So, the last couple of days I've been going through a fit of panic. I was at the library in one of the quite study rooms, went to get pizza, dropped something off at a friends house, then went home only to discover I didn't have my cell phone on me! I called the pizza place, my friend, and almost called the library until I realized they were closed. No one had seen my cell.

I came back to the library the next day to check if anyone had turned one in. Nope. So, someone had walked away with it! That phone held my life in it's small little package. My friends and their contact information, my facebook, my calendar, my pictures, my blogger - hell even my menstrual cycle!

I cannont believe that someone would do something like that. Find a phone and not give it back to the owner. Hell, I'm no saint, but that's someones personal private life! So, thanks to some limy bastard, I've got no cell phone! I can't make the business calls I need to make. I can't contact anyone who is waiting to hear from me. For goodness sake I don't even have their numbers anymore!

It's not fair!

When I first found out that someone had just walked away with my phone I thought about it logically. I have a smart phone. It has gps. I can track it down and give whoever has it a piece of my mind. No problem.

Then it died.

I ended up with the location of where it had been at 1am. And, of course, when I went there to look for it it wasn't there. I had my mother and two very nice strangers digging around in weeds and dirt looking for my poor little celly. Then I had to file a police report. Call and cancel my service. And cry.

I had a good long cry.

Now the running idea is this. Whoever took my phone meant to use it, however there was a lock to protect it from such. So, either they couldn't brake the lock or it died and either way they couldn't use it so they tossed it. Now, it's just out there all alone.

I loved you celly. I miss you.


Turning 21

If I'm honest with myself, and I try hard not to be, I'm terrified of turning 21. I know how rediculous that sounds, but I fear it all the same. I'm counting down the days and with each passing one I feel it growing closer.

In a society that touts being young as being "in" and old as "out" I suppose I'm really terrified of being old. I know that 21 is not old, but it is one year closer to being old. Or at least older.

For all of my life I've had a peter pan outlook. I don't want to grow up. My mother figured I grow out of it, but even now I find myself muttering "I won't grow up. I won't get old." I suppose I want to be 14 forever.

Silly huh?


B.C.A - Week One

Hi everyone!

My name is Lindsey and this is my first bad cleaners annoymous meeting. I've been looking into B.C.A for a while, but I never really had the guts to show up.

What? Oh, right. How long I've been a bad cleaner...

Well, I guess it started when I was very young. My mom was a super cleaner. If you moved a glass, just three inches to the right, she could tell. She could see a speck of dust from a mile away. She was like super woman with a vaccuum cleaner.

I remeber one time when, because I thought it would look pretty, I drew in crayon all over the hallway wall. She had me sitting there, with a wash cloth and a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing the wall for what felt like hours. That was supposed to be a part of learning how to clean, but really it just made me hat the idea of doing it.

I have to say that since then, the wall cleaning, I've been totally against cleaning. I tried to avoid it at all cost. I hate hate hate cleaning. That is to say...

My house is a mess. I still live with my mom, but she's given up on her psycho cleaning ways. I'm sure she did it with the thought that it would push me into having to clean for myself... she's right. The thing is that I have no idea where to start! I feel like cynthia stout who would not take the garbage out.

Right. I know. Have to start small. Move one room at a time. The bathroom? Yeah, that's probaby a good place to start.

Right. Ok. Well then, I'll do the bathroom.

Thanks everyone for listening. I think I'm done now.

Small conquests

I have a habit of trying to tackle several jobs all at the same time. What I'm starting to realize now it that I should really be focused on small conquests. I need to learn to tackle my small items, build up to my large ones, take my time. So, starting tomorrow I'm going to tackle things one at a time instead of all at once. It may serve me better than how I'm trying to do it now.


I have never had a close relationship with my father...or any kind of relationship at all, depending on who you ask. He doesn't drift in and out of my life every few months like most dead-bead dads. Mine takes this a step further. I see him once or twice a year. If that.

