Sweet nothings

The universe is currently looking at me now with a shit-eating grin, winking and saying:

“Hey girl.”

In no particular order, I'll give you a quick recap the week's biggest highlights thus far:


I took a leap of faith and threw myself into a new community project. The people I met are light-years ahead of me in terms of life success and career accomplishments. They are in general waaaaay better at life than me. The project itself is far beyond me too. There's no way I can possibly contribute in a meaningful way. But I dove in head first anyway, thinking “What the hell do I have to lose?”


Someone I've known for a while now – someone I really respect and share a great connection with – recently went through something very similar to me in a parallel way. He's a dude, and his situation has some differences from mine, yet he went through some of the exact same things I did.

Namely, he was thrown under a bus by people with more power than him, kept in the dark about the charges held against him, was read a guilty sentence by a (corporate) jury who lacked legitimate proof, was stripped of his voice and ability to defend himself, and was left vulnerable to face the guilty sentence of a corrupt (corporate) court.

Tell me, dear Jury – if what he did was so undeniably wrong, then why all the need for the cloak and dagger? Why take such measures to refuse him a fair trial? Why are there so many conflicting sides of the story? Why all the cover-up?

The ashes from the burnt paper trail are everywhere. Why did the paper trail have to be burnt?

Tell me dear Jury – why do you feel the need to render him so defenseless ... unless you the Jury have something to hide yourself?

Despite these forces against him and against all odds, he's decided to be a badass and reclaim his life back into his own hands. He's not just going to lie down and take that shit.

Today I was able to listen to his story, offer him a resource, and show him my support.

Back to Monday:

I started training the new girl at work. I really like her. She seems a little shy and nervous, but who the hell isn't on their first week on the job? She's working with me, so I'd probably be a little nervous, too. It's cool though. I really, really like her.

Until I found out she's my boss's boss's daughter.

My Boss's. Boss's. Daugh. Ter.

When I found that out I almost shit my pants.

Oh Jesus Christ I really hope I don't fuck this poor girl up. Turn her into a swearing, crusty younger version of me, slamming the phone in Superman's ear when he speaks to her disrespectfully, knocking back black coffee like it's a Jell-O shot, coming in hungover with bloodshot eyes and not giving two shits about who notices.

I really hope I don't scare her away from returning for her second week.


Received my jury summons in the mail from the County Jury Commission.

I see you, Universe. I see you winking and smiling at me like Ryan fucking Gosling with his manicured hipster beard and sea green eyes.

Whatcha got for me next?

The pain is bad today.

Oh, the pain.

My insides are on fire.

There are metal hooks latched onto my guts, attached to metal chains that are pulling in every direction.

Or iron fists grabbing my guts and pulling, ripping, tearing my insides to shreds.

Or maybe there are demons inside me, lighting my guts on fire.

But really it feels more like pulling, ripping, shredding.

It won't stop, won't go away.

This post, much like all the others, is incoherent but maybe it'll relieve some of the pain. If I spill some of the demons out onto the screen, purge them from my core, maybe the chains will release, the hooks will fall off, the fire will die out?

So far, no such luck.

I need to sleep but I can't because of this pain.

Well helllllllooooooo Diva!

You're back!

You created your small human, you took your time off, and now you're back to save the day!

Like Superwoman herself.

And don't you love to rub it in – how much we've missed you, how amazing you are at life, how much better at life you are than us!

Well girl, thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, and for letting us all know how wonderful you are, and how much we all suck.

Sounds like a leader to me!

You've been taking notes from ol' What's-er-name, haven't you?

Our boss?

Yeah, I can tell!

Well good!

Here we fuckin' go ... Here we fuckin' go.

I'll admit a personal weakness: when I get tired, I get depressed.

I wish it didn't happen but it does.

Because of the fatigue, because of the brain drain, all I can do is criticize myself and think about how maybe I don't deserve happiness. It's like negative thoughts just take over and wreak havok in the most nonsensical of ways.

I realize how fortunate I am.

But let me tell you – once you've experienced a certain amount of pain in your life – pain that is real – you tend to become numb and you begin to question everything good that happens to you.

The alcoholism helps with the body and brain numbness, too.

Look. I realize my problems are nothing compared to most.

But at the same time, I don't know a single person who has lived the same life as me, who has gone through the same crazy shit that I have.

How did I get my scars?

That's an adventure for another day. Don't worry, I didn't get them from abuse or violence.

I got them from hard work.

To all my haters who don't believe me whenever I speak my truth:

I got them from hard work.

