Wild

Wild away the hours

 Like a starving thing

A beast abreast of your pulse

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It’s all a little voice

Giving ghost tours is definitely a weird fucking job. I don’t always know how I feel about it. It’s hard and draining and weird but also pretty cool. And when it goes well it’s really good. Tonight was the biggest group I’ve had in a couple months I think.  14 people all in. And I was excellent. It’s so weird, like, no matter how much I’m not fucking feeling like doing it, no matter what my mood is, no matter how tired or out of it or sad or annoyed or whatever, the second I step out there and start doing it I’m just… On. It’s just going and happening and I’m doing it. Making jokes and building the energy up up up, and just being this tour persona. I was talking to another one of the guides about it a couple weeks ago, he was trying to describe his experience of this same phenomenon to me. “Well… You probably know what I mean.” He says, “I mean, of all the people in the world, if anyone would know, it would probably be you.” And we laugh about it, and it’s a strange sort of comradery. And I just realized, really, that it’s the only job I’ve ever had where I’m not instantly replaceable. Where they couldn’t just get rid of me and have someone new doing my job the next day. It’s months of training and work for a new person, and maybe they could do it, but maybe not. Weird. Okay. It’s almost 3 am so I’m guna let myself sleep for a tiny minute. Peace. 

Post Title

“Share your story here” okay WordPress. Once upon a time it was 2:30 in the morning, I had just finished writing the 5 articles I promised to deliver. And I really should have been asleep, but I couldn’t fucking sleep, because my brain was awash in thought and ideas and images and full formed games and half formed plans. I start to blame myself. I wasn’t engaging enough. I didn’t inspire enough feeling. And maybe that’s true, and definitely I could always improve, but it’s not fucking useful to berate myself. It’s new still and I’m new at it, still. But I’m good. I have a true spark and flame and flare for it. I found it and it’s mine and I’m finding more of it still. I want to be strong. I want muscles and muscles and it feels good to want that. I have everything I need to forge ahead. I have thoughts on thoughts on thoughts. And they all lived happily ever after, the end. 

welding gloves

Here I am again, another night of writing shit for money. I am very very tired, but I still have … like… 8 fucking articles that I have to write before I can sleep, because I procrastinated a shit ton and didn’t do anything yesterday… or today during the day. So now here I am. Hold up. Okay, three done, five to go. It’s almost midnight. Lol. this sucks. In an ideal world, I would be done with this in 2 hours, by 1:45, so I can snag like two hours of sleep before waking up to be a Good Significant Other(tm). Buuuuut I dunno if that’s really possible or not. These are like… bottom of the barrel articles. Weird, obscure topics that are harder for me to write about. Still, I’ll do what I can. Okay. here we go. Lmao I’m writing about fucking toilet parts and stroller boards (which are apparently a thing you can attach to a stroller for like a toddler to stand on or whatever. I literally had no idea it was a thing until about 3 minutes ago) Mkay, those are done. 3 to go. It’s 12:30. We’ll see what happens I guess.  Okay, 2 to go, but now it’s 1:15. I’m Very Tired. lol. lol. lol. C’mon, I can do it. I’ve written 6 of these fucking things since I got home from my tour. Okay. Last round. let’s finish it. Wrenches and water filters. Okay. done. done. okay. I had more stuff I wanted to write, but I’m fucking exhausted and it’s 2:15, so peace.

down boy

I twist my guts up over what ifs  and could be-s and “god, I fucking hope not”-s. Make myself sick with thoughts that sicken me. Okay. Whatever. I try to shut it up and move on. Focus on the good and try to crush the worm of it. It turns out I want to be a handler. Makes sense in ways, but I still found myself a bit surprised, when it came upon me. I plan to plan a scene that focuses heavily in that direction. For soon. For Saturday even, possibly. I dunno. there really are so many things I want to do. How do I make them all fit? I need to be working. I have quite a bit of shit that I have to finish by tomorrow night, and I’m planning on heading in to see my parents for a bit tomorrow, so like…. that’s another thing I have to compensate for, time wise. I need more activity, more exercise. I did a little today but it’s not enough. it’s not enough. Okay, time to write some shit. I feel weird and trapped and gross. Maybe because I’ve hardly been out of the house in a few days, and I haven’t talked to like… hardly anyone. Maybe I’ll feel better after getting out tomorrow and seeing people. I dunno. ugh. I just feel weird and sort of bad in general I guess. I finished one of the *paid in a month* freelance articles I said I would do, only one more of those to go, due early tomorrow, and six more product description ones, due Saturday morning. Gross. I need to finish that one, and then two of the others, and then I can do four tomorrow and it should be fine. Okay, the one is done. It might not pass the editor stage because I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I’ll fix ’em if I have to.Two more to go, and I already started them a little. I’m hoping to be done by 2:45, so I can get a tiny bit of sleep.  Ugh. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing … like… in life. Okay. I finished writing those things. I’m going to go the fuck to sleep now. It’s 5 minutes ’till 2:45. oh boy. Okay, yeah. I’m out. Peace.

18

Blood pounding in my ears

This is the 30th time this has happened

Since I’ve been alive

It’s so wow and I’m so lucky

And this year I will be more worthy

Of love and trust and confidence

Of the gift of my body

Of those who believe in me

Of my tenuous place on the planet

Of all of it

Of everything