If I am honest, with myself and with you, my father has been the one person who I should have pushed out of my life completely. He's immature, childish, a drunkard and should have never been allowed to father the amount of children that he has. He's not responsible for himself or any of his children, including me. I don't even think he knows how to be a responsible adult.

When I was growing up it was my mother that showed up to all of my special events and occasions. He wasn't at any graduations, dance recitals, karate tournaments, gymnastic meets, swimteam meets. He was never there. He, however, was always invited.

I remember lying for my father at every turn. At dance recitals I would tell the other girls that he was at work, so couldn't take the day off to come see me, and I would have to beg and plead my mother to buy a tape of the recital so that my fellow dancers believed my story. At school, when he didn't show up to things like father daughter dances, the kids teased me and I retaliated with a lie that my father had been hit by a bus when I was small and, as a result, had died. I was putting lie on top of lie because I didn't want to be the little girl without a daddy.

I would call him to ask him to come visit me and he would promise to be there soon. He would never show. When he did show up, which was a rare occasion and he was always at least 3/4 drunk by then, he would push a wad of money into my hand. That was his way of saying he loved me. He would laugh drunkenly about what the relationship between he and my mother had been like before I was born, would sit on the hallway landing and croon up towards my mothers bedroom, would grab me and hold me as we watched the sun rise from the front porch. Then he would be gone. I wouldn't see him again for months.

I love my father. I hate my father. I am desperate for his attention. I want him to want to spend time with me. I want him to want to have to love me.

My father is a superhero. But the only time I really spend with him is when I'm the damsel in distress... Of course, even that doesn't last long.


So, the car broke. My mother was out going to a meeting and, according to her, it started to shake, grind, and wouldn't go in reverse. She, of course, called roadside service and parked in a church lot until they got there. A piece had broken and fallen off under the car.

It figures that the piece that broke was the size and shape of a rubber bottom of a crutch.

This is just a small piece in the long line of shit that has been happening and it is getting amazingly ridiculous. I'm sick of life getting brighter and more manageable then turning right back to shit on us. It seems like nothing will ever be as stable as it used to be and i miss the stability.

You know what? I need a fucking cupcake.


So, I woke up this morning to the blaring of my alarm clock...normally the sign of a bad day, but this morning doesn't feel so bad. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. My boyfriend is already making me laugh. Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.

So, good morning to you all. Have a wonderful day! I know I will!


Thinking too much

Ever had one of those days where you're trying to come up with an idea for something an you just can't think of one? Well, welcome to my week. I've been wracking my brain for a great idea. Any idea, really. What have I come up with? NOTHING.

It's like I'm fresh out of ideas. This has never happened to me before... At least not that I can remember. I'm usually bursting with ideas. Most of them are stupid, but they're there for goodness sake! I can't even manage a bubble of an idea this week.

I'm really starting to stress about it. I have a friggin migraine in the middle of my forehead.

Does anyone out there have a brilliant idea. Any idea!


One Spark...

I've always had a passion for writing. Pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, imagination to reality is what brings me joy. I dream in words and punctuation.

I live in stories. I thrive on tales of adventure and danger. I bask in my wondrous ideas, bright and clean like fresh grass dappled in sunlight. I dream my stories with my eyes wide open.

I've always had this fantasy, one that I still refuse to let go of, of writing a book. Not to get famous, or be noticed, but to share my joy with the world. I want to fill other heads with the strange and wondrous things I have created over the years. I want little girls to hear what I have to say, open their imaginations to limitless possibilities, and teach them to dream in vibrant color - even while they're awake.

Anyone can dream. Anyone can write. Anyone can create something. Anyone can be great.

It just takes a spark of an idea, one little spark, to cause a wave of fire.

I want my fire. I want to bask in it, burn in it, let it consume me. I want to catch flame and spread it across the country, the world, the universe. I want to inspire.


