8 Legs.

I'm looking at my knees, bent up against my body, as I sit on the basement floor.  I did a terrible job shaving them.
I need to be less careless when I am taking my morning shower, knowing my legs might be bare to public viewing that day.  I should shave them properly, and take care in the process.
But I won't.
I don't totally give a shit when I miss a spot, shaving around my knees, as I see I have missed many spots now.
Oh well.

I'm sitting on the basement floor.  It's 3:00 am.  I've seen two spiders, which I have smacked with a shoe Michael grew out of that was in a box next to me.  Kill a spider, it will rain...  It's supposed to rain tomorrow anyway, so fuck it.
Fuck it.

I don't want those creepy things coming near me when I'm sitting in my house--albeit a concrete basement floor.   My house.  Not spider house.  If spiders are outside I'd leave them be.  That's their home.  Outside.

Sam said he won't read my blog and hasn't for several months.  I tried to tell him I've been more positive, but he said he doesn't like to read it...  The thing is...  I'm a writer.  Sometimes I don't know how else to express something that is haunting me, or hurting me, or for goodness sake: making me happy!

When I write, I think about how to word it just right (and yes, I miss typos.  I'm sorry), and make sure it's clear.  Sometimes it's harder to verbalize something to someone--I mean say it out loud--especially when they cut you off and say, "I don't want to even talk about this," when really, if it's written clearly, the point of it all is so very innocent and clear, and not bothersome to hear.

Knees.  We see what we want to see...  

One of the most disturbing realizations imaginable, for a person who has a lot to say, and a lot to think, is knowing no one cares to hear her... Or him...  Me...  No one cares if I say anything or if I'm silent.   Silently speaking, floating along in life, talking about daily living...  Nothing further or deeper than a day; nothing more than what can be seen in my facial expressions...

Ha!  I used to be terrible at hiding any emotion or thought if the other could see my face.  I'm learning--yes it has been a long lesson, indeed--to show only what I know is necessary to make it all feel comfortable or pleasurable for anyone who can see.   I could always say the "right things," but my stubborn, silly face showed truth, always.

I am realizing, now, I can change my facial expression to satisfy the "listener."  I can wipe the blank stare of loneliness and emptiness, clean away, and produce a smile, with my words of encouragement or humor.

But scares me is that doesn't stick.  I can't trick myself.  I've read if you smile, it tricks your brain into feeling happy...  but my brain doesn't work that way.  As soon as my face is not in view, it slackens and becomes more...  Blank?  My eyes can see nothing.  I can see nothing at all, after pretending... Things are blurry, and I stop even trying to think about what's truth.  My face shows it when no one is looking.  I don't think about it anymore.  I can't.  I can't, sometimes.

No.  I am Luteal now, and I shouldn't write these things.

I don't know what's real.  Maybe I don't feel this way at all. That's right.  That's how ridiculous and crazy PMDD is.  I don't know...  Anything...  At least I don't believe in myself and what I think...  I feel very clear, then I think, "God, but I'm crazy right now..."  But sometimes people don't listen.  They don't want to hear it.  They don't want to read it.  They don't want to see any of it.

And I'm still sitting my basement floor at 3:38 am...  Studying my knees, and killing creepy spiders.