Sleep Problems

all night pt 2…my heart I would refuse

so many times i like to stay up alone and play on my phone almost never interacting cause i surely end attacking some poor lonely dude just trying to talk with no tact at all and i take it the wrong way and then i react with the burning hot fury of a thousand dying suns and nobody cares cause they know i’m not one they care to fuck with but then I pull a will smith and I become legend while I lean off of the edge and I realize that my name is not known all that well and that makes me jump back from the pit of hell the fire is hot but not yet i am not ready to go cause there’s yet so many here to show what i got…

what i got aint alot it’s really quite small and now you’ll hear my prefrontal cortex speak it’s not me not at all. ive tried my whole life to just shut that bitch down but that bitch got my throat and now im the clown…and i’m in a small car that I don’t want to drive with about six or 7 big tall lady guys all dressed in suits made of primary colors and yeah how they laugh but they hate one another and while they are laughing get stabbed in the back by their very best friend such a vicious attack but it’s all okay in their urban decay and their mac and their fucking too faced smashbox brigade.

ok…I’m now back to me and I can see that this e tv is not for me. Id rather the forensic files put in piles for me to swallow won’t be so hollow as the shit that’s on and everyone follows.

I’ve never been a leader or a follower, i’ve always been a swallower…to be honest.

just taking it in, with much chagrin and always much to my displeasure.

But see now I’m almost to the end of my life, I’ll never again be anyone’s wife, or anyone’s friend so a bitch cannot grin while I’m pulling that knife…and I’m honestly thankful to not do that again…I’ve had enough…this life has been rough and quite thankfully few were the cuffs that bound my arms and my legs but they still clamped down on my head and honestly if i could go back and choose which one I’d lose…

I’d guess it’d be my freedom cause to do it again, I won’t pretend that my heart I would refuse.


I had to stop drinking but I had to start back,   cause I’m always fucking feeling like I’m running in a pack of only fucking one and I got no fuckin gun, and got no fuckin fun and when I was young my dad called me son I thought it didn’t bother me until i was past  thirty then I started realizing that shit was kinda dirty, i wasn’t just a girl, I was a pretty ass girl, who had in her palm the whole entire world but i didn’t even know it and all i did was blow it and  when I turned 18 …DOPE was only chosen …my whole fucking life been a slow sUiCiDe all out in the open I didn’t try to hide…or so I thought but I was really fucking wrong and  Now I know all  the words to my poor swan song that so far never really seems to END and when I think it is HAS that really means BEGIN a whole new chapter with ONE LESS FRIEND  and i’m trapped with some lions and I’m in their den and they didn’t invite cause I’m NOT so polite sometimes I’m rowdy and sometimes I  fight and when that shit happens you better run from my sight… demons coming  outta me tends to fright so run away fast RUN AWAY FAST and run to the light I’ll meet ya when you get there after you fall from your



Lucifer’s Got Jokes

Ok, at the risk of completely making myself out be the things my ex in-laws, and others, imagine me to be….

I’m totally interested in magick and Gremoires and mysticism and Archangels and Goetia…basically GOD/YAH in all of HIS MIGHTY FORMS.

And…I do have a super-power or two.

Those were not easily acquired.  One does not become able to posses magic unless one proves itself responsible….and no, this is not a blanket statement, I understand that there are varying degrees of black magic…anyway…I was watching a guy on youtube earlier doing an evocation of Lucifer.

The video was playing the whole time I was putting on my make-up, and that takes about 40 minutes.

So, I guess I had Lucifer on the brain when I put my headphones on and asked Him to be my DJ (being the “DJ” is when I put all the hundreds of songs on my mp3 and hit “shuffle”)….and this is what Lucifer wants to play…



I love the dark side’s sense of humor…it’s much like my own.


I need to “go to work”, but I hate my job.  It is nice that I can work from home because otherwise there would be no work for me.

I hate to leave my house.  I absolutely hate it, for any reason.

I am not very sure why I hate it so much.

My Mimi used to tell me how this one time she had agoraphobia for four years and couldn’t leave any further than the perimeter of her yard.

She said it was because, one day, when my uncle was young, he rigged firecrackers to every one of her kitchen cabinets so that when she opened one, all of them exploded.

Mimi said after that was when she got real nervous.

Nobody tied firecrackers to my kitchen cabinets…I think they just tied them to my brain.

Bread and Butter!!!!!


I am about to apply these faux nails and while I am super-excited thinking about how all of the different ways I will be able to colorfully paint these luscious claws, I realize I should write type my post before the application.

I have been thinking all weekend about the subject matter of this post.  I have made several random notes in the “action memos” section of my Note 3.  This is my fourth note and I just started utilizing the “action memo” feature.  I mainly got the phone for the big screen.

I have 20/20 vision.

Yeah, haters, I have 20/20 in my backofthehead eyes, too.

So, I went back and re-visited the ideas which I wrote in my “action memo” section of my phone, and I have no memory of what any of them except the one saying, “OCD or Superstition”, means.

I was employing shorthand, I suppose.

Was I drunk when I wrote them?