All I know is that no matter what happens to me anymore, good or bad, I really don't feel it. I think I've developed a defense mechanism to block out the hate.

But a side effect is that it also blocks out the joy. The happiness.

In essence it blocks out both fear and love, the roots of all emotions.

Ok. So maybe I still feel some Sass. That sense of Sass is strong in this one.

But that's about it.

Everything else is gone. The fear, the love, the joy.

I'm an iron cage, a concrete wall, a steel fence.

My veins are cold, they bleed icy blue blood; my heart is wrapped in thorns.

He's been nicer to me lately.

It's funny how this whole thing works. Throwing your soul out into the universe and observing how she listens.

Suddenly, he wants to be nice.

It's awkward for him, I can tell.

His instinct is usually to be a jackass. But he actually got me to smile on Friday.

My excuse is that the weekend was nigh, my guard was down after a long and especially trying week of working overtime and attempting to play Superwoman, and he caught me in an especially vulnerable and hungry state. I was down right ravenous. The thing is – I admit it – my defenses were down and I fucking smiled back at him.

I know. It's sad.

That bastard has been smiled at so many times in his life that he expects it from anyone and everyone at this point. And up until Friday I was the one angry, sassy bitch who was able to deny him of the stupid, breathless smiles that all the other girls give him. The smiles he's come to expect.

Truth be told, he was nice to me unexpectedly during a weak and hungry moment, and my metaphorical panties instantly dropped and I mindlessly smiled back.

It's seriously like smiling back at Superman himself. You lose all track of time and you lose goddamn years off your life when looking into those thunderstorm-and-lightning eyes, those eyes that look like rain and hail and tornado clouds and hurricane waves all at once. Even though it only lasted for a millisecond and I had passed him by before his stormy eyes could blink.

That asshole really needs to learn how to mind his manners and remember what a dickhead he really is. He needs to remember how to avoid eye contact and pretend like he doesn't know me, how to eyeball my tits and ass and not much else per usual.

No more of this “nice” business.

It doesn't suit him, and it doesn't suit me.

We're supposed to hate each other in order for this whole thing to work.

If the scene of a crime can't be proven, then you shouldn't stay silent.

So I posted something on here and it must have really sucked because I think they took it down.


Guuuuurrrrrl your can't silence me!

I'm obnoxious and got shit to say!

Till next time (wink)!

Find your peace.

Go wherever you need to go. Do whatever you need to do.

Find your peace and hold it tight and never let it go because once you find your peace you can begin to become whole again.

You can become the person you were meant to be except stronger, because you've dug yourself out of this hell like a phoenix rising from the ashes, and nothing can tear you down except yourself.

You are now the only thing strong enough to destroy you.

Your peace will kill the wildest of beasts and will clear your path to the next great chapter of your life.

It doesn't matter who wants to stay mired in the muck of your past – let them wallow in it like hogs in slop.

You are moving onward beyond it- far beyond their narrow minds – and you can see how bright your future is if only you just believe in it.

You can see something that they can't, and that's where you should strive to go with all your might, with all your heart, no matter what they say.

You will determine your future and build the life you want.

There is a huge amount of tension that's built up between them.

Everyone can sense it — it's like the hot, humid, airless heat of a late-July evening.

It's been building between them for about a year now.

He's seen her naked in a picture where she's fucking her old boss at work. In this picture, she looks like she's enjoying it.

And now she works for him.

He judges her harshly. When he found out about the scandal and about what she did, and how she tried to say it wasn't her fault, he lost any and all respect for her.

He spread the news of her disgrace across the entire industry, slandering her name and warning everyone who works with her that she isn't as sweet as she claims to be, that she is in fact a stupid, dirty, lying whore who doesn't deserve respect.

And yet he can't help but respect her because she's one of the best assistants he's ever had.

He also can't stop thinking about that picture, and about how he'd like to make the same type of picture with her himself.

There is a chemistry between them that is angry, unwilling, erratic, alive, and intensely hot.

Unlike the old asshole in the scandalous picture, she actually finds this new asshole to be attractive and one that's actually close to her in age. He's actually, frustratingly, her type.

She avoids making eye contact with him, rarely approaches his desk, won't even walk past his desk unless she absolutely has to. In the past, whenever she's tried approaching his desk with a question or a problem, he's looked at her face like he wants to give it a Five Finger Death Punch. His expression is one of pure annoyance.

So she no longer attempts to approach his desk with questions anymore. Instead she just emails him or IM' s him from a few feet away.

