Rambled Shamblings

Some days, ya just can't win.

Some weeks, even.

Hell... for me, it's been years.

But honestly.

How does one end up in a spot so confused and upside down that they just can't figure out which way to go?

I know what I want.

I vaguely know how to get it.

And yet, I'm treading in situations that rarely work the right way.

So do I start over?

Or re-evaluate and put everything back on the right track?

These questions plague me daily, and I'm never able to answer them.

Welcome to my brain, friends.

Sh*tty F*cking C*nsorship

As I write this, I’m thinking about how much may be in my brain pushing to get out – but I just can’t type it. I tell myself that this blog is supposed to be for my thoughts, my gripes, my feelings about things that are going on, no matter WHAT they may be. No holds barred.

But it’s not true.

The majority of things that I’d love to type on here - for therapeutic reasons, to see what comments may result, or just to get things off my chest - I just can’t. They’re too personal, whether for me or for someone else involved.

So yes. It’s true. I (ugh, here comes the word...) censor myself.

Truthfully, I do it more for others than for my own sake. Most of my issues and questions and thoughts come from interactions with people around me. Different relationships bring up different questions that give me fuel to write, and even look for feedback.

Where should one draw the line?

Some blogs put it all out there. Readers know everything about the person: when they wake up, what they eat, who they talked to, what they did, etc, etc.... Sometimes my main blog gives brief glimpses of that, but I only give a bit.

Other blogs are cryptic. “Here’s a picture of me, but I won’t tell you my age. Here’s a list of my favourite things, but I won’t tell you what I’m thinking. Here’s the song I’m listening to, but I won’t tell you anything else about me.”

When I started this particular blog, I wanted something different from Shambled Ramblings. I wanted to spew the serious stuff here no matter what it was. Yet, as you can see, I’ve hardly done that.

I’m realizing more and more that it won’t be an online diary of sorts because I can’t put other people through the fairly public scrutiny than can come with it. Believe it or not, people do read this. Many strangers, yes – but also many people I know. And I wanted it that way. But most people in my life, I can only assume, would rather not be a part of it.

And so here is fair warning: I’m holding back from you, blog readers. But it’s only because I have a real life other than the blogosphere.

Who woulda thunk it, huh?

A real life.

Roots, Bloody Roots

I should've dyed my hair in June.

So it's been awhile, yes. My roots are coming in with a vengeance. VENGEANCE!

I realize that. I know that half my hair is blonde, and the other half is DARK blonde. Oh, the shame. I hang my head, surely.

But here's the thing... there are factors that have been preventing me from fixing this unbecoming problem.

1. I'm indecisive and wasn't sure whether to stick to the usual highlights, or finally take the plunge and go dark. At this point, I'm 85% sure of the darkness a-comin'.

2. My regular hairdresser is in St. Catharines, and I haven't been back home in many many months. I rarely trust someone new, and don't know where to go.

3. MONEY. In order to have it done properly, it's gonna cost me a pretty penny. And at this point, the only pennies I have are ugly. I have to pay bills and such before succumbing to vanity. Responsiblities, ya heard of em?

So try and remember that when you come up to me daily and tell me how badly I need to "do something about my hair".

Cuz, gosh golly gee! I hadn't noticed.

Moral of the story?

SHAAAAADDAP!

Unless you're going to give me money and steer me in the direction of the best hairdresser in Toronto, you'd be wise to keep it to yourself.

You will only have to deal with my appalling appearance for a short while longer, and then you can finally sleep at night knowing that my hair is all one colour.

Stay strong til then. Use the force, Luke.

Asshat.

Content Is A Real Word. No, Seriously.

On Saturday night, me and the boy were hanging out with friends at their house.

At one point, I went and sat on the front porch alone for a few minutes, having a smoke. Sitting there, watching people walk by, hearing the muffled voices of my friends inside - I felt oddly content.

Content to sit there, content knowing I was going back inside to be with great people. Content in general.

It's such a rare and wild feeling for me, it was almost exhilarating. With so many day-to-day stresses and worries, I realized that I never quite reach that feeling of "Hey... this is good. Let's go with this."

I made a mental note to go inside and grab the pad of paper and pen that I always carry in my purse, and jot down key words that would remind me of that moment. I wanted to remember, to write it on here, and possibly recycle it for myself.

I never did write it down.

It came up later that night in a conversation with my friend Laura, and I knew I'd remember it today. Now I know it can happen, and things can be fine. I have love, I have friends, I have opportunities... Not bad for a pessimistic insecure bitch.

Does this mean I'll change, and everything will be sunshine, lollipops and rainbows?

Hell no.

But it'll be better. I had a glimpse.

Brainwaves

There's a weird underlying static.

Something's happening.

Good or bad?

Vanity Rant - I Do It For Me

This morning I finished reading "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas", and started a new book called "The Beauty Myth". It's a feminist view of female beauty, as it is judged.

I've only just started it, so I haven't reached the crux of the ideas yet, but it has got me thinking about women, vanity and insecurity. I've always been extremely insecure, sometimes for good reason and sometimes because my brain is crazy. A lot of it has to do with surroundings and thinking far too comparatively (i.e. - "My body doesn't look like hers." or "I wish I had her face." Horrible). I've allowed men and women to make me think less of myself, and am still trying to work past that.

That said, insecure or not, I don't think it's a bad thing to want to look your best. Not that this book is telling women to completely abhor all things 'beauty'; but I've seen, heard and read things in the past that did.

For myself, I like makeup. I like heels sometimes. I pluck my eyebrows, shave my legs, and dye my hair. These make me feel good. In some ways, they make me feel more like a woman. It's not the same for everyone, but those things are for me. Mine.

On the flip side of that, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to look my best for whomever I'm with as well. The majority of women don't exactly get excited when they see their significant other staring at another girl on the street, talking about how "hot" or "gorgeous" other women are, or flirting shamelessly with someone who isn't you. I know I don't. Depending on the severity of it, I can get downright fired up. We're competitive by nature. So will I wear an outfit that Craig likes, or do my hair his favourite way? Sure, sometimes. It's not a sin to keep interest.

I'm not a fan of how media portrays women. I'm not a fan of the idea of the "perfect female body", or using it to hock products. To put it bluntly, I think we're all fucking amazing no matter the shapes or features. But I don't think wearing things that make me feel good is a negative thing, or should be viewed as such.

After all, isn't that the point of everything? To feel good?

I think so.

New Start

A person can never have too many outlets. But maybe that's untrue.

While my other blog is suitable for random rantings, picture posts and mainly inane chatter, I felt that I wanted something new. Not necessarily to accompany it, but just to be different.

I have far too many things in my brain and heart at one time, and I need somewhere to place it. When I get too caught up in things, they affect the rest of my life. And so this is a brand new outlet. Much like a journal, but without the hand cramps. There's an existing journal on my old computer, but it's no longer around. This will replace it, and give me a blank canvas.

This is not a spot for photos of my weekend. Nor a place for me to censor anything. If you're in my life, you may be mentioned here. And no, not always in a positive light. I'm looking for reality, not faux internet safety posts.

Feedback will always be appreciated. Tell me I'm off-base, or that you agree.

This is my safe haven in my own little corner of the web.