole thing, which is why I'm writing about it. But it also makes sense with the ADD, in terms of relenquishing control to someone else. I can only "let go" in a context of having no other choice.

So I'm torn-either this is VERY cheap and effective therapy, or I have very LARGE issues.

What say any one? Am I a TOTAL freak with this one?

At the end of the day it doesn't really bug me. We all like what we like, and as I become older and more confident, I become less and less vanilla. But this one is throwing me for a loop...

Posted by thordora at 1:51 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Where in the hell is Herge today?

Posted by thordora at 5:13 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I might be busy tomorrow, so I'll get all my posts in tonight!

your feet pad down our
tiny nothallway and
I find myself (crushed)
held still womblike vainly
blocking out the sound of flesh caressing that
which is not my body.

Such dreams that flesh can hold capped as
bottled air invisible we
fly through our moments crashing as
echoes held
fast and silent by years.

Comes the sound of water, flick of a hand against
a wall, seal flapping feet on
cool clay tile. I
bend rigid against the bed, silent
register for returns, awaiting
chill hand against warm back
the slide of cotton turned to satin.

The seconds of
these darkened mornings seal themselves
fossils in rock, tempered
burnt into my body.

(this one above is weak. I'll have to revise and repost....)

the following was written after 9/11. I couldn't get the pregnant widows out of my head)

The dust of daily life settles, flutter, to a dull
roar on our cleaner streets
a stretch to envision pieces of
those we have loved strewn across them
wreckage of life made
refuse, compost, and
tidied away.

We see who we are now.
Enmasse we stare into the sun the
worried roars of flight tearing our
sight from our hands.
We are halved, drawn and quartered gutted to
move away on shadows of our past lives. Distances
become smaller.
The sky is not yet so vast.

All will laugh. All will cry. Prayers float towards that
same fearful sky as doves from their cages flee, only to
settle in the
crippled limbs of a dying elm.
The streets will be littered
with the carnage of our terror.

Their eyes will never seem so young.

(WANKWANKWANK)

Time for bed. And thanks for reading. I'm really digging the little community I've stumbled into.

Posted by thordora at 10:03 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

TO amuse me tomorrow, I want to hear what irritating things YOUR coworkers do. If you don't work outside the home, irritating things people do in Walmart, Tesco or Target will suffice. I just want to make sure it's not me.

OK....

1. The building I work in has two sets of double doors. What in FUCK possesses people to sit there getting MAD waiting for everyone to enter/exit in set A, while set B languishes alone and unwanted. And no matter how often I mutter "there are TWO set of doors DUMBASS, they STILL do it.
2. Seat Tinkles. The other day, I went to flush when I noticed two shy drops of piddle on the part near the handle, where NO pee should ever venture. Girls, I know that the EVIL toilet seat scares you, but if you need to hover THAT much, just fucking hold it. And what in hell will you catch from my ass anyway? Dry skin? WHich reminds me
3. Hovering, non-wiping, or the bastard child NON-FLUSHING. WHY does anyone hover? A toilet seat is a clean thing. Unless you have a gaping wound on your ass, and I've just smeared crap on the seat, YOU WON"T CATCH ANYTHING. If you DO have a gaping wound on your ass-GO THE HELL HOME. If you drip-CLEAN IT UP. And HOW hard is it to flush? Use your foot, I don't care. But come ON! If you take a crap, OR have your period, FLUSH THE FUCKING THING. Do i go to your desk, take a shit and leave it on the keyboard? NO, I DON'T. ICk, what IS that about some people?!?!
4. Stopping to "chat". The "I have nothing to do, so I'll come bother you" routine. I HAVE work to do, and no, I don't want to show you pictures, talk about my new desk, hear about the fucking picnic, ad nauseaum. FUCK OFF! I don't see even an inch of givesashit in my eyes.
5. LOUD conversations. I get the fact that you have nothing to do. Roll that up tight and choke on it.

And my PERSONAL favorite: INTERRUPTING ME. Hey, I know I've told almost everyone I know that I have ADD, and that it's SUPER hard to concentrate, but hey! PLEASE interupt me for nothing, or throw shit at me or find some other way to throw off the train of thought I fought all morning to get.I mean, I don't sit there listening to Lamb of God REALLY loud on headphones with my back to you immersed in a spreadsheet just cause. It's because I'm WORKING, and for once able to get something done. Why in HELL does everyone need to disturb that? Is there something wrong with me getting something done? Cause I take all that Ritalin for no reason. It's hard enough to get anything done without people being sheer twats and not stopping to think that perhaps I'm busy or in themiddle of figuring something else. And yeah, just because I'm sitting there thinking, it doesn't mean I'm doing nothing. It means I"M FUCKING THINKING.

