The Kiddo Does Dr. Seuss

My darling little Kiddo wanted to read "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" for his Aunt Kathy, who is far off in VA. I have to share; memories like this are too precious not to share. 

Justin Beiber Is A Sign The 4 Horsemen Have Arrived

Just when I've thought I've seen every frigging stupid toy (Hello, Pictionary! When I was a kid we used a pen and some paper. What's with hooking yourself up to a TV screen and doodling on a smart pad) out on the Christmas saturated market, something else comes along to replace my blown brain cells. 

So when I caught site of the Justin Beiber real hair doll, I knew that the Apocalypse is only weeks away.  Apparently if you get tired of doing your own hair you have the freedom to mess with The Beiber's tresses. 

It can only get worse from here, so I've been told.
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In other non-sarcastic news, December 8 has always been a big deal for me since 99.  It was 12 years ago this day that I got the courage, strength, and Heavenly guidance to escape an abusive relationship.  A chain of events were set into motion that I can only attribute to Heavenly Assistance which ended 4 months of hell on earth. 
I was going to get super deep and emotionally vivisect that time, but I'm too friggin tired and frankly don't want to go there now.  I've got those demons out.  The people closest to me know what happened and how I believe that night 12 years ago was a make it or break it night.  So as I say my prayers as I drop off to sleep, I'll send up an extra thanks to the BVM.  I've never had a close relationship with her, as I'm more of a Magdalen type, but I am forever grateful.
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To date, which is 3.5 wks, I have lost 6 lbs. Which is a huge boost to my ego and confidence about kicking this weight to the curb.  But really when someone tell me that I'll go back to being "your old gorgeous self" after I lose XX number of pounds, it takes all of my willpower not to reply, "Bitch plz!"

*If Zombies Are Real Then I Want F. Scott Fitzgerld To Go After "The Great Gatsby 3D"

Redford. Hot then, pretty damn good looking still.

For the love of tea and crumpets, why in the name of Lay's Potato Chips would someone greenlight a remake of The Great Gatsby? In 3 fucking D?

I'm beyond flabbergasted.  Actions movies, space movies, movies about human-animal hybrids having sex with their tales--fine do it in 3D.  It'll cover the fact that the plot holes are so big the national debt could fit through it. 

I'll be there with popcorn when Fitzgerald comes back to gnaw the brains out of those involved in this hack job.  But I will not be wearing the 3D glasses.

PS-Maybe if I got more sleep I would see this as humorous instead of sending me into a pissy hissy fit.  I apply the same feeling towards "healthy" junk food.  No, I don't want to see that my Lucky Charms provide me with 9 grams of fiber.  (Not that I believe that.)  Nor do I want to hear that the trans-fats have been removed from my Oreos.  THEY DON'T TASTE THE SAME ANYMORE. 
Please powers that be, stop fucking with the classics.  Now hand me that stick of butter while I enjoy my first editions. 

*Alternately titled "Caroline Is On A Diet And Needs A Xanax Donut" 

Finding The Pulse On The Trigger Point--Or--Hooray For PTSD!

So today I had a fantabulous flashback that came out of nowhere.  Really I don't understand how can my brain jump from fold box flap A into flap B, stack in alternating patterns, to being back in a frightening place, walking alone across a dark windy campus.  I was crying, more like sobbing.  I remember two friends coming across me trying to ask why I was so upset.  I couldn't answer; the words wouldn't come.

But the memory stopped there.  I wasn't going to allow myself to wander down those dark paths again.

I don't know what set me off.  There wasn't any music playing.  I wasn't uncomfortable with my surroundings.  So strange.  

I'm just proud of myself for becoming aware of what was going on in my head and I was able to short circuit that mess.  I don't give myself enough credit for being strong and amazing, but damnitall I am! 

And now once again, that it is nearing midnight, I should really contemplate going to bed.  I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for staying up this late, but I had to get these words out.  But I had to watch Psych first. 

Just Do It

My head spins.

My demons, my insecurities, things I have been told before tell me that I am no good, that I can't write to save my life, that my job to provide for my son is a huge, fucking joke.

• I think I could love you, even though you didn't have a good education.
• You're not capable.
• We doubted that you'd bond with your son.
• When are you getting a real job? 
• You have readers in Kuwait? So what?

I doubt myself, I cringe when I think of writing.

Just do it, dammit!

You know you are better than this, you've come so far and you are still afloat.  Remember the tattoo you have? You might not know your plans but God does and so far He has dropped you. 

Write the damn book!

Stop doubting yourself! 

You are worth it, your life is wonderfully interesting, and your wonderful, wild imagination should be a playground for the world. 

You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.