I had a conversation with my mother this morning that is making me wonder about the place I am currently in. Last night, a friend of mine put up a post on facebook telling all of her friends that her mother said she wished she had never had her. Now I know we all say things we don't mean, but that is a little harsh. Don't you agree?

My mother justified her mother's statement by saying "At 20 and 21 we thought you would be out in the world without us, but you all are still here and we're still having to support you. You all are not productive and you're not helping us out either. You all aren't doing anything."

I can't say how helpful my friend is at home, but the girl works a full time job and is trying to get herself back in school. I would call that doing something. I would call that doing a lot, seeing as how she works Mon. - Sun. on a regular basis. I'm surprised she isn't working herself to an early grave.

I, on the other hand, do not have a full time job. I was there. I tried it. It didn't work out. Oh, well. I've moved on.

I'm trying to start my own business. I'm trying to pull in clients. I'm trying to make something for myself that is MINE. Isn't that productive?

If not, then let me add this. I cook every single meal in this house. It may be just my mother and myself, but it's a whole lot to cook for two when one of the people who eats here is super picky. If cooking doesn't count as being productive then maybe all of the science projects I've done, cupcakes I've baked, and papers I've helped grade/write for my "in the process of student teaching" mother should count. Just because she's my mother I don't have to do those things. I choose to.

I could easily tell her that I'm not helping find or cut out shadow puppets. I don't want to make the twister in a jar. I'm not baking cupcakes for the bake sale. I'm not going to give up my prized magazines, with all of the recipes I've been saving, for your school children to cut up and feed to a giant goat (something else I had to find/ help cut out) as a part of your nutrition section. I don't have to do these things.

And do you think I hear a thank you? Sure, after I mention she forgot to say it. "You're appreciated.", she says. How can I feel appreciated when you're bombing my "productivity"? I can't. So, I'd thank her much to keep her mouth shut or trade positions with me.

I firmly believe two things. 1.) No one can ever make you feel bad without your expressly given permission and 2.) You should always look at both sides of a situation. Parents sometimes need to focus on the latter a little more.



I've always been told to just tell the truth. "It will set you free!", they say. I'm not so sure about that though. I've always been better at lying. It seems so much easier.

Why is that?

Today's Horoscope


Let your theatrical nature out to play today, Sag. There's no sense in hiding your light under a bushel or pretending you're more of a shy girl than a wild child. By showing more of your true nature you're bound to attract more compatible friends and love interests into your sphere. An opportunity to preform in front of people could light up your day. Happy Hour karaoke party, anyone?

Good Morning World

I know it's about noon, but I'm just now crawling out of bed. It's not that I'm lazy, though my mother would say differently, but she's been waking me up at the buttcrack of dawn for the last couple of months now. I can only have so many 6am wake up calls after finally dropping off to bed at 4:30am. I love my mom, really I do, but this is starting to tick me off.

She's been in the process of doing her student teaching, which I am so proud of her for, so she's been going off to school every morning to "hang out" with a classroom full of 2nd graders. I thought her student teaching would be an amazing opportunity and fun for her , but it's working me to death. Every morning the same routine...

She gets up waaaaaay too early for my taste and then, because there are just some things you can't do with nails the length of hers, I get woken up. Now, when I was in school, I learned to ignore the constant yelling of my name... turns out I can't do that anymore. She stands outside my door and yells my name over and over and over again until I answer. Some mornings its "I need you to button my shirt", but this morning it wasn't that.

This morning I had to take out the trash, make my mother's lunch, get some of her clothes out of the laundry, button her shirt, make sure the science project she's doing for her second graders (that really I had to put together) was ready to go, and after all of this she left the house without so much as a thanks. I really starting to think this is going to kill me and that maybe I'm not cut out to be the mother of a child if my mother is driving me crazy like this. I can't wait til her student teaching is over.

Three more days and counting!


Lost my voice...

Is it horrible? Probably.