I wish they'd just stick me on the roof or something, so everyone would leave me the fuck alone.

So tell me guys, what annoying things do people do to you?

Posted by thordora at 9:19 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Since I keep forgetting the newer stuff at home, here's one from 2001. Written as a wedding present for someone I once worked with. (Not sure why-I didn't like her. I must have liked the love in their eyes or something)

These are the moments to hold.
The soft spaces between breath, the
sun that breaks upon your back
as you watch children smiling so
softly at nothing in your
lazy backyard.

Hold fast the quiet when they’ve
gone sound to slumber, tucked
strong against
terrors that chase them through the
dark. Hold fast to the silent moments as
you catch sly wrinkles in
your lover’s eye.

Hold fast the time, the days that
slip past you unknowing, days that drip
like honey from your fingers. Stare long enough and you can see them
grow, past your shoulders, past
soldiers, past forgiveness.

Hold fast their passions and
loves, their tempers and blue moods.
They last so precious little time.

These are the moments to grasp roughly to your breast.
The silence of a bedroom broken only by
heartbeats. The desperate clutch of a hand after
death has walked
oh so near.

Hold fast to the time that you have.
Love, like water, flows freely through your bodies.
Time, silent villain
will make it move all too swiftly.

Posted by thordora at 8:39 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Recent conversation between myself and the Dorf:

Me: You know, dishes are only considered clean when there is no longer FOOD on them.
Dorf: They're clean. They look clean to me.
M: ARE YOU BLIND?!?! I put a spoon back THREE TIMES with a large amount of something white stuck to it, and it STILL came back dirty. You actually need to LOOK at the dishes.
D: What's your problem anyway? It's just our own dirt.
M: Ummmm EWEWEWEWEW! Just LOOK when you wash things would ya? And TRY to remember that you need to wash the OUTSIDE of dishes as well, since the outside sits in the inside of the others.......
D: Whatever.

What in the HELL is wrong with men when it comes to the dishes? My Father is the EXACT same way-his idea of washing the cutlery is to swirl them around in the water. It's even worse now that his eyes are worse. He likes doing the dishes, and doesn't listen when I tell him things aren't clean. It's rather gross. This grosses me the fuck out. If I'm drinking Kool-Aid, I DO NOT want to see the milk ring at the bottom of the glass. How can you NOT see that these things are still dirty?!?!

ARGHARGHARGHARGHARGH!

And if you think I'M doing the dishes....HA! I HATE the dishes, and besides, I wash the underwear. You MIGHT want to be nicer to the person who washes your gitch....

The great and mighty beaver is displeased.

Posted by thordora at 8:29 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I recently noticed that I LOVE beavers. They are very very cool! And since Herge RUINED Koala's for everyone....I just wanted to state for the record that Beavers are NOT crap animals.

A few beaverlicious facts!

Apparently there is a National Beaver Day.
A small, tasty, sugar-coated pastry is called a Beaver Tail (sometimes spelled Beavertail, in one word). It can be found mostly in the Ottawa area. (YUMYUM)

Very compact and rotund, a beaver walking on land appears to have no neck at all; the round profile of its head merges into the round profile of its back. Because its legs are short, it is ungainly and slow on land. When frightened, it can travel quickly in an awkward, bounding gallop, but over a distance of a hundred or so metres a person can run a beaver down. (that was a very polite way of saying fat cannon fodder)
It's the biggest rodent I know.

BABY BEAVERS ARE CUTE!

FYI: Doing any searches at work including the word "beaver" without being VERY VERY VERY careful is not cool....let's just say...EW.

And there you have it-THE MIGHTY BEAVER! in all it's GLORY!

Posted by thordora at 12:26 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I love that show. The latest episode really got me, as usual. I cry at least once with that show.It just always seems to hit a nerve somehow.

Last nights episode, showing Ruth's sister dealing with possibly having a hand in her friend's death, really brought home some issues for me. Being able to, on one hand, believe that everything happens for a reason, and on the other, feel like the antichrist because it might have been your fault, I could relate to. I always feel like I'm teetering on this edge, waiting for something to push me to one side or the other.

