Tag Archives: writing

May 6, 2026

I think yeah

By Steph

…definitely, the eclipse, moon, planets, comets, asteroids, ghosts, spirits, spirit animals, trees, flowers, grass, rocks, mountains, rivers, sandy red clay, sky, sun, clouds, rays of sunlight, Mother Earth, Gaia, Mother Eureka, Ozark Dreamland, the collective consciousness of all people everywhere, the specific consciousness of the people, places, and things nearest to me, and everything all around and under all of us, affects the way I feel and how I process things and what I can do, that’s for sure. Oh, also where I am in my monthly cycle, if I’ve taken my meds, if it is too hot or too cold or too sneezy or too itchy or too ticky or too touristy, if I’ve slept okay, if I’ve eaten and how is my stomach? Am I bloated, do my pants fit, when did I cry last? Does he really love me? For fuckssake, you may as well think so until you can’t anymore! You’re obviously fucking doing this and it’s obviously gonna hurt but it’s not like you’ll listen to reason!

As a general rule, no, I’m probably not picking up what you’re putting down unless you are also like this, in which case THANK FUCK, JUST BE COOL. Works for me! I think it’s probably a really good thing that I mostly only talk to people I feel safe with; even if one of the four of them got super out there, it wouldn’t be outthere-outthere, you know? That makes me wonder why I would be “afraid” of being around other maybe not-so-known-therefore-not-as-safe people and I got nothing, because, in this moment, I don’t feel like I would have to be any way other than dressed (no cleavage, definitely bra or a sweater/coat, no shorts!, no yoga pants, omg all my jeans are so tight!) (yoga pants and crop top rn so I guess maybe there’d be preparation involved (thanks trauma!) and like, distaste, for having to make myself palatable at all fucking YES, I DO, I NEED ALL THESE KNIVES and this is where calling cards would come in. You’d leave your card if I was…INDISPOSED! I never remember that word when I need it. But yeah, I’ll see you when I’m more disposed.

1 Comment   |  tags: , , , , | posted in anxiety, CPTSD, Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, thoughts, total chaos

May 5, 2026

What Life

By Steph

 

What life, that was his answer, then.

And I knew just what he meant.                                 

Neither of us had much to lose.

But we knew, both of us knew,                   

one of us would hurt before the end

and broken hearts are hard to mend.

 

Oh, how easy it is to ignore

things like facts, and fear,

and common sense, when                        

kisses are like lightning storms

and pulses pound with such demand.

 

I am the way I have always been.

Am I? The way I’ve always been?

Maybe, this is who I was, before,

just a daughter, a mother, a wife.

(Until I wasn’t anymore.)

                                 

Or maybe that girl-child-woman                              

 broke into so many pieces

that even she will never find all of them.

Maybe she’s long gone and

you’re looking at the shell of a woman

who so selfishly survived.

 

Or, okay, maybe I’ve been fucked up since the day I was born!

The ‘when’ hardly matters when you

suddenly, somehow, find yourself whole.

If you can acknowledge the fucking travesty of living.

If you can remember the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

 

“Self-care” can, by definition, only be selfish.

Self-absorbed bitch, he named me, and he was right.

Because not killing myself takes all that I have.

I know my worth; I am a burden if anything at all.

But I will keep going, even if I have to crawl.

 

If I live selfishly, care for myself,

with this never-ending “self-care”

then I don’t want to die. Every day.

I can exist, I can just be without

fighting myself for my self.

                   

I can just

be without.

 

Maybe you don’t know the hopelessness

of a hopeless life.

If I’ve accidentally, finally, for now,

found a way to want a life?

What line would I not cross?

What rules would I not toss aside?

For the smallest chance to abide

inside my own mind and not mind?

 

I am no one’s happiness, I am no one’s home,

not even my own.

Still, I know

that any kind of “us”

even an “us for now”

will be time well spent.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in poetry, stuff I made up, thoughts

February 6, 2022

Is Everything in Question?

By Steph

If I post this right now, I will never need to stress about sharing anything because I will have already posted the most irrelevent and ridiculous shit. If I was you? I might skim this one. (But say hi or something, damn.)

I just heard a song called Loner by Maggie Lindemann and seriously, it would be my anthem if it wasn’t so…exposing.

