WARNING: This post for MATURE audiences

The following post is rated “R” by the Motion Picture Industry of America..

R is for Rant.

Here goes…

Every finger in the room is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces then I get afraid of what that could bring
I got a bowling ball in my stomach, I got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

Why do we, Crucify ourselves, every day,
I crucify myself, nothing I do is good enough for you,
Crucify myself every day and my heart is sick of being in chains.

• I am less than 30 days from 31 years old.
• I have a love/hate relationship with a job that is in a field I enjoy, that
  gives me satisfaction, and helps me define myself in a way I want to be defined.
• I have a loving relationship with a man that I finally want to spend the
  rest of my life with.
• I have spent a lot of time with men I never wanted to spend my life with,
  and am glad I never gave in to my father’s wishes to marry any of them.
• I have no desire to ever have a baby, though sometimes I think there are
  some moments of motherhood that I would enjoy.
• I think of my own mother every day, and worry, and wish a million times
  a day that she lived next door so she could come over for dinner and just
  chat.
• I regret that because she is so far away, I find it hard to keep her interested
  in my life.
• I am hurt that though I know she loves and misses me, that she won’t visit.
• I loathe long interstate drives so much I can actually make myself sick
  thinking about it, no matter the destination.
• I want to invest in the scientists who are trying to make Star Trek teleporters
  a reality.
• I often feel pulled in so many directions I forget what day of the week
  it is, or what I had for lunch, or what you just might have said to me.
• If I don’t get any Saturday or Sunday time to myself before I have
  to go back to work, I can get so stressed I want to explode.
• I love having grown up in Bluff City to two loving parents who knew what
  "til death do them part" meant.
• I used to dream as a teenager about how I would live in my parents house
  forever.
• I still hear echoes in my memory of my father’s regular good-bye phrase after
  I moved out, Just tell me when to bring the uhaul to take you home
• I sometimes think my mother isn’t selling the house and moving on because
  she thinks that if she doesn’t live there, then there’s no chance I’ll ever
  move home with her.
• I really miss her lemon chicken, but I’ll never be moving back to Bluff
  City.
• I would still love to live with my mother, so long as she moved to me instead
  of vice versa.
• I often think she should move to Alabama with my sister, but I don’t know
  how to convince her.
• The only thing worth going to Alabama for is the family. The restaurants
  and shopping stink.
• When I moved to Chattanooga at 17, I thought it was the big city, and loved
  it.
• At 30 I think of Chattanooga as the best small town I ever lived in, and
  sometimes dream of going back.
• I think I may be happier living in Atlanta than I have been in a very long
  time.
• I have more close friends now than I can ever remember having.
• I often wish my niece lived here, too.
• I think of her almost every day, and smile just to see her sign on MSN every
  day or so, even if we don’t make time to chat.
• I think she and my mother are the closest links to my family I have, and
  that doesn’t make me happy.
• I can hardly go out shopping without spotting something I think my sister
  needs for her house.
• I wish my sister’s house was down the street instead of down the interstate,
  across the stateline, and almost to the next stateline…
• I admit to having always been jealous of my brothers/sister’s relationships
  because they grew up together and I came along so much later.
• I am thankful for my niece who feels more like a sister, but somehow sad
  for the sister I’m not sure how to talk to no matter how much I love her.
• I can only hope these distant family members know I love them, even though
  I’m too busy to visit.
• Except for the one brother I’ve written off. I hope he knows what a prick
  I think he is.
• I’m glad he’s blocked my email and AIM name so I can’t tell him what a prick
  he is while I’m sitting here thinking about it, because I think it would
  displease my mother to hear about it.
• I’m glad I have this journal to write/rant/rave/vent and generally express
  the random things that cross my mind, because I feel so much healthier with
  this off my chest.
• I wonder if my family knows I used do all sorts of terrible things to try
  to deal with stress before I realized how cathartic writing down these things
  are.
• I think my mom might know.
• I used to keep a paper journal of every bad thing that happened to me,
  so I would remember and learn from my mistakes.
• I picked up the paper journal once and reread it and cried nearly all night at
  all the depressing things that I had remembered and tried to remember some
  good things to write down.
• I couldn’t.
• I haven’t written in the paper journal since I met James, even though I think
  Knoxville will always bring to mind some of the worse memories of my
  life.
• I have made myself finally remember the good with the bad.
• Since , my roommate, and one of my very best girl friends,
  introduced me to Livejournal, remembering the good with the bad has been so
  very much easier.
• I never imagine anyone not on my friends list reading my journal, but as
  more people comment or ask to add me to their friends list, I realize it and
  am amazed.
• I don’t want to end this on a sour note, but I am really irritated and a
  lot of this entry is actually making me cry.
• I can only assume people who wish to read my journal can glean the context
  of my mood or the situation or that it might be a post in frustration and
  take my words for what they are… simply my words.
• My words don’t change the world, they aren’t a matter of life and death,
  and most times they are so vague as to make real sense only to me.
• Of the 13 people on my friends list today, I know or have known 9 of them personally, and have met in person 2 more.
• I don’t publish the existence of this journal actively, and it is certainly not broadcast as if it were the nightly news.
• Reading my journal regularly may give a person a hint about me and my life, but don’t read it and think you know me.