And Claire getting an office job, and her Aunt telling her that maybe she ISN'T an artist....I can relate to that more than I want to. I buffer my coworkers with the most obnoxious death metal I can find somedays, and yet they STILL come near me with ecards full of dancing puppies. And I look back and wonder where the girl went who wanted to be the lonely poet with kitties, traveling the world alone, forever and wonderfully alone. There's such a narrow threshold between "when I grow up" and "shit, I'm a grown up". The snotty art student thing being disillusioned-don't we all do that? It was sad because that window is so brief, that you don't even notice it until it's 5 years later and you're pregnant and wondering if you can still be weird and arty. I found this episode dealt with a few of my personal issues lately. And the image of all these stoned ladies, some of whom look like I hope/want to look when I'm older, singing "calling all angels"-that was just too much for my already battered empathy heart.

I'm so tired of crying, and of everything hurting so bad that I could pinch my heart out my nose. All I could think about while they sang that was the guy in LA who used his 17 month old daughter as a human shield. She died because the police had to shoot. Your own flesh.

What a dirty, repugnant little world we own.

And on that note, my darling light, my slug loving daughter Vivian, on our "walkie" a few weeks ago, in the field of lupins I'm lucky to have behind my house...(I think we saw slugs having sex. It is NOT nice. And what is UP with all the slugs anyway?!?!)

Posted by thordora at 1:31 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

When. What a brain fricken dead day.

Awhile ago, I was asked what life, normal life, with ADD is like. Today is one of the worse versions of a day, where I just seem to float regardless of how much Ritalin I intake. I can't motivate to save my life, and I can't get crap done. It sucks.

Most days are rather interesting. I think I have an interesting viewpoint, and I'm fairly creative. I take time to notice the bucket of roses at the flower shop next to work everyday. (I could sit with my face in that bucket all day long.) Other days, I feel like a moron who has nothing to contribute to the world, and that I fuck up everything that I touch.

This is normal apparently, the "I'm an idiot" self talk. It's really hard to defeat as well. I'm trying lately, to tell myself that perhaps I am a good mother, a good person.

I have trouble keeping my mouth shut. I keep talking when I think I should shut up. I can't help it. I think I'm funnier than I am.

I'm rambling because I'm paying half attention to this call, despite it NOT applying to me.

It was worse before I was diagnosed. I just thought that perhaps I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. It's a terrible thing to know you aren't a blithering moron, but unable to prove it. It's hard trying to get through school like that.

Oh....I'm so not into an entry right now.....

Posted by thordora at 5:31 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I'm hoping to get to some posts today (no poetry though Herge-it's all at home) but I'm SWAMPED.

I do want to thank everyone for their comments lately. It's been very cool.

And I have a question to occupy your imaginations...is a bite mark considered a hickey, or a bruise? When is a hickey NOT a hickey?

God I hate hickeys...I even hate the word.

Wish me luck. I HATE Mondays.

Posted by thordora at 1:00 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

since he asked so nicely. THis one is about 10 years old (holy FUCK-it's been THAT long since High school-crap) but I've never edited it, or really shared it with anyone that I remember...so it might suck, but I'm to lazy to edit anything recent right now....I'm tired.

Bio[logical] Baby

I see eyes over cold
coffee and eggs and see
myself mirrored,
doppleganger for the first time.

You who bore me a
quick birth you said, you who
struggled, waited, watched
loved me before all others.

Your eyes lash out to mine and I see
you staring as I often do.
Same nonchalance.
Same lack of training.

And I do want the
open arms you hold. I
want the space you create for me except

it cannot be spoken. I'd
swallow your love but
fences well built are not so
easily broken.

I fear I can never pull them down.

I have precious nothing save these
eyes of yours these
arms of yours this
castoff love of yours.

I feel bad hearing your
childish visions, so tattered and worn at
the edges. Are you really as
content defeated as you seem?

And I see sister, forgetful. May I
sacrifice myself on the
altar of her future spare
the heartbreak lying in wait?

Men, women, whispers will
tarnish the crystalinne goodness that
sleeps in wait deep inside.

My eyes drop back to
coffee. Tears shed fall
unseen.

These eyes we share will be
shadowed and shattered
to quickly to bear.

Posted by thordora at 9:14 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Hi! I couldn't help but notice you gun the engine as I attempted to cross at the walk signal, and really noticed when you drove your car RIGHT up against my ass. I so TOTALLY enjoyed that! I mean, it being my right-of-way and all, like that matters since apparently, you can get your license here without adhering to ANY laws pertaining to pedestrians. That is SO RAD! I LOVE having to give people the finger everytime I walk somewhere.