Yes…drunken shorthand.

I am feeling lazy today, and I am also in a pretty outstanding mood, so I am going to keep this short and sweet.

Or…at least I am going to try.

My Mimi was very superstitious and she taught me to be very superstitious.  I remember going to the corner grocery store with my grandmother.  Upon walking into the building, we would always pass two sets of Fica trees planted neatly in boxes made of red brick. Each box was about six feet long and four feet wide.

Like most children, I would immediately jump upon the brick and walk one side of the box as if I were a gymnast on the balance beam.  It was all good until I would choose to jump and do my walk on the side of the box opposite to the side Mimi was walking.


Mimi would IMMEDIATELY say, “BREAD AND BUTTER!!!!!!”

I knew what I was supposed to say and on most days I would make her happy by responding with an equal, “BREAD AND BUTTER!!!!!!”

Mimi said if I was ever walking with someone I loved and we should happen to pass something that would come between us, and if we let it come between us, I should always say, “bread and butter”, as well as the person with whom I was walking, so that nothing would really come between us.

Mimi cooked a bunch and I would watch her.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t watching her to learn how to cook, though she did manage to teach me to cook.  I watched her because I loved her more than anything in the world and I just wanted to be where she was.

At some point during the preparation of the meal, Mimi would invariably spill the salt.  When this happened, she would immediately take the salt shaker into her and shake salt onto the floor over her LEFT SHOULDER.

Otherwise…..well….we don’t want to know, now do we?

I don’t believe that, even to this day, I have spilled salt randomly then neglected to purposefully throw it onto the floor, OVER MY LEFT SHOULDER.

I have many more anecdotes like this one, about my beloved Mimi, but your attention span is short and so is mine and now I’m ready to do m’nails.

I love you.

The Haircut

“Come on Sarah, get your stuff together, we have to go to Baton Rouge”, my stepmother said, as she started gathering up her folders containing stacks of papers which had to be graded, later that evening.

My stepmother was a teacher.  She recently retired after twenty-five years teaching in the parish school district, but before her retirement she taught at the ONLY high school in the small city in which we lived. That was good, sometimes, but mostly it was bad.

After school, I rode a bus about two blocks to her school and she was always the last teacher to leave.

I was slow, as usual, to get my things together.  I hated going to Baton Rouge.  We went to Baton Rouge every single day, or at least, it seemed like it to me.

There were many reasons why I hated going to Baton Rouge, not the least of which was the fact that my stepmother drove a 1985 Ford Ranger, specially equipped with NO RADIO.  Seriously, she really, honestly, literally did not want a radio in her vehicle.

To this day, that haunts me…like… I am a strange person, but….that’s fucking strange, even to me.

Besides the Ford Ranger being almost as tiny as a go-kart, once my step-mom, my little sister and myself were inside, the Ranger was filled to capacity, even though two of us were children.  I am not saying my step-mom was fat, I’m saying the truck was freaking small.

I don’t know about you, but I am a person who easily gets carsick.  The tendency towards vehicular nauseousness has decreased with age, but when I was a kid, I hated just about every car ride I took for that reason.

Did I mention my step-mom chain smokes worse than a repentant hooker, fresh-off-da-crack, who is trying to change her ways, sitting on the back pew of her married boyfriend’s church on Sunday morning, listening to him preach?

There was no rolling down the windows in that tiny 1985 Ford Ranger, either.  Even though I knew the answer would always be, “NO!”, everyday I would ask, “can I please crack my window a little bit?”

My stepmother said if I cracked the window it would “blow her hair”.

Whatever that meant…

Speaking of hair, this was the day that my loving step-mother took me, unannounced, to the beauty shop and had the stylist (back then they were called beauticians) cut all of my hair cut right off my pretty little head.

I had no idea what was about to happen. I know it was traumatic for me because once we got to the beauty shop, the memory stops, and my memory never stops.

Nobody’s memory ever actually “stops”, but I have a very uncanny long-term memory.  I remember everything, especially from childhood, in pictures, or, if you will, movies.  I can click on a memory like you would click on a movie you’d like to see on Netflix.

I can remember every outfit I wore to school on the first day from first to twelfth.  I can remember ninth grade french class ‘dialogue’ (and I employ it from time to time).  I can remember the song that was playing on the radio when me and my step-mom got into a fender-bender when I was three, “Sailing”, by *Christopher Cross.  I can also remember the name of the guy who hit us, *Charles Gardner.  I have memories from before I could walk and I have scars to prove they are real memories.

As I remember things, though, I have surmised that my brain hides the especially bad memories where I can’t find them.

I went to school that morning with long, beautiful, chestnut brown hair and I came home with a bowl cut which was level with my ears.

I was only seven, that was my very first haircut and there’s so much more to go.

Another One Bites The Dust

One, two, buckle my shoe

three, four, close the door

five, six I don’t need any dicks

seven, eight nor to masturbate

nine, ten I’ve done it again

…another one bites the dust.


“Thank God for disassociation, otherwise I might realize, totally, that no one is to be trusted….and I heard that’s what makes a person crazy.”