I honestly can't help it though. I actually try to avoid him now. There are a number of reasons to avoid someone and, in this case, they're all probably wrong.

In the course of our relationship, long distance for those who didn't know, we've spent dozens upon dozens of nights talking to each other. It started with our house phones (running up our parents' phone bill), moved to our cell phones (a whole lot of texting done there), and by the brilliance of skype finally ended at our computers. We've been through good times together, bad times together, even suffered through high school together. He knows me better than anyone. I love him insanely, passionately - entirely.

Now, being that we're apart from each other, our "extracurricular" activities differ from a normal couple. This is not something that bothered me. I've always been very talkative - no matter what the subject. Lately, though, that is not the case.

It seems that, as our relationship progressed, my voice has diminished. I can't say the things that are on my mind like I used to. This happens all the time, not just in "personal" matters, and I find myself not knowing what to do.

The obvious answer is to speak to him, but therein lies the problem. Whenever I try to bring myself to speak about things my throat closes up. I can't get the words out. I can't say what I want to say.

So, here I find myself. I'm avoiding him and his questions. I'm practically voiceless. I've got no idea what to do or how to handle my situation. I'm basically stuck.

Anyone out there happen to see where my voice ran off to?


Today's Horoscope


There's a thin line between love and lust today, so be cautious about making any long-term commitments. What seems like a "must have" in the moment could lose ts shine quickly if it's too expensive or high-maintenance to keep up with. Know thyself, Sag: You don't have the patience to fuss with anything after the firs blush of excitement wears off.


A sad sigh

Most days I feel like this flower. Like I started with all
the potential in the world and suddenly I've lost my head and the potential in me is dying. I'm a dead little flower in a big brilliant garden. And from where my head is on the ground I can't see any other struggling flowers, so I swear that I'm the only one.

And then... Maybe I'm not a flower at all. Maybe I'm just a dandelion playing pretend.


My family has always been a little disjointed. We love each other. We hate each other. We can't stand one another. But, worst of all, we don't know each other.

When I was a little kid my mother always told me I was an only child. It was just me and her. We were all we would ever need. However, when I turned 12 the world fell on its side and nothing has been the same ever since.

Junior High. I hated gym class. I faked sick to get out of it all the time. Looking back on it now I'm really glad that I did.

I had been sitting in the nurses office, faking yet another sickness, when this kid walked in. I didn't have a slightest clue as to who he was. I mean I had seen him around, but we weren't friends and we didn't travel in the same circles. I wasn't even paying attention to him...until the nurse said his name.

I remember looking up in shock, wondering if I had heard right. Did he have the same last name as me? Turned out he did. And, even though I had been told I was an only child, I had to ask. Turns out his father was my father.


It was the most shocking thing that could have happened to me. Here I was, sitting in the nurses office in my gym clothes, starting at someone I had never met, but was tied to me by blood. That day will never leave my mind. Ever since then I've had brothers and sisters popping up out of the woodwork.

As a matter of fact, as of yesterday, I have two new younger siblings. Both of them are the same star sign as I am, born a year apart from each other, and three years after me. I've never learned how to react to the news of new siblings. I never know what to say or do.

What do you say to someone who is your blood, your kin, that you've never met? How do you get to know that person? How do you make a connection with someone who should have always been a part of your life?

I just hope that my family will come together some day.

I don't want to end up marrying my brother!!


You know how you can diagnose yourself when your sick. It's like muscle memory sometimes. Your body has had the current sickness so many times that you know what it is just by the beginning symptoms.

You know you've got the stomach flu when your body heaves uncontrollably. The cold comes on with a runny nose and sometimes a cough. Flu brings you fever, cough, runny nose, and the heaving from your stomach. Strep and Thrush are a pain in the throat, although the pain varies.

This thing I have now, however, I have no idea what it is. Or rather, what it has mutated into. It started out relatively simple - a sinus infection. Check around anywhere and you'll find that those usually go away in a few weeks without the need to see a doctor. Mine didn't go away after almost 8 week... So I knew I needed to see a doctor. I just didn't have a way to get there, so I kept putting it off.