And have I mentioned just how thoroughly I enjoy the sound of your Hog going 30kms over the speed limit down my quiet residential street at 3am? I mean really, I do adore that constipated rhino sound your bike makes.

And oh, Mr. City Worker in a City vehicle? Next time you try to drive THROUGH me at a crosswalk, ou MIGHT want to remove the "city of armpit" sign from the door. Just a thought.

Someday I will purchase firearms. And it will be De- Lovely!
Signed,
Thordora

Posted by thordora at 9:04 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I've been watching the news. I hope anyone from London who reads me is ok, family and friends included. I remember being freaked out at 9/11 in Toronto, so I can imagine to some degree, the fear in the air...

and hold your pants Herge. More poetry once the day isn't so depressing...

Posted by thordora at 8:39 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So of you may remember the LOVELY anonymous comment I received on my "ADD day" post...for those who don't, here it is in all it's glory...

"you pretty whine about everything and anything... you're the twat of the earth"

I had meant to write about this a few days back, but as usual I forgot, got distracted, and then had some actual work to do. So, here we are.

Now, I could block anonymous comments, but I LIKE leaving the option there for people, especially in light of the contents of some posts. I think people should be given the option to NOT say who they are. I also thought I could delete the comment, but why bother? It amuses me to leave it there.

But I wonder about the motivation of leaving these comments. Because you know damn well that this person has most likely returned to see how mad I got. I stumble across a LOT of blogs that I have "bad" thoughts about, but I was always taught that if you can't say something nice, then shut the fuck up. What's the point of leaving something nasty, with no way for a person to truly rebut it? Why be so foul for no apparent reason, other than patting yourself on the back?

So I was thinking-I'd like to see everyone else's nasty anonymous posts. I think it would be amusing to compile them together like a word collage. So please, submit your posts so I can make them better. And I'm interested to see what other people get once in awhile.

I've got WAY too much work to do, so I should cut this short. I really hate it when work interferes with my posts....sigh

Posted by thordora at 11:34 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Just for Herge....the only recent thing I can locate....I wrote this awhile back after they found Cecilia's body.....Karen knows what I mean, and I can't remember her last name, although I can see her face clearly in my eyes right now...it's still in progress as I've never come to grips with any kind of finality that SHOULD accompany the word "EDIT"...


Silent questing eyes shut closed by
some type of
unknowing
we cannot bear to hold.
Seconds removed from minutes, days which
danced away from us, the time we
didn't recognize as that we'd regret.

Your years were lived in those eyes, wise
old soul clothed in child, pending, waiting
remembering.

I know you without knowing.
I see my
children running through you,
around you imps on
air as
you sift through lives and
secrets, lies that
will never
bring you closer.

Words become lessened with speechless hurts.

You teach us well. We will watch your eyes, in sleep

Posted by thordora at 1:40 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Ah, I love the bus. I take it on Monday's since I work a late day (11-7) and my car pool doesn't on Mondays. Now, taking any city bus in any city is usually amusing, and today, here in ye old armpit, it was no different. Observed:

• Slightly....off lady spends 15 minutes figuring out when the bus will return at her stop, despite the bus scheduale she holds in her hands. Drives myself and bus driver nuts. Evidence of small drool line at mouth.
• Man sits blocking small main street downtown, wanting to turn left, in spite of the LARGE NO LEFT TURN sign. Driver nicely reminds him he can't turn left. "Why?" he asks. (please note that VAST effort the driver expended in NOT saying "How the FUCK should I know dumbass?") Driver nicely points out sign. He turns left anyway, after he has held up traffic for 5 minutes.
• Lady waiting for bus with a trucker hat, orange day glo tank top, fanny pack, spandex shorts and sandals with WHITE SOCKS. The fashion crimes this woman committed are too numerous to get into. It was just WRONG. (of course, not QUITE as wrong as the lovely piece of man-meat I saw the other day-kickboxing pants and half gloves as he walked down the street with the "I think I rock" strut. The mullet topped it all off...)

Just another icky day in the armpit.

If this is a lame post-blame the PC at home. I tried to post THREE SEPARATE times at home on the weekend, and EACH time it cacked and I lost the post. I even tried to post some poetry for Herge....I'll try that again later. since I'm craving another mean anonymous post.....

Posted by thordora at 11:16 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken: