To be brutally honest

I’m using an old cell phone right now, from the ancient year of 1998. It’s about the size of a house phone and the ring tones are horrid.

I spent most of last night and the early hours of this morning with Mike. I can’t remember much, thanks to Ultram, but I remember laughing a lot and watching a lot of TV.

I’m really worried about my best friend right now. She won’t answer her phone and she hasn’t returned any of my calls in the last couple of days. It’s not like her to shut me out like this. I know she’s been feeling really down lately, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but we usually hang out Fridays so I thought she would have called me back by now.

I have a meeting on Tuesday with someone from a big web design freelancing firm. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss my portfolio and skills, and to fill out tax forms. I’m pretty sure that I am now one of their consultants. Hopefully they can get me some extra work really soon. I am trying not to worry about any of my financial problems, but they are always hanging out in the back of my head. My parents think I am bugshit crazy for taking on all of these things right now, but they should know better. I have always been an overachiever. I’m the girl you can count on, because I see everything through to the end, but just like all of those other creative folks, I’m always a hair trigger away from a meltdown.

I’ve become obsessed with hiding my problems. I’m not sure if it’s the right choice, but I’m tired of hiding. It’s nice to meet you, world. I am a talented web designer and writer. I can draw, paint, sing, and I love making handmade cards. I’m also a depressive, quite possibly undiagnosed bipolar or maybe even undiagnosed borderline personality disorder. I refuse to see a counselor or get any other kind of professional help. My current coping method is denial and ice cream.

Now that that’s off my chest.

My cat has been following me around all morning and afternoon. She woke me up with her big mouth, and she won’t stop attention whoring. She is currently curled up on the floor in front of me. She looks kind of depressed. Can someone get her some catnip? I’m busy coding.

Anyone want some bad luck?

I’m on a bad luck streak. Ready? Set? Go!

Michael and I almost broke up this weekend. We got into several huge fights (which we’ve been doing a lot of lately), and I really thought it was over. Finally, his wit and good looks won me over again and I forgot why I was mad. I guess the old saying, “what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger,” is true. Every time we go through this we end up being closer and stronger. Not to say that I enjoy fighting with him. I’d rather play Street Fighter II and Castle Crashers together like we did last night.

Naturally, the video game spree didn’t last long. It feels like someone is grinding the bones in my hands together. I really wish this would just go away already. It seems to be getting worse, and it’s actually to the point where I’m so used to being in pain that for the most part it doesn’t even phase me anymore.

Things wouldn’t be so bad if I haven’t had my — sorry, guys — period for twelve days now. It was thirteen days late — yes, I keep religious track — and now that it finally came it won’t go away. I think it’s safe to say that I need to change my birth control. I’d apologize again, but it’s natural. Then again, natural for me is just four or five days, not two freaking weeks!

Of course, my phone had to crap out today. It’s been turning itself on over and over again lately — without turning itself off first, mind you — and I knew it was coming, but still. On top of everything else I have to buy a new phone now. It wouldn’t be such a big deal, since I didn’t always have a cell phone anyway, but I recently put my resume in with a freelancing firm and we’ve been playing phone tag. Now they have no way of getting in touch with me.

Speaking of web design, I still need to buy Adobe Creative Suite software so that I can work. And of course I need to finish fixing the Sunfire so I can get to work, and to get to the English class this summer that’s costing me over a thousand dollars.

So, obviously, you all need to send me checks with at least three digit amounts. It only makes sense. ;)

The good news is, I finally finished the redesign for the Letters of Love website. It still has a few bugs (especially in the Community), but it’s functional. So far it’s gotten a lot of praise, which makes me feel good despite everything that’s been going wrong lately. Go check it out and let me know what you think! And yes, this is shameless self-promotion. :D


PS: I haven’t cheated on quitting smoking in two weeks!

Invasion

In the dream, I knew that if the aliens caught my scent, they would know I was human.

My home was suddenly my prison. I crept in the shadows, hiding in the bedroom closet among an old vacuum cleaner and stale clothing. I didn’t know what was worse: being trapped in the closet until I starved to death or being discovered. I crouched there, waiting, sleeping intermittently and waking up in cold sweat time after time. Soon, the vacuum cleaner poking me in the back became the most comfortable thing.

When the closet door opened, I froze. I waited to see their strange probing faces. I waited to hear the dogs barking. Nothing, except for the light. I could smell food, and my stomach clenched.

I knew it was a she instantly, even though it was completely featureless. She vaguely resembled a human, but had no substance, no form. The color that came to mind was tan, but I saw no pigment, no skin. She caressed my face with no hands and called me a doll with no voice.