When I hit 10 weeks with no relief in sight I finally made that doctors appointment. It's on Monday, but it seems like since I made the appointment this sickness has gotten worse. I have a swollen throat, pressure in my face, cough that just won't quit, and a pressure in my ear.

My throat is the worst. It's swollen and feels like I was swallowing razor blades. Trying to actually swallow is quite painful. Coughing is just a little bit worse. There are points when I just want to slit my throat with the hopes that it will make the pain stop.

Gargling sea salt water doesn't work. Decongestants aren't workings. Robitussin isn't suppressing my cough. Neither are the Halls cough drops - I've been popping them three at a time. And drinking tea and honey - forget it - it just makes me cough and hack even more.

Drinking water - no help.
Drinking juice - no help.
Taking medicine - no help.
Rest and sleep - temporary relief.

God! Someone help me!

-ranting complete-


So, I've been absolutely sick since January. I've been coughing, hacking up blood, having serious swelled sinuses, random nosebleeds, and through out all of this my mother has said I'm faking it. That's how it's always been. If I ever said I felt sick she said I was faking it. Funny thing is that once I get into the docotr's office she starts diagnosing me and is always right.

I remember one time when I said I didn't feel good. She, as usual, didn't believe me, but she let me go to work with her anyway. Around lunch time I started feeling worse. Again she didn't believe I was really sick. It wasn't until I vomited on her office floor that she belived me. She's always been like that though. Sometimes I think she joking and other times she seriously doesn't believe me.

I know this was one of the times she didn't believe. She's been saying I wasn't sick, but coughing up blood isn't fake. And now, after weeks and weeks of being sick, I'm starting to sound like a fucking squeaky bot! My voice has been going all pitchy and squeaky for the last two days. I really hate being sick.

Glad I'm seeing the doc next week. Then maybe I can kick whatever has been kicking my ass since the begining of the year.


the taxes guy

We just got our taxes done. It was a community thing and I wasn't looking forward to it, but then I met the tax guy. I have to say that I've always had a thing for geeky boys. Pocket protectors, glasses, snort-laughs, and game loving are all pluses in my book. The guy who did out taxes, 23 year old Josh, had all of those qualities plus a slight stop-start stutter. It was cute. I actually enjoyed getting taxes done after all and, since he said he likes cupcakes, maybe I'll see him again at Cupcake Camp.

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Have you ever felt your fingers itch with the intent to write something? Something that you could feel deep, deep down in your blood? Something you just knew, without having thought about it, could be something grand. I have that feeling.

I itch to put words on paper, feel the need to scratch at my fingers until the bleed. I need to write. Words of wisdom? Words of love? Words of compassion? Possibilities for the future? The sins of my past? I don't know.

I feel as though I should be blindly reaching for my pen. The only thing stopping me from doing such is that I already know. I know that once I begin to write the mood will be gone, dissipate like mist, escape my blood and leave my body feeling cold. I can never stop it, though I try.

So, instead I must suffer the feeling of my finger itching. I will scratch them and wait. I know the feeling must leave at some point and, as sickening as it is in my eyes, I am relived when the feeling is gone. I relish in its absence. I open myself to it.


Stats Say What?

I don't know what compelled me to do it... Okay, that's a lie. I know exactly what compelled me to do it, but that's besides the point. I did it. I just did it.

It was odd at first. Strange and unusual to me. Brand new, yet having been there all along, waiting for me to look. And I, brave little thing that I am, looked. Honestly, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.

I looked for a long time... And I came to the conclusion that...


Now, I didn't think anyone actually read what I was writing, but turns out I was wrong...which doesn't happen often. I just want to say "Thank You!" to whoever has actually taken a moment to read what I've written.

Even if I lost your attention after the first 30 seconds.