Sad woman rambles

 If there is a boiling point inside I am near it. The point where you bust in some fashion. For water, you can turn into steam. For Janel, you can quit being abused by a corporation that views itself as royalty and takes away your straw to make bricks. It's gross. The "blame you" mentality that greatly enjoys handing out leadership promotions and bonuses to those who best improve their skill of blaming someone else for the taste of the soup they pooped in. 

I also want to cry for people who are trapped in suck zone in this earth. That isn't me. I have the energy to whine. I want to skip Easter and dissociate but can pull a celebration out of a hat at 4:50 PM for a couple of nuggets who deserve a better, more fun world. What about the permanent misery of those who have truly lost their soulmates and have to wake up every day. The soulmate of a son. The soulmate of a brother. The soulmate of a son/horse/partner. Any semblance of feeling loved and safe. 

I thought some dark comedy would be the route of a boiling point and provide some relief, and it did, but it also didn't. For better or for worse I hurt for others and pour it on like another layer on a cake. I see a little boy inside an older man and then I look at an actual little boy and fear for his future man-self and want to wrap him in a blanket and save him from the trauma of adulthood. Buzzword trauma. What is my advice? Love less? Hide more? Grow callouses? Dissociate as often as possible? Live in therapy? What is different about 2026? Where did my emotions get stuffed?

Sun, where is your peace? Why is everything so loud? What movie was that where the constant churning of communication was pounding everyone's head? Contact? 

Do I want to be a teacher? I have an M.S. In Oregon? Laugh. Laugh. I do love a good project. 

I do want something. Reconnection to deity may be a good step. To try. My brain enjoys this less than it used to. The heart feels about the same down there under the caseated pus. Pause to google that word and be told by my rectangular spy captor that Kuqa to Busan is 5.25 hours by air. That is very similar to how my brain is working right now. 2 + 9 = egg salad. A certainty and apprehension about God is solidly planted under a massive distrust in humans and a need to just not talk to them as much. But also save them. 

Coffeeshop whitehair said there was some profound power in I AM and in the moment was weaving God's perspective of being God that was a little refreshing and zigzaggy. Sad that we only got to the live Jesus part. Maybe I'll go find him again and then risk the frustration of a man thinking that the only reason a woman wants to talk to him about a topic is because she really wants his dick. She doesn't. 

Sometimes I say why are men so gross, then I say why are people so gross, then I say why did they get that way, then I say why is our culture so gross, then I say fuck it what is the point of whyying let's go get more dogs. I could be typing this blog next to my silken windhound or cavapoo. 

I guess I'm going to teach high school and save dogs. Tomorrow.