I don't know what's going on...clearly.
This post was written mostly in February and March with some inserts from April. Yes, it takes place before the May post, in case it's unclear. It's been a bit of a time warp for me, so I'm surrendering control a little until I can fully process all that's happening properly.
I. IDEK.
If you're a little taken aback by this godlike title, the answer is simple: same.
I'm not entirely sure how the first—at this rate —four to five months of the year escaped me. Similar to the film, Twilight, the second and third parts of the "trilogy" that is the start of a new year had been such a flat line. It
was New Moon and Eclipse in the quintet; only filler.
I don't want to hear any arguments from Twilighters. "New Moon" was depressionfilm and "Eclipse" was indecision-film. They were dragging time so it's more rewarding when Edward and Bella finally have sex.
Side note: Tell me why I went through "sleep with each other," the other thing I won't type because my mom reads this (sorry, mom), and "coitus" before I remembered I could say "have sex" like a regular person.
Let's regroup. Usually, at "new year", I'd feel like a freshly unwrapped everything bagel. Like a mood board, or a board of aspirations. Are those things onto which you organize representations of your goals and dreams the same as mood boards? If so? Great. That's exactly my usual state of mind: a board of aesthetic projections; full of things that may or may not be put into fruition, the important thing being that it looks fantastic and makes great decor.
I, however, have not felt that way this year. I've embodied a board of realism—too much realism whereas I do not recognize dreams and aspirations. I instead am a board of reality checks and severe boredom. Very "Me, now. So uninspired."
Knowing that, let's get a little fantastical for a bit.
II. Amicable Separations and Unprecedented Reunions.
We've circled back to Austin Butler... unfortunate events. It may be my upstander-ish tendencies flaring up here because it happened right as the internet decided this man was public enemy No. 1 for no sensible reason whatsoever. As soon as people began praying against his potential Oscar win, I was ready with a sword and shield.
I mean, I'm so supportive, I'm currently using "The Carrie Dairies" as nighttime sedation.
And on that note... Austin... you and whoever was styling that quiff on your head every episode need to sever your relationship, or at least agree that you're never revisiting it again. It is not for you. There is no reason I should be roused from my sleep every few minutes, see it, only to then be alert again because I'm complaining about the shape of it on your wonderful head.
I bring this unprecedented reunion up because my Adam Driver soulmate allegiance is fizzling out. Again, I don't know what's been going on. I'm supposed to be notorious for standing by my partners at my biggish age, and yet...
Maybe now that I've let that burden spring forth on this platform, we'll circle back as we did with Mr. Butler following a similar declaration. (Although, I warn you—you all better not try that enemy nonsense with this man—you will learn quickly that I consciously uncouple).
Adam Driver, Godspeed. The Driver is not Driver-ing like it used to.
Divorce is hard.
Also, if you really thought I would get into some real relationship qualms on here, happy April Fools—because you better be celebrating that holiday. I created my Twitter in about the year 2011; I've learned how restraint works.
III. Would They Miss You If You Passed?
*taps mic* On a brighter note, I'm here to present another stupid—yet semi-valuable—question my friends and I discussed the other day. It may or may not be worth it to ask yourself this, I guess:
If you happened to pass on from exhaustion, and your co-workers got a call delivering the news to them, would you be to blame for the outcome?
I'll expand because I was a bit dismissive of this question initially. The general summary on our end was this:
Essentially the idea is that they soften this blow by reassuring themselves that this outcome was outside of their control and they cannot speak to your emotional or physical state of being in totality.
So, it goes: "Oh my gosh, that really sucks, but you know, we don't know what they had going on. Like, why wouldn't they say they were going through that much stress? Ugh. This sucks." silence. pause. "Anyway, I was able to gather those documents we spoke about..."
Clearly, you've been going through some exhaustion, so work must have played some kind of role—no matter the scale.
They—granted they're not soulless—are also dealing with some jarring news and have to make some stroke of sense of the situation. Some reassuring words must be said (and thoughts must be had).
It does fall on you to some extent to figure out when you're overwhelmed to that extreme and if you do need some time away—and don't just think it, bring it up.
If they're really moving on business-as-usual ish—sweetheart, we have some re-evaluating to do:
Either take your workhorse ass somewhere that cares a little more
Or make better/different work friends/friendships because this ain't cutting it, beloved.
Otherwise, if you have no work friends at all, it's time to start speaking to people.
IV. I Need Healing.
Or reinforcement. Currently, I can't decipher if the soon-to-be-explained obsession has helped or harmed me. Let's put it this way: It has become equipollent to reuniting with a loved one after a long time apart.
I'll have an excerpt of something I wrote in the rouse of bursting with excitement. Just an excerpt. We're not completely exposing the crazy today.
It truly was shocking to me how wet the entire span of streets were. I was however also in agreement—maybe not in the same sense. I found that I was instead grateful. I felt at peace—the slushing of tires against the drenched streets as they passed by and the water and slush beneath my boots. Maybe I’ll miss the snow, but I know I’ll surely make my way to it occasionally.
See other notes:
Snow kink. MAJ snow kink. Progressive migration from crunching to rowing to plowing. I need assistance. This shouldn’t be so orgasmic.
There's more that skews on Bates-ish, but I'm trying to save face.
Summary: I am now incredibly obsessed with snow—in a therapeutic way—and I fear my summertime depression is about to be at an all-time high. Pray for me. Seriously, I'm very afraid.
V. Kinks are at an All-Time High...Generally.
We have reached a time when I'm compiling a post to summarize the different popular (and not so much) oddly satisfying experiences and stimuli circulating in the universe. A time when I also am experiencing too-many-to-count gratifying stimuli in my own life (see section IV above).
We are at a time of great indulgence, so the Google search history is looking a little suspicious at the moment—and the timeline. I have decided, for research purposes, to pursue a path indulging in the different odd satisfactions and giving my review and analysis.
Let it be noted that I will not eat snow under any circumstances. My distaste for micro and macro-organisms trumps my desire to know what finely crushed ice straight from Mother Earth tastes like—my days of iron deficiency are also much much behind me. Thank God; such a dark time, and very visually unhinged behavior.
**I'd just like to add a note:
I find it funny, while I editing this, that I was so floored at the beginning of this post by the meshing of two months in the title without the future context that I was to drop an emergency post in the middle of another month, two months later...lol. All hail a state of crisis.