She told me a bunch of things:

My grandmother is around me.
I will never bear children.
I am a highly sensitive person.
I need to focus on myself and no one else.
I need to stop getting involved in married men.
There's a guy who's a chef/worked in a restaurant that I will get into a relationship with but that won't happen in the immediate future, I need to give it time.
I will have issues with my blood pressure.
I should find a new job and a new profession.
She told me that I should be a social worker, teacher or other sort of caregiver.

A lot had to deal with my husband. At the end of the session I had let down my guard and started to cry. The tears just fell from my eyes.

Tonight, I had my husband do a reading for me. Again, it wasn't very informative but a look in the future. It'll be alright, I just have to keep myself in check.

The overall theme of my life.

I easily get carried away, delusions of grandeur. It's good to fantasize but when that fantasy crosses the line of obsession it is no longer healthy. Sometimes I stumble, but it is mere stumbling, not a broken leg that prevents me from getting right back up and carrying on.

I'm hanging a sign on my heart: No Vacancy.

The inn needs some renovations.

I am also a magnet for the unattainable.

And, I fall very easily for them.

When I was younger, I just resigned myself to the fact that I have a lot of people that I just crush on. Then I met my husband, the first night we met I pretty much knew it was meant to be. Ten years later, we're finally walking our separate paths.

Now that I'm older, wiser, and significantly hotter, I'm back where I started from. Exploring the world of the opposite sex, trying to figure out what works for me, what doesn't. What I think works for me obviously doesn't but I continuously fall back into the familiar pattern of falling for the unattainable.

First it was Georgia boy. God I actually think I loved him. I learned a lot about my self during the four or five months of interaction we had. I also learned a lot about my own sexuality. I learned that I'm definitely submissive sexually as opposed to my waking life where I am the dominant, pant-wearing bitch that I am.

Secretly, I find myself softer, more desiring of curling up in the arms of my partner. This is different in my waking life because I try to present myself as cold-hearted and strong. A facade that only those very close to me know as being just that.

I am a sincere person searching for that one that will brighten the darkest days, warm the coldest one, and hold me tight when tears shed from my eyes. Lately, I could fill a lake with the amount have fallen unto my bosom.

Now I'm missing someone else, bound to my word. Giving him space to think about the trials and the pu pu platter life just handed to him. It's difficult for me to not be there for someone when I feel they need it the most. For me, I cannot fathom not having a confidant to communicate fears and sorrows to and receive advice in order to make everything better.

I need to be strong, evolve, forget, move on. I need to stop falling victim to my heart.

It all went downhill after there. I haven't been able to sleep well. I haven't been feeling healthy in two months. I feel as if I've been wandering around like a zombie. I've been short and curt with people. I've wanted to be left alone. I've been drinking. a lot.

I broke down to my doctor during my follow up on my medication. She poked and prodded me about the divorce, asking questions that all medical professionals ask - does he abuse you, does he hit you, blah blah blah.

It's a life altering event and she says that I'll come through it stronger and better for it. It's a learning experience, women learn things out of situations. I hopefully will learn to take better care of myself, not to settle on something that I don't agree with, to stop playing the role of the martyr.

But it's difficult. I feel like I am a dented can. It may look okay to nibble on, but what's the chance that poison has set in and will kill the imbibers? Damaged goods. Divorced at 31. Will I ever find happiness again, will anyone want to marry me? Will I ever have a child? These questions plague my mind and yet if you ask me how I'm doing, I'll seem like the Rock of Gibraltar. If I keep telling myself I'm fine, perhaps I'll believe it.

It was a reminder that although change is difficult, our bodies, hearts and minds will adapt to the new patterns we seek to undertake. We must be patient and forgive ourselves when we backtrack or regress to usual habits. Eventually with enough practice, the new methodology becomes common place superseding the old ways we've released.

One of my habits is that I can fall become infatuated with people easily. I guess one could say that I am a relationship addict. I am also an addict for tortured souls. I consistently seek out individuals that I think can be helped by myself, perhaps as a means of taking the spotlight away from my issues and problems. If I help others, it means that I'm bettering the world and what do I care if that means that my needs are neglected?

My old habit of selfless martyrdom must be transmogrified into selfish rehabilitation.