So, here’s what’s up with me, let me know what’s up with you in the comments. I can do that because I expect two people to have accidentally read this far, but it’s also totally possible that tomorrow I won’t remember that I have a blog.

Shit, I just remembered that I came here to write a music review because I have to post something, submit something, do something (but did I really, doubtful) and I want to talk about Our Current Reality? Because what is even happening right now. I cannot with everysinglething. I mean I was more capable when I was publishing things. Now, all the things seem insurmountable. Or are insurmountable. Is it unlikely, or have I convinced myself I’m actually terrible?

There’s a Halsey lyric that doesn’t go “…need someone to come along and tell me ____ all right, is this okay?” That’s not it, but you yeah. (I should probably tell you that I use the wrong words a lot now. If I end a sentence with “so.” then you should know the rest and I gotta conserve my energy, and I don’t know the word.)

I need someone to do that but I don’t trust anyone so I probably wouldn’t believe them anyway.

I have questions.

How was I relatively ok when the kids were little? Was it that everything was so immediate with children that I didn’t have time to have a breakdown? Taking care of them gave me some sort of structure in my life? That’s funny, because I can hear myself saying, “Kids need structure and routine!” Was that part of it?

Well, this fucking pandemic definitely didn’t help anything, right? You’re supposed to stay home, you know, and my body wouldn’t handle a serious illness, so. Also, I don’t drive anymore and live on the edge of the forest.

Shit! My back is killing me, of course my neck always hurts, and I keep getting distracted. This is what happens with anything I try to do, I either get sick or get distracted with something else and then forget what I was doing or I suddenly realize that I’m just sitting here with my head in my hands again.

I initially was going to punish myself for not…being better/submitting literally anything/doing one normal human thing by writing a music review (which isn’t punishment even but it’ll make me feel stupid so). I had to stop and think about what I came here to do.

Okay, so I guess I won’t tell y’all everything right this second. Or even anything.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in Blogging, chronic illness, Depression, Mental Illness, never take my advice, random bullshit, thoughts, writing, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

April 5, 2018

Mishaps.

By Steph

This is a thing that happened:  We Don’t Chew Glass

So, I haven’t been sleeping well.

Yesterday I maimed a lawn chair.

I just now SET MY FUCKING ROBE ON FIRE WHILE I WAS STILL IN IT.

How are y’all?

I posted the above on my fb page right after it happened, but I need to elaborate on this fuckery. You might need to see this picture I posted a couple days ago to get the full effect of what went down.

cool af

Me, in my usual attire. Notice the two bathrobes.

Okay. So, it was really windy, and I was trying to light a cigarette (Once again, AT LEAST IT’S NOT HEROIN. I’m a work in progress.) so, being the genius that we all know me to be, I ducked my head into my robe to block the wind.

Well. That red robe up there is flammable. I don’t know if you guys know this about bathrobes, but now you do, and you’re welcome. That motherfucker just whooshed, top to bottom, huge flames. I didn’t think I would die, because I was too busy thinking, damn, I didn’t know fire was so fast.

I even put ACTUAL EFFORT into making fire a few days ago, and couldn’t. But accidentally set myself on fire? That I can do without even trying.

So, the inside of the red robe is on literal fucking fire and, incidentally, still on my body. But I was wearing two robes, so I didn’t feel anything.

Remember when I said it was really windy? Okay. So I stood up, trying to decide whether to rip the robe off or stop, drop, and roll. While I’m pondering this, I realize that the wind (and possibly my frantic flailing about, idk) has not helped the situation. Not even a little.

I finally got the thing off, and threw it in the yard, because, hey, it’s not like fucking GRASS AND TREES EVER CATCH ON FIRE.

I tried to figure out how to stop, drop, and roll the robe itself, but for some reason that seemed like maybe not what I should do.

Once the fire stopped, obviously with no assistance from me, I took it inside. Because, much like grass and trees, houses aren’t flammable. ( How have I even survived this long?)

Anyway, I decided the safest place for it was the bathtub.

Don’t ask, because I don’t even know.

