Thanks for seein' about a girl, friend. here's where I'm writing my own history—for you, for me and anyone else who needs to laugh to keep from cryin' every once in awhile.

Learning to let go.

Okay, so in true stream-of-consciousness form, I totally just came here in this block to just post. Yes, I know you should always use Word or something and back these things up and every other night I do, but tonight I was like, I'll give myself 15 minutes to knock something out I'll click send like I do with no problem every other night and poof - there'll be a post. Poof - there went my post. So here I am now, practically over what I just said because I'd purged myself and now I'm annoyed that there was good stuff there that is lost. I offer you a recap.

My hands are callused, I think from years and years of hanging on to the monkey bars in mock desperation. I work what has to be considered a desk job and find that my hands are as firm and as rough as they were when I spent quality time on those monkey bars daily. They look like I work in construction, which isn't surprising since they're essentially smaller versions of my dad's hands.

I grip everything in these hands tightly. Pens press into the sides of my fingers when they're not being gnawed by my otherwise grinding teeth or tucked behind my ear like I'm ready to offer up some tick marks at any given moment. You know this lies underneath what is nothing less than some serious signs of stress.

I used to think there was just one kind of worrier - the chronic one who had one for every spouted scenario and instant gone by or on its way. Now I realize that there are at least two and one of them is the silent worrier, which is the category into which I slump. Internalizing everything - comments from the day, the fact that I didn't recognize the older gentleman who could've used my subway seat more than myself, flub ups at work, the fact that I didn't RSVP to a wedding invitation, I haven't called people back when I said I was going to, all of these things are sure to set my teeth to grindin' when I fall asleep shortly.

When I did become so uptight? I think it's in direct proportion to my (perhaps overly) conscious effort to be more laid back - my efforts to play it cool are causing my insides to heat up, which isn't how I think it's supposed to work, but then again, I've not thought these things through at all, so I just don't know.

There are two knots in my shoulders growing stronger which thereby enable my neck to maintain the feeling that it's awaiting the guillotine's strike at any given moment. The past two mornings I've awakened with the feeling that I'd slept sitting upright but askew against a brick wall on the street corner.

All this points toward the fact that I feel - this week in particular - like I can't tell if the fog is setting around me or lifting. In the previous "post" I suggested that I needed some goal-setting, but that is bullshit not-so-cleverly written to make me feel better about myself when the truth is I'm not all that presently sure just who I am that I need to be feeling better about. Inside my head the Cheshire cat is grinning at me, but I have to tell it to talk to the hand because I do care where I am and it does matter where I'm going... There are things I feel like I should be asking myself, and there are questions I've asked of myself too many times it feels already and it's starting to piss me off, but all I can think now is that the only place I'm going is to sleep and that tomorrow night it'd be really super if my lotto numbers strike me rich...

Technical difficulties, friends.

No rest for the weary.