Monthly Archives: February 2012

I know, I am a traitor

I know, after all these months of a post-a-week, I have failed you all. I actually feel this strange feeling of treason. I have a new understanding of the famed Benedict Arnold. I left you all and filled a different spot in the Blogosphere, one that I am very content with.

I started this blog to release my inner frustrations and sheer madness. I had wanted the freedom of publicly displaying my randomness and innermost turmoil. And at first it was soothing and helpful, until it was no longer. I somehow got these dreams of grandeur and publicity, aspirations to get Freshly Pressed. That was my first and most detrimental mistake. Once I set those goals for myself, I set myself up for failure.

For one, I really did not want to be Freshly Pressed. There is way too much of a pressure when having so many followers on my blog when I can hardly find the time to write. I don’t want to struggle to please all of my viewers. If it was my business, I would be game. But it is not. My business is being a mom and for me, the non-supermom, it is beyond a full-time profession. I stripped myself of all the fun that came with blogging.

So one day, I opened up WordPress and decided that it was time for a change. It was time for me to create another safe haven for my overabundance of words. I was desperately craving the freedom of letting loose of my vulgarity. Most of all, I wanted to live a peaceful life of anonymity. After that it was easy, I created an anonymous blog with an anonymous email address. I picked a basic theme and explicitly stated on a sidebar widget that I was not looking for followers, but would welcome anyone who wished to join.

Reverse psychology, people.

This time I had no expectations. I would actually be quite mortified if I got Freshly Pressed. I am picturing hordes of people vomiting from my TMI and gasping from my obscenities. It is not as if it’s a bawdy blog, it’s just a safe haven for freedom of speech. It is a journal and a place to release my frustrations. The posts are not completely lacking in grammar and punctuation, but in a courtroom they would need a whole lot of lawyers fighting for them in their abuse of the English License.

I can not leave this blog because I spent many days making it what it is. I have this special place in my heart for it. I will write only when I have something to say that I desperately wish to proofread. I met great bloggers through this place, and I am not ready to go. I just can’t promise a post-a-week anymore.

It is funny how my new blog became popular without any effort. It is not central meeting area for bloggers, but it gets far more views than this one ever got.

I am glad to back, though.

Her Morbid Mosaic Mystique

I have never met anyone in my life that was more complex and more pessimistic than she was. She had always boggled my mind. Unlike the game of Boggle, no matter how hard I shook her, those obnoxiously loud little cubes did not settle into actual words. Whichever way you turned her, the sequence of letters did not clarify a thing. The words that came from her mouth, or pen, were always far beyond my comprehension. They never fell into their plastic square grid forming logical explanatory words, the dice just tumbled into a muddling mayhem.

She grew up in a loving home and seemed to have passed through all the proper and common channels into adolescence. She was stubborn, unfaltering, and highly motivated. She constantly aimed for perfection. She seemed to a be a typical teenager and average student, everything appeared to be ordinary from a distance. However, from nearby, not so much.

She spoke in riddles, confusing even herself, at times. Her writings were unusually bitter and unhappy, unnaturally gruesome and brooding. There were many mentions of death and darkness and quite an impressive vocabulary, that till this day, I can not make sense of. Behind every word of her poems were strings of meanings and alternate ways of understanding each phrase, even Shakespeare would have been impressed. Read the rest of this entry