She usually walks the long way to the ladies room in order to avoid walking past his desk. He likes to stare at her ass when she takes the more direct route right past his desk. She actually likes it when he stares at her ass but she avoids it anyway, for his sake just as much as her own.

When she talks to him she's all business. No small talk, no chit-chat, no light jokes, no “How've your kids been?” or “How was your weekend?”, or “How 'bout them Yankees?”

She's intentionally direct and bitchy. She makes requests without a smile and when he forgets something or screws up she bluntly asks him to fix it.

He does the same thing to her. He avoids interacting with her unless absolutely necessary, gives one-word responses whenever she (emails) him a question, and he intentionally withholds information about where he's going and how long he'll be gone — even though he knows she answers his phone calls and his Regulars will want to know.

In return, she cracks jokes about him behind his back with the Regulars.

He catches wind of the jokes from the Regulars and sometimes thinks they're funny, but he doesn't acknowledge them to her at all.

The only thing he does is pace back and forth past her desk with his headset on, talking shit with whoever it is, eyeballing her tits, glancing at the scars on her arms and hands, talking fast and laughing loudly like an asshole, blurting the most offensive things he can think of, rubbing the thick, saucy innuendos into her skin and the into the back of her neck because he knows how much they piss her off.

All the while he's staring at the back of her head and noticing the way she types like a crazy concert pianist when composing an email, notices how she has to backspace a million times when typing a single sentence because she knows he's watching and she's self-conscious.

He paces past her desk and notices how she deliberately plugs a single earbud into the ear that's closest to him so she can drown out his loud, incessant bullshit with AC/DC' s “If You Want Blood”.

They both act this way because they have to. It can't be any other way.

Because, you see, every single interaction between them is highly scrutinized by everyone else on that floor.

They work right in front of the glass offices of the C-suite.

Everyone on that floor can sense the tension between them. They know it's there. Everyone can see that they're attracted to one another and hate one other with intense passion.

And because she is who she is and she did what she did, and he has his beautiful family and chisled jawline and impeccable reputation to protect, everyone knows that they can't act naturally at all. They can't even make eye contact or else someone will blow a whistle and accuse them of the most horrible and most damning of deeds.

Even though they all want it to happen.

Oh God, how they want it to happen. And they want him to take pictures of it, and film videos along the way, and post them to the Dark Web so they can live vicariously through him like a soap opera star.

Thank goodness nothing is going to happen.

Thank goodness this is just a stupid, self-absorbed journal that allows her to vent into the night and organize her thoughts so that she can see them clearly for what they really are.

Until tomorrow, when she throws herself back to the wolves and she is overtaken by chaos and fate.

Nothing is going to happen. He's married and has kids. He's a very happy husband and a very happy dad. He thinks you're an idiot – for everything. For everything you're doing and everything you've ever done. He knows you did all those stupid things – over and over and over again. He thinks you're too formal, too casual, too healthy, too skinny, too fat. He knows you're an alcoholic. He sees your bloodshot eyes every morning, sees how you don't even try to hide them. He thinks your hair is too made up. He thinks your hair looks like shit when you don't fix it. You're his joke that he laughs about with all his friends behind your back every day, at your expense. He would fuck you over in a heartbeat. He's fucked you over so many times already, without a second thought. He thought you deserved it, thought it was funny, did it to get himself ahead. He doesn't care about you. He only cares about himself. His family, his career, his profit, his social life, his status, his perfect image to maintain with the rest of his large and loyal circle. He's probably never messed up in his life. He's probably always done everything right. Said all the right things, had all the right friends, dated all the right girls, got all the good grades, made all the right choices when it mattered most. He doesn't know what it's like to fuck up. He doesn't know what it's like to struggle. He doesn't know what it's like to be desperate, or to lose all hope, or to be completely broken. He doesn't know what it's like to be imperfect. He doesn't know what it's like to be you, living in a world that revolves around perfect people like him. No, nothing is going to happen, except what has already been happening since the day you met him. He's going to continue thinking these things about you, putting you down, undervaluing you, criticizing you, using you for his own gain, treating you like shit behind your back. You don't need him. You deserve better. You aren't perfect. You've fucked up. You've struggled. You've been desperate, have lost all hope, have been completely broken, and have picked up what peices of yourself you could and peiced them back together again one by one, through the pain. And if peices were missing and gone forever, you learned to build new ones to fill in the holes, so that you have become even stronger than before. You have done all these things – over and over and over again. You know you're smart. You know you're beautiful. You know you're funny, and sexy, and caring, and kind. He doesn't know these things, doesn't think these things, doesn't care about these things. So no, nothing is going to happen. And that's perfectly fine with you.