Later that night, I was feeling pretty not good and sometimes hot baths help, so that’s where I headed. Lots of times, I’ll lay a towel over my body while I’m in the bath, and it’s like extra heat. But, in this particular case, I already had a burned-ass red robe in the tub, so I didn’t even have try to find a clean towel. *Note: I just realized, the robe wasn’t clean. It was my “outside” robe. Also it had just been on fire. Whatever.

The bath was very relaxing, the robe was super heavy, way better than a towel, so I just leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, cause my legs weren’t driving me insane for the first time in days.

I guess everybody knows not to wash red clothes in hot water. If not, I’m telling you now. When I opened my eyes, that fucking bathtub looked like I had been bathing in the blood of virgins. It was like a goddamned crime scene.

My legs felt better, but from past experience I know that if I don’t fall asleep before the bath-relax magic wears off, I’ll be right back in there. So I left the blood-water in the bath, along with the robe.

I also left my soaking wet shirt, bra, and underwear in the floor, BECAUSE I FORGOT TO TAKE THEM OFF BEFORE I GOT IN THE BATHTUB.

How does a person take a 30-minute bath and not realize they are still dressed? I didn’t even notice I was wearing clothes until I tried to dry off.

Anyhow, I know I’m like the Worst Blogger in the History of Ever, but between writing stuff to hopefully get published and being sick all the time, I’ve just been lazy as fuck and used my Facebook page to share my…mishaps. Let’s call them that. That sounds like maybe shit’s not my fault. I like it.

 

 

 

 

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in fire, Just Being Awesome, never take my advice, random bullshit, total chaos, writing

January 21, 2014

Sit Down, Charlie Sheen, I’ll Take It From Here.

By Steph

As I’ve displayed my Freshly Pressed badge so prominently (to the right, if you hadn’t noticed) I’m sure you’re all aware that My Grandma’s Room was an editor’s pick this week.

pop-steph

Normally, I’d make a self-deprecating joke here, but unlike the majority of my posts, that one was really heartfelt and I’ve been crying all day wishing I could tell my Pop that I Won The Internet, so that he in turn could regale everyone he met with stories of my Writing Prowess, Innate Wisdom, and General Success At Life.  All of these tales would be highly embellished, and neither of us would care.

Instead, I will tell you how I became all Writerly and Such.  It’s an inspiring story, I’m sure. *insert hysterical laughter*

I’ve been a huge reader all my life, and last year I started re-collecting all my childhood favorites, like Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and Nancy Drew.

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Much like Anne Shirley, I was a pain in the ass as a child.  I was overly dramatic, I sometimes lied (confession:  It was me that cut the hair off all my Barbie dolls.  I cannot and could not ever play the banjo and I never wrote a song called Eagle.  Also, I’m ashamed that I didn’t come up with a better name for my song which didn’t exist.), I liked to read more than play, and I was bossy as all hell.

I haven’t changed much.

Anyway.  In the third grade I started a newspaper for the kids on my block and sold copies for 5 cents a piece.  It wasn’t a particularly long-running endeavor, mainly because as Head Writer, Editor, Copy Maker, and Boss Lady, I was too good to hawk my own wares on the corner and my friends grew tired of it quickly once they realized they weren’t getting paid.  Nine year olds have no work ethic anymore.  Especially for unpaid labor.

My next brush with fame came in the fifth grade.  On the same day that I opened a package of gum and won ten dollars, I also won 3rd place in a statewide essay contest.  Best. Day. Ever!

I don’t remember what the essay was about, but I do remember that I got to meet Bill Clinton (just the Governor then, not the President, although I’m sure I probably had something to do with his election).

You're welcome, dude.

You’re welcome, dude.

Also, they served really disgusting food at the banquet.

Not too long after that I tried my hand at fiction, penning The Big Black Bucket, which was a story about chickens living on a farm and plotting their escape.

Yeah.  Let that sink in for a minute.

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Those Chicken Run assholes.  I wrote it first, dicks.

Fast forward through years of bad poetry, bad decisions, and one too many people saying, rather accusingly, “But you’re so funny on Facebook…” and here I am, reading lots of awesome blogs, writing nonsense, and enjoying myself immensely.  THANK YOU!!

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Please stop me if I start referencing tiger blood, in any way, shape, or form.  Thanks, guys.

19 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in random bullshit, stuff I made up, thoughts