“Mama, feed me,” I said, terrified that she would catch my scent. I envisioned a Baby Alive doll, with its fake food and fake poop. I imagined my arms and legs becoming hard plastic. I kept my body as stiff as possible.

She said I would be a fun toy for her daughter, and then closed the door. I exhaled a sigh.

This went on for days, weeks, how long I don’t know. Every so often she would open the closet and play with me for a few minutes. I never met her daughter. I began to suspect that she knew what I was, but I couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t call the others.

Some days I got to leave the closet and eat whatever I could find. They seemed to like our food, and they also seemed to be around every corner. It was nearly impossible to avoid them, but it was easy to hide from them. They didn’t bother looking under tables or beds. They didn’t have the paranoia that so many humans are afflicted with.

I made it to the front hall one day. I knew all of the doors were locked from the inside, so they wouldn’t be able to get in from outside. I could hear the dogs though; our dogs had become their servants. I knew this because no dog had listened to me since I had become a prisoner in my own house.

I closed the door behind me and stood for a moment in the hall. I could smell pine and sunshine. I reveled in the light that bathed the hardwood floors. I stretched and spun, all the while listening. Had they discovered this part of the house yet? Could I make it down the three flights of stairs and escape?

I began to tiptoe down the stairs, then stopped when I saw toys on the landing. Three small digital pets on keychains with brightly colored cases waited for their new masters to come and play. I looked around. There were several cardboard and foam boxes, and some scissors. I got to work.

When I was done, I had blocked off the dogs and barricaded myself in. No one could get in now, but how could I get out?


I ran through the grass, keeping low to the ground. The sky was cold and gray above me. I stopped and lay on my belly, waiting. Against their advice, I had joined the rally of would-be soldiers. It was the only way that I could find my sister.

I had wanted this freedom badly during the days I had spent in the closet. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Grr, argh, morning.

I am not a morning person. I pretty much just stumble around and grunt. Don’t try talking to me at 7, 7:30 in the morning, because you won’t get anything out of me. I might even take a snap at you.

I know this, but I was still a little surprised when I took Mike’s head off this afternoon.

I took NyQuil last night at about 11, and went into a coma until about 10 this morning. I got up long enough to pee, then fell back asleep (even though I swear I meant to get up and get on the computer)! The next thing I knew, it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I was starving. I stumbled around trying to get breakfast together — although at this point I should have been making lunch, hahaha — and as I was doing this, I noticed that Mike had called. I dimly remembered that we were supposed to be doing something, so I called him back.

Now, at this point I’m hardly awake, running a fever, and stark raving hungry.

I can’t really remember the whole conversation, but it went something like this:

Mike: “I got called into work.”
Me: “GRRR, DIE.”
Mike: “I love you.”
Me: “GRR, DIE.”
“Mike: “I worship the ground you walk on.”
Me: “GRR, need food, DIE.” I hung up on him.
Mike calls back, though I think he should have known better. “I love you and I will call you before I get out.”
Me: “GRR, what’s the point?”
Mike: “Okay… I won’t, then. (Help me?)”
Me: “ARGH, DIE!!”

It took some food, a half an hour, and a little cat batting at my heels for me to figure out that I’d just been meaner than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

Luckily, as I was debating calling him back and trying to decide how I could possibly make everything better again, the phone rang.

“I’m sorry!” If he’d been physically present, I probably would have smothered him with kisses.

“It’s okay. I know you’re not a morning person.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never seen me like that!” Hell, I’d never seen me like that. “Give me a call before you leave work.”

“We’ll stop at a grocery store and get some ice cream for you.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I love you!”

I have no idea where the three-headed monster came from. I also have no idea how to make it up to him, poor guy.

Broke

I feel sick right now, and it isn’t just the cold I caught.

I just got back from a vacation in Idiotville and decided to register for a class this summer. The bill? $1126. For just one class.

I can set up a payment plan, which would be four payments of $281.50, plus a $45 payment plan fee with the first payment. Can you say ouch?

Did I mention that I also need to buy CS4? The copy of CS3 that I had is dead (don’t ask: it’s a long, painful story), and the trial I downloaded dies in three or four days.

I’d just let the CS4 go but I need it for work. I can’t very well take on freelance jobs with just MS Paint and Notepad.

The question here, folks, is why in the world does one class cost more than a thousand beans?

I know I’ll figure it out — I always do — but in the meantime, I’m going to consider bounty hunting or human trafficking. ;)

PS: I forgot to add that I also need to buy a new phone; my current phone keeps turning itself on, even though it’s already on. Yeah.