Category: Detritus

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated…

I’ve been feeling somewhat rather like shite on and off and things suck no less than usual, for the most part, but I am in fact still breathing for those of you who may have expressed concern. Love and lollipops from the Corbidful One who does not die no matter what they do to her.

Tom Waits Quote Of The Day

“There was nothing wrong with her that $100 wouldn’t fix.”

Only in my case it’s more like $2,000 and an emergency Zoloft prescription.

PS: To Tina’s brother and his girlfriend – hope you’re safe and well and that you realize things are not as bad as they seem, but also fuck you very much for endangering yourselves and worrying your families to death. Please return home safely and soon. And never doubt that you are loved, because you obviously very much are.

Not an exaggeration:I’m completely fucked right now…

… my goose is cooked – the fat lady has sung – the devil wants his due, etc. My life has persisted in becoming a nightmare of Jobian proportions and now on top of the job layoff followed by loss of income, followed by loss of transportation and a job offer way too far away to take the bus to, followed by fumigation and possible threat to my ability to maintain custody of my children,followed by the unexpectedly and seriously delayed paycheck that forced me to borrow $700 from my ex to pay rent and the electric bill, it now appears I am going to be evicted. There was a slim chance I could have worked out a solution, but then my ex put a stop payment on the rent check since I was “going to be evicted anyway, so why waste $500?” So now I have a health and safety dispute over the fumigation issue, plus I’m in arrears. I am so fucked. I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping this weekend, much less when I get to keep the girls next. I was already two weeks behind schedule for getting “my week” of custody due to the above mentioned issues and it was making me nuts. If I lose my girls I will die. Fuck. I am so screwed. Anyone who knows me well enough to have my phone number should probably call me asap. I’m not sure how or if you can help, but I need all the help I can get right now. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Don’t ever say “it can’t get worse.” It can always get worse. And it probably always will.

Fin.

Corbid.

Word Of The Day: Schadenfreude

(noun)

[SHAWD?n?froi’?dah]

1. delight in another person’s misfortune: “Hal felt an eerie mixture of empathy and schadenfreude whenever he listened to his friends discuss their problems.”

Why I’ve dumped most of the men I’ve ever been with…

…simple neglect.

I ask very, very little. That doesn’t mean I want nothing. So maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe I should stop being so easy going and understanding and then I won’t ever be in a position to be treated like a doormat again. Maybe failure to be demanding is essentially saying to a guy “your needs and quirks and intricacies are way more important than anything to do with stupid little me. Which is why they are repeatedly baffled when I make any sort of request at all and stunned when I react negatively to their inevitable failure to fulfill said request. Maybe it’s my own fault, I don’t know. All I know is that I never, EVER want to hear anything approximating the following phrases ever again:

“Can we just order pizza for our anniversary dinner?”

“I know we RSVPd a month ago but can we blow off the party? I’m tired.”

“Let’s skip Christmas presents this year. It’ll save so much money and I don’t really care about presents.”

Perhaps I ask too much. Perhaps my only sexual appeal is in that doormat type quality. But damned if the next guy I date won’t be required to fake a little enthusiasm when I enter a room.

Finis,

Corbid

Available White Female In Search Of A Deity…

Wanted: some sort of divine being or pantheon or mythical entity I can invoke to solve my immediate concerns just to the degree that I can cope with them and reverse my sour luck. Vengeful Father Gods and crucified martyrs need not apply. The proper candidate will enjoy my songs and praises and libations as well as some good word of mouth on my various blogs and maybe a statuette or a tattoo or something. Don’t be shy. Do my bidding. Gender or species unimportant. I am an equal oppurtunity petitioner. No animal sacrifices or head shaving requirements, please. Requiring a vow of silence is probably unwise. Bonus points for religions involving temple prostitutes, feasting on roasted lamb and/or genourous imbibing of wine. I do still like to have my occasional reverie…

Too Much Information

When I swore I’d never write about this, I guess I lied.
The part of it that none of you will ever understand, that I can never explain, is how much it hurt. The absolute bloocurdling, mindsplitting, unfathomable pain of my guts spilling out into my body cavity and my spine all but snapped in half and still somehow I’m struggling to get on my feet, I’m smiling, I’m politely asking to be allowed to just go to sleep, just for one minute, and I’m fading fast and my blood pressure’s dropped to almost zero and I cannot wrap my head around how much it hurts. I think I’m going to go mad, I think I’m going to split in two. The human nervous system is not equipped to process this sort of pain. And yet there I was, coherent and reasonable and asking softly if please they could just let me close my eyes, if please they could just put me under. And they’re begging me, pleading with me to stay awake, because if I close my eyes I might never wake up and I think at some point my mind just snapped. I don’t think I really came back to my senses for months after that. I don’t know if I ever really came all the way back at all. Apparently I was moments away from dying. I was bleeding to death. I somehow stayed awake until the operating table where they cut my skirt off even though they’d already cleaned the surgical area, presumably for dramatic effect. And there on the operating table, on my deathbed, I was yelling at them about ruining my good black skirt and then I begged them again to put me under and this time they did and I woke up sore and disoriented in a dull morphine haze in a hospital bed, still not really getting it. I asked if I could go back to school the next day. Two months and most of a vital organ later, I would emerge from my Chrysalis a torn and jaded moth and all I could think about was at least I would be thin now because that’s the sort of fucked up thing a teenage girl thinks of at times like that. Like I’d won some sort of liposuction lottery or something. But jesus holy fuck I could never even begin to explain how much it hurt. I myself can’t fathom it. It just fucking hurt so bad. It isn’t the nearly dying or the isolation or the uncertainty of the thing that got to me. I’ve known a number of people who’ve faced death or been sick or been traumatized. But I’ve never known another soul who could understand how much it hurt. It just fucking hurt so badly. I hope I’ve described it inadequately because I wouldn’t wish that kind of suffering on anyone, even a pale ghost of it. But I’ve never committed it to print until now and I wonder if it’ll somehow help me to do so. They always say write what you know and maybe this is what I know better than anything. So there it is. It hurt. It just fucking hurt. It hurt so bad. I can’t begin to tell you how much it hurt…wow, that feels better somehow.

So, um, have a nice day?
Sorry about all that.
Lalalalala…

I don’t know where that came from. I’m not even having a particularly bad day or anything. It just worked itself up out of some long buried scar tissue and – there it is. Funny how the human mind works. I don’t think I ever even really remembered what it exactly felt like until just now. I mean obviously I had some idea it had been unfathomably painful, but I hadn’t quite remembered the details of it in quite so intricate a matter.Kind of surprised at myself, actually.