Throw it to the squirrels

I don’t like my blog lately. I don’t have anything interesting to write, and yet feel compelled to keep writing.

I’m sitting here on my swivel chair and blanking. I feel frozen. I think I want to start smoking pot on a more regular basis. Is this bad? I know it is, you don’t have to tell me that. But it’s calling for me and I don’t know why.

I believe that you shouldn’t be ashamed of the different cycles you go through in life. As long as you’re progressing towards something better and not hurting anyone, than you should continue doing what you’re doing. Like smoking cigarettes. I once knew a girl – an awesome, smart, pretty girl who worked in the nursery at a hospital.

Awesome girl – “I’m a nurse, and I know smoking is bad for me, but for this specific time in my life I feel that it’s okay. I’m not always going to want a cigarette. I’m going to give it up eventually, but for now I’m enjoying them. I think there is a time for everything and this isn’t my time.”

I don’t think she knew exactly how much her words affected me. They rang true in my ears. Allow yourself the pleasures while you still want them – you won’t always want them. But for now they make you happy.

But you have to be progressing…

My mom is a believer in feeding the birds outside our house.

Me – “This bread is stale.”

Mom – “Throw it to the birds.”

I grew up with our backyard littered with discarded bread. But then it progressed to pizza crusts.

Me – “Do you want my crust? I don’t want it.”

Mom- “No, just feed it to the birds.”

Me – “Okay.”

So then there were pizza crusts along with the bread in our backyard.

Then it progressed to apple cores.  More pizza crust, more bread.

Me – “Hey mom this lettuce looks brown.”

Mom – “Throw it to the squirrels.”

I once came home, went into the backyard and seen bread, lettuce, crusts, carrot tops, and an actual pizza box. A box! All laying peacefully on the grass. Undisturbed by rodents.

She complains about raccoons that rip open our garbage bags.

Mom – “Those damn raccoons! You need to put the garbage in the can and close it!”

Dad – “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it tomorrow.”

My mom starts crying, “No! Do it now or they’ll get in the garbage!”

My Pop’s was inebriated and couldn’t move without stumbling all over the place. He never gets like this, but one of his friends took him out for a fun night.

Me – “I’ll do it, let me do it.”

Mom – “No, I’ll just hide it under the grill.”

She always puts bags of garbage inside the grill. We eat off that!

There’s also a place in our yard chock full of shells. Varying types of discarded mollusks – clams, mussels, oysters you name it. They are thrown on a little hill on the side of our house – easy chucking distance from the back porch. 40 years worth of old shells are kept there on that hill behind the rose bushes. About 30 square yards in all.

My mother hates waisting food. Anytime food starts looking questionable, she asks me to eat it.

Mom – “Why don’t you finish up the rest of that turkey breast for lunch today?”

Me – “Okay, is it still good?”

Mom – “Eh, probably.”

Me – “Probably?”

She said it just like that, “Eh probably,” with a shrug of her shoulders.

This progression is heading in the wrong direction. She would rather throw food to the “animals” in our backyard rather than in the garbage can, but then gets upset when the raccoons are in town.

My job is boring. I get more enjoyment by writing than I do massaging. If my next client were to walk in right now (which is very likely), I’ll get upset.

My job is lacking the very basic fundamentals that make me feel whole:

Creating something



I have a very childlike, playful way about me. When I was a kid, if what I was doing didn’t involve games, art or English class, I pined for recess. I pouted and daydreamed until they let me out. I never grew up.

I need these three things. Without them, I want to drink and hang out with idiots. And that’s just it! That’s what my problem is!

But I have to remember why I’m doing this. Why I’m here massaging people. This is the first step toward something greater – a progression. And it is honestly better (for me personally it’s better) than answering phones, being bossed around, undermined by authority in any way, changing bed pans (god love nurses), and dealing with brats all day. I wouldn’t be able to deal with anything other than administering a relaxing massage and making people happy. Trust me, I tried other things and everything else sucks (for me at least).

My childlike curiosity wants to try pot regularly for a week, or two weeks – as much as I’m ready to experiment with. And then delve into the depths of self-expression, peeling away my many masks and layers. Bah, I don’t wear masks. Layers, yes, masks, no.

It won’t be taken forever. I’ll take it before bed, so no one will know. It enhances my psychic ability by a LOT, and so I can’t be around others because I end up absorbing all their shit. It confuses me and causes my head to spin. When I’m high, people tell me a story and I already heard it. At least I think I already heard it. I can listen to their minds going – feel what they feel.

When I was sitting beside Joel listening to him talk, every bit of what he was saying sounded like it was coming from my own heart. It was unbelievable and left me speechless. I can’t be around others when I smoke pot. It’s too much for me. When people describe movie’s, I can literally visualize what they’re visualizing.

My last client of the day just left. It’s now 4:00 and I want to go home and sleep. But I can’t go home. I have to buy a freaking desk. No, no desk. I’m going over Amy’s to drink beer.

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Filed under All about me, humor, journal

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