Splendiferous Conventionality

i can't write now, although i want to. i feel the devil knocking on my door, breathing down my neck; with his hot, fervent breath making the hairs on my neck singe. "you can't do this. you're not strong enough. you're no different than anyone else, what makes you so special?" why i would bother to even entertain his thoughts, i do not know. maybe i am not strong enough... why can't i beat him away? oh, yeah... that's right; because through all of me that makes me 'magical' and hopeful; i am also considerably practical. blame it on my education, training; shiv... i bet we could chalk up a good percentage to life... i bust bust bust but i'm not knocking down any doors... i'm barely making dents in the walls. all that i do and exert energy for are all wonderful, meaningful things for life and life only... these are not career associations. i've never even held a job in the area that i am wanting to end up in-- not to mention,

I am annoyed. I am assuming it is due to my current health status, which I will try to be as vague as possible ; #1 being that I don't know much, and #2 it's just really too much information for the general and wide open public. I know that I am a mom, and in some circles that seems to 'entitle' them to share their spilt milk and bm scheduling mishaps; but honey, that ain't me. I am only here momentarily. Thought I'd give the ol' blog an update, and spit out a few words to keep the keyboard dusted. I'm in a sad state of affairs as far as mental statuses go, so I intend to keep this short. There's enough bs in the world (just turn on the 10 o'clock news)-- no sense in reading more melancholy mayhem here. I turned 32 yesterday. Next to 1983, it was probably the least awesome birthday ever. In 1983, my dad was supposed to take me to the circus. It was to be my first time ever. Instead, Kansas decided it'd be cute to not only have one, but TW