I restrain, but still compulsion drives me. Refresh, refresh, refreshing my compulsion as if I were to will you to step out from the silence. The silence that has built me back up, made me sure of who I am again.

I smile, I speak to strangers. I relent to the awkwardness of conversations around me. Pointing out yet again, gregariousness inside. Easing back into socialism, easing back into extroverted tendencies.

Reclusion nearly terminated, springing forth from closed opportunities. Dancing, drawing, creating sprung forth from within. Shining light upon blackness, tunneling through the void.

Wild abandon.

Every time his hand goes into my bowl, his dick touches my candy.

I continue to work my ass off to kept the Sallie Mae demons at bay. I don't need them hunting down members of my family to try and draw me out into the open like a horrendous plot of a spy movie.

It's surprising to me that I have the constitution to remain working in retail 20+ hours a week. I am crispy blackened mindless drone ignoring the spark of creativity for one more minute of slumber.

It isn't all that bad, it can be quite good. The individuals I work with are bitter and tainted which provides enough material for a good laugh. As well as the visiting mutants that are a good representation of America on a whole. I fear for the future.

Speaking of the future, our latest economic instability has me double guessing the probability of vacationing in Europe later this year. Bad time to be trying to save money to holiday in a place that has a 2:1 ratio already.

One of my greatest complaints with gmail and yahoo mail and they love to load the friends list. If I walk away from my computer, which I do so often, it makes those think that I'm really at my computer when I'm not. I can understand those that get annoyed when I don't return messages.

So much to do and so little to do it in.

I wrote this on a Physical Chemistry exam, however, I didn't make the connection at the time that my professor's name was Charles. I remember living up at the House and bringing Orange Kool-Aid and Vodka to the 'makeup' exam, downing it outside in the hallway and then going in.

I was doomed from the start. I think it was the second time I was taking this class, both times before major meltdowns. I remember trying to steady myself as I walked around this gigantic glass menagerie of a self-made manometer thinking, "maybe that vodka drink wasn't such a great idea." The other not-so-brilliant idea was the H2SO4 rhyme. But I was doomed, doomed to bomb another chemistry exam, I thought that perhaps a little fun rhyme about sulfuric acid might bring a smile to my professor's face.

This incident occurred shortly before Columbine. K tells me that instead of that smile, it could have been perceived as a threat. Fantastical statements were more of my lab partner's shtick - continuously questioning the outcome of sticking one's head in an x-ray fluorescence detector, or the information so freely given on explosives and automotive manifolds. I wonder what happened to that kid, in a post-Columbine, 9/11 world would the self-destructive tendencies and my self-preservation concerns be taken a bit more seriously?

Looking back, I made a poor chemist. I'd make an excellent pharmacist though. Well, I'd make a decent chemist if all I had to do was be a lab monkey with no real degree of higher level formula/compound analysis.

I helped my brother put up a new stockade fence and build gates for the two entrances. Working with power tools is exciting except the whole worrying that a blade will break loose and embed itself into my jugular causing a fountain of blood to spill all over the wood. I think I've watched too many horror movies in my life. Speaking of horror movies, Comcast has a horror on demand channel that my parents get. Oh the joy of reliving my childhood when I would watch cheap B movies on Saturday afternoon.

I miss having the weekends to myself to clean the house and throw out a lot of shit. A LOT of Shit. I'll either throw, freecycle, sell, maim, or dump the stuff.

WEQX was a bunch of slackers on Thanksgiving and didn't play Alice's Restaurant Massacree, a tradition Kris and I look forward to on the way over to his cousin's house for thanksgiving. After dinner with his cousin and family, I traveled to my aunt's house to eat dessert with my family. I heard the ass-end of the song four times but never listen to the whole thing, so I downloaded it and now get to enjoy it every year.

Shadow cat complete with high resolution hissing action.

Sunday I will finally cross off a todo - see NIN live. I'm more looking forward to the freak watching.

Speaking of freaks, I was watching the MTV movie awards when AFI played their piece. I was hoping that someone was going to come on stage and beat the lead singer to show him what pain actually felt like instead of giving the appearance that his mommy didn't love him. I love tortured souls, not Luke Skywalker tortured when singing.

And thinking of torture, ECW is back for the summer and although it isn't the original with lots of blood it still has the Sandman. He's looking much better since the last time I saw him, almost back to